Death, it is often said, is a great leveller. For, this strikes everyone regardless of caste, creed, and economic status. It is not known how many feel the same, but every time a funeral procession passes by my way, the feeling of nothingness overwhelms me.
Its a throb in the heart, the throb turns to pain of overwhelming guilty on the realisation that life finally comes to a nought, regardless of one's achievement and stature. The pursuit of materialistic pleasure has benumbed the subtler qualities of humanity - benevolence, fortitude, and sense of justice.
Hasn't enlightenment always shone on us in retrospect after tragedies have struck us up close and personal, rather than in foresight. Haven't we realised something or some one's worth only after we have lost it.
Its my fond hope and prayer that I don't lose the subtler qualities in me as I pursue my materialistic dream. I want to die a good human being, better than merely dying as a successful one.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
First day, first show, and jinxed
After a four-day break, I entered the gargantuan building, a day after Diwali and frakly, was quite lost in the sea of humanity.
Day 1 began with an elaborate form-filling session that lasted nearly half-a-day. The forms mainly pertained to my address, name and umpteen other details, except my sun sign and proof of birth. I had about 25 forms to fill, each of them asking the same type of questions in different manner. I felt like a school kid who has been punished to write a 20-page imposition for bad behavior.
The first day was great, I had improved my handwriting after years of not putting pen to paper. I found that I had to work out of a smaller office that was closer to home than this office (what a relief!). Day 2 started off ignominiously after I found that I had neither been assigned with a workstation or a computer. So I waited...
Day 3 began with work trickling in from my team lead, but my computer gave way while I was half way through with my work. After frantic calls and waiting for nearly 4 hours, I got to know that a replacement machine would not be made available for me and that I would have to wait for tech guys to set right hardware issues in my comp. So, the wait continues...
Monday morning I hope to see the light of the day. Wish me luck!
Day 1 began with an elaborate form-filling session that lasted nearly half-a-day. The forms mainly pertained to my address, name and umpteen other details, except my sun sign and proof of birth. I had about 25 forms to fill, each of them asking the same type of questions in different manner. I felt like a school kid who has been punished to write a 20-page imposition for bad behavior.
The first day was great, I had improved my handwriting after years of not putting pen to paper. I found that I had to work out of a smaller office that was closer to home than this office (what a relief!). Day 2 started off ignominiously after I found that I had neither been assigned with a workstation or a computer. So I waited...
Day 3 began with work trickling in from my team lead, but my computer gave way while I was half way through with my work. After frantic calls and waiting for nearly 4 hours, I got to know that a replacement machine would not be made available for me and that I would have to wait for tech guys to set right hardware issues in my comp. So, the wait continues...
Monday morning I hope to see the light of the day. Wish me luck!
Saying Goodbyes
Saying goodbyes can never be easy, even if it is to your office colleagues. Well, I just did that last week when I quit my organization to join an multi-national company. I left my former organization, hoping for better pay, better growth and better work experience. True, in the process I have had to let go of my dear team members.
I have shared some of my best moments with this bunch of youngsters, working with them, laughing with them, and, of course, giving vent to my frustration. I will sorely miss all the fun and work I had with them.
The new job does give you the initial high, so does the brand name, the money. But, then I guess will never probably get the warmth of my pals and ex-colleagues. How I wish we could all work together again in my new organization. Just a fond hope....
Friday, September 21, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Call Of The Wild
The thought of going on a holiday-cum-meet-the-family trip thrilled me to no end. Why not? Why would I let let go of an opportunity to meet my wife's cousins and also the chance to trek through the thick jungles of Marballi (Karnataka).
I was apprehensive at first of adjusting myself in the countryside. Nevertheless, I headed for what I hoped would be a fun-filled three-day trip. I landed in Hubli and stayed at my in-laws place and took a 20-km trip to Dharwar to meet my uncle and my grand dad the same evening.
The Hubli-Dharwar highway was breathtakingly beautiful. Lush green fields dotted either sides of the highway. However, the entire journey was uncomfortable since some of stretches of the highway were dotted with craters that matched with the ones on the moon's surface.
After the first 10 minutes, I experienced a deep discomfort at the wrong end of myself. However, not wanting to invite the wrath of my better half with my observation on Hubli's sorry state of roads, I chose to ignore the inconvenience and proceeded to watch nature unfolding in front of us.
The fresh breath of air coupled with the fragrance of wet soil not only rejuvenated my spirits but also lifted the sombre mood that lay heavy on my mind like a thick blanket of fog. I took a few snaps of the highway and of folks working in the fields. I met my grand dad and my uncle and came back around 9:30 p.m. tired but in anticipation of a memorable visit to Marballi, where my wife's elderly grand parents lived amidst pastoral existence.
Marballi, green, greener
We boarded a KSRTC bus in Hubli at 7.30 a.m. The first stop was to be at Honnavar, a town that was nearly 15 kms from Marballi. Our journey towards Honnavar began on a happy note with a lot of banter and bunch of silly jokes exchanged between my wife, in-laws and myself.
But, it was soon apparent that the journey would not be that smooth after all, for we found that our creaky old bus had windows that was impossible to shut and a motor-mouth conductor who refused to shut up. The roads too were no better than the ones in Hubli.
The most singular aspect of the teeth-rattling-bone-shattering experience in the bus, between Honnavar-Marballi-Honnavar, was the all-pervading red Laterite dust that flew through the window. The red dust was everywhere - on the bus, on the buffaloes that roamed freely on the highway, on menfolk working in the nearby fields and in our eyes and mouths. Neither could we sneeze nor could we cough for the fear of being asphyxiated.
Agnashini, Sharawati
As our bus trundled towards Honnavar, we passed by a vast expanse of thick forests that had Kaju, Mangoes and Aracnut trees in abundance. The domiciles of the local farmers too seemed unique to this region. Most huts were built of blocks of Laterite stone walls that was held together with layers of red mud. The thatches were made of straw and arranged in a rather peculiar manner, unlike the ones I have witnessed anywhere down South.
But what really took my breath away was the sight of the sparkling pristine waters of rivers Agnashini and Sharawati criss-crossing the fertile lands of Honnavar. The fields looked bountiful with cotton, paddy, rice and millet.
That clever little thing
We finally reached the untidy Honnavar bus stand that badly required attention. The thick red dust appeared to have played havoc with our appearance, for at the end of the three-hour journey, the four of us looked like "red" Indians.
We decided to take a maxi cab to Marballi which was about 17 kms from the destination. The maxi cab was empty when we boarded it near the bus stand. But as the journey progressed, the cab stopped every five minutes and picked up customers.
I had an eerie feeling that we would soon be packed like sardines. I was dead right and soon the maxi cab that should ferry 10 people had 20+ people on board. I sat near the window, hoping to catch a breath of air and to have a glimpse of mundane life that went around in the town.
However, a few stops later, some locals decided to deny me of the simple pleasures in life. Two women entered the maxi cab with a child. The grandmother had a huge bag which seemed as heavy as her. This she promptly dropped on my foot with a sheepish grin with the excuse that there was no space in the overcrowded cab. Her daughter proceeded to instruct her eight-year-old child to sit on my lap.
The clever little thing decided to take matters in her own hands and proceeded to make herself comfortable, first, by occupying the whole of my lap and, next, by resting her head on my shoulder and promptly falling asleep. My left foot was stuck under the bag and my right leg under the girl who by now had concluded that I was as comfortable as a couch in the living room.
I hung on to the seat with my right hand, in mortal fear of bouncing off as the van chugged along the pot-holed road towards Marballi, whilst I watched with great concern as more betel nut-chewing gentlemen continued to board the overloaded maxi cab.
I finally reached Marballi after nearly 25 minutes. The next three days seems hazy as minutes ticked into hours and then turned into days. The sights of lush green forest, a visit to the local Hanuman Temple, the 50-minute trek through thick vegetation to reach the pristine waters of a nearby brook appears like a dream. Yes, that was what it was. For a city-bred chap and a keen nature enthusiast like me, the visit left an indelible mark on me.
I can clearly recall the chatter of monkeys, the the sound of crickets, the mating calls of toads and peacocks amidst the rustic ambiance of Marballi. I also remember how we got drenched in the rain as we hurried back home after a 50-minute trek on the second evening of our visit.
Not to forget were the folklore and stories of days of yore, narrated with great aplomb by her grandfather that kept me spellbound for hours. How can I forget the nights, when the whoosh of bats and stories of spirits walking in the forests sent a chill down my spine.
Tough lessons from the village
But then, the trip was also an eye opener for me. Just sample this:
1. The nearest market for purchase of essentials is a 14-km travel by maxi cab.
2. During the monsoon, power cuts are a normal affair. Sometimes there is no power for 20 days in a month.
3. The nearest English-medium school is in Honnavar, which is nearly 15 kms away.
4. A water tank for washing plates and separate washrooms for girls and boys in the local school is considered a luxury.
5. The walk to the local school is a 25-minute trek through thick forests that is sometimes infested with snakes during the wet seasons.
6. During monsoon, the water gushes over the banks of the adjoining river. This means its another 40-minute circuitous route through the main road to reach school.
7. There are 12 computers in the school. All the computers are second-hand MS-DOS machines. This is 'latest' machine available for them.
8. The nearest local/STD booth is around 2-3 kms from our place.
The trip was unforgettable for two reasons: one, for the fact that I had a great time amidst the Wild and two, for the lesson I learned - never to take the comfort and luxury you enjoy for granted.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Hey Pal You There?
Strange are the relationships you share with some people you feel close to. Do we call it love-hate relationship? Am not sure, for I am a person who likes to believe what is said on my face rather than what lies in the heart of the beholder.
Its got nothing to do with fate or numbers, as some would love to believe, but rather the lack of understanding that consequences are the result of one's own actions rather than the celestial influence of specific numbers.
It's true no human is perfect (me included). But the least one can do is acknowledge the fact and begin to work on areas that require attention. The sooner one begins, the greater is the understanding that bonds of friendship should never break over petty issues.
Its got nothing to do with fate or numbers, as some would love to believe, but rather the lack of understanding that consequences are the result of one's own actions rather than the celestial influence of specific numbers.
It's true no human is perfect (me included). But the least one can do is acknowledge the fact and begin to work on areas that require attention. The sooner one begins, the greater is the understanding that bonds of friendship should never break over petty issues.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
How Hari Pathre Became Harry Potter
When People Go Potty Over Potter! - By Cyrus Broacha
The latest in the line of exciting Harry Potter stories is out. It’s called Harry Potter and the Something or the Other. Stories abound on the passion and love for Harry Potter amongst both readers and non readers. The non readers consist of people (mainly men) who want to marry Harry Potter, but can’t express their feelings in most countries for fear of being jailed.
The readers, on the other hand, have resorted to all kinds of desperate measures to lay their hands on the latest Harry Potter book. They’ve waited for nights in long queues. They’ve dressed themselves up as librarians, they’ve pretended to be at various times J.K. Rowling, her mom, Harry Potter, his mom, Mr Potter, Harry’s neighbour, Harry’s old English sheepdog, Harry’s briefcase, Harry’s hairy body part … the list is endless and all this just to cut the line and land the book, the latest one, Harry Potter and the Something or the Other.
While social scientists the world over agree that the Harry Potter stories are an unprecedented phenomenon, and today are collectively selling as well as the Aap Ka Saroor DVD and may eventually overtake the greatest video in living memory, Paris Hilton’s Evening in Paris, not many know the secret behind the origin of the Harry Potter species.
It goes back a long way and a trifle to the left.
Let’s go back to when J.K. Rowling was a young boy. He became a gorgeous unkempt woman much later as has been the practice in Western Europe. He loved to play o’er the vales and under the glades of a town close to Glamorgan which was called Stenton, or to give it its Welsh name, Kapariadughlahahah.
At age two, J.K. Rowling was playing marbles with his father when tragedy struck. His father ran out of marbles. However, turning to the forbearance and fortitude that won the British two World Wars, a football World Cup, and the right to banish the Spice Girls to America, father and son soldiered on looking under every inch of rock and hard places until they found a young boy who they mistook initially for a rock.
The boy had a funny accent, which must really count for something if it sounds funny to the Welsh. He had round rimmed spectacles and a haircut which would have made the Beatles proud, but would have cost him his briefcase and both his legs in Harlem. J.K. first befriended the boy and then promptly grabbed his marbles. This act, and ultimately the strongest bond amongst teenagers, mutual love for each other’s marbles, brought them closer.
The boy was the son of immigrants. His mother was Welsh and said to be rather large, a variable British Isle all by herself. His father was an immigrant from India, who named his firstborn son Hari Prasad Pathare. To fit into Welsh society, young Hari’s name evolved into Hallagh Wallahguhg Paththghyg. Which later turned to Hari Potter when he went on to become a male nurse in London.
Hari Pathare was an amazing kid with a keen imagination. He had a great feeling for fantasy. Proof of all this is in his three short stories left to us. The first is called "Ducks are Carnivorous" the second "The Field Mouse, the Frenchman and the Fornicator," and the third "Racism made Easy." Sadly, Hari Potter died early in tragic circumstances. One day while waiting at a bus stop, he literally missed the bus and got hit by a cab.
It is said that all J.K. Rowling works are just recreations of Hari’s militant mind. So today, as you go to the movie or purchase the book Harry Potter and the Something or the Other, don’t forget to raise a toast to the original. Here’s to Hallagh Wallahguhg Paththghyg … er, Hari Potter.
(Courtesy: The Asian Age)
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Sivaji - The joke
This Rs. 65-crore extravaganza is all style with very little substance. This A.V.M. production may have set the cash registers ringing, but the film storyline falters and the antics of the aging on-screen hero of millions tends to get on your nerves.
This film is merely a jamboree of Rajnikant's popularity among the masses. The film begins with Rajini (Sivaji) returning from the U.S. with head full of heady ideals and bank account that is bursting with dollars. He plans to construct hospitals, medical colleges, factories for the poor.
The villain of the piece is Suman (Adikesavan), a deep-pocketed and politically well connected businessman who owns several hospitals and educational institutions. Suman is convincing as the powerful Adikesavan who initially attempts to use suave methods to convince Sivaji to reconsider his projects, fearing that Sivaji's "free medical treatment and educational opportunities-for-all" might dent his personal profits.
Rajini's love interest is the nymphet, Shreya, (Tamilselvi). He falls for the girl at first-sight and continues to woo her in the midst of fights, mayhem and half-a-dozen songs shot in magnificent rustic expanse and expensive studio sets.
The songs by A.R. Rahman (save for the one unintelligible one with a "fair & lovely" Rajini) are foot-tapping. The film falters right from the beginning when a reluctant Rajini pays crores as bribe to various department officials for getting a government approval for the construction of buildings. However, Suman affects a change in the government! The new government withdraws the G.O of the previous government!!!! (Didn't know G.O.s could be canceled).
The saving grace is Rajini's cousin, played by Vivek. His cheeky comments and antics keeps the first half of the film alive but the director takes it too far in the scenes where Sivaji's entire family go bride-hunting to Shreya's house where they are repeatedly insulted and asked to leave the house.
The song of "white" Sivaji and the comedy scene where Vivek and Rajini first gain entry to Shreya's house as electoral officials could have been avoided. Some of the wigs worn by the hero during some of his excruciating jigs, appear out-of-place. The song sequence where CGI graphics was reportedly used to make Rajini "white" too appears inane. The second half comes to life with Rajini's usual punch dialogs.
But then again, attempts to use wire-frame technology (that has been mastered by Hollywood film makers) for fight sequences appears too amateurish. The stunt doubles appear to float in air rather than get thrown around when punched by Rajini! The fight sequences appear to be scene inspired by the Tom & Jerry cartoon show rather than serious business of blood and broken bones.
Another point that has been overlooked is that the film depicts corrupt officials, businessmen and politicians to be a complete bunch of morons! Most of the black money is stashed in rice mills under sacks of rice, under roof tiles (last scene), papers, pots and pans, packed in plastic bags in wells, under dried cow dung.... (Yuck!!!) (And I thought Indians were well versed with concepts of e-banking and bank locker facilities??)
The film with massive sets and impressive costumes and galaxy of stars has been considered the most expensive Indian film ever made. But it just overlooked one small detail - the producer apparently failed to invest enough money and time in the storyline.
Overall the film is no where near the standards set in Batcha or Padayappa. Raghuvaran, Solomon Papaya, Chinni Jayanth, and few other comedians make their guest appearance.
Sivaji - The Boss is a film that has style but is devoid of logic.
This film is merely a jamboree of Rajnikant's popularity among the masses. The film begins with Rajini (Sivaji) returning from the U.S. with head full of heady ideals and bank account that is bursting with dollars. He plans to construct hospitals, medical colleges, factories for the poor.
The villain of the piece is Suman (Adikesavan), a deep-pocketed and politically well connected businessman who owns several hospitals and educational institutions. Suman is convincing as the powerful Adikesavan who initially attempts to use suave methods to convince Sivaji to reconsider his projects, fearing that Sivaji's "free medical treatment and educational opportunities-for-all" might dent his personal profits.
Rajini's love interest is the nymphet, Shreya, (Tamilselvi). He falls for the girl at first-sight and continues to woo her in the midst of fights, mayhem and half-a-dozen songs shot in magnificent rustic expanse and expensive studio sets.
The songs by A.R. Rahman (save for the one unintelligible one with a "fair & lovely" Rajini) are foot-tapping. The film falters right from the beginning when a reluctant Rajini pays crores as bribe to various department officials for getting a government approval for the construction of buildings. However, Suman affects a change in the government! The new government withdraws the G.O of the previous government!!!! (Didn't know G.O.s could be canceled).
The saving grace is Rajini's cousin, played by Vivek. His cheeky comments and antics keeps the first half of the film alive but the director takes it too far in the scenes where Sivaji's entire family go bride-hunting to Shreya's house where they are repeatedly insulted and asked to leave the house.
The song of "white" Sivaji and the comedy scene where Vivek and Rajini first gain entry to Shreya's house as electoral officials could have been avoided. Some of the wigs worn by the hero during some of his excruciating jigs, appear out-of-place. The song sequence where CGI graphics was reportedly used to make Rajini "white" too appears inane. The second half comes to life with Rajini's usual punch dialogs.
But then again, attempts to use wire-frame technology (that has been mastered by Hollywood film makers) for fight sequences appears too amateurish. The stunt doubles appear to float in air rather than get thrown around when punched by Rajini! The fight sequences appear to be scene inspired by the Tom & Jerry cartoon show rather than serious business of blood and broken bones.
Another point that has been overlooked is that the film depicts corrupt officials, businessmen and politicians to be a complete bunch of morons! Most of the black money is stashed in rice mills under sacks of rice, under roof tiles (last scene), papers, pots and pans, packed in plastic bags in wells, under dried cow dung.... (Yuck!!!) (And I thought Indians were well versed with concepts of e-banking and bank locker facilities??)
The film with massive sets and impressive costumes and galaxy of stars has been considered the most expensive Indian film ever made. But it just overlooked one small detail - the producer apparently failed to invest enough money and time in the storyline.
Overall the film is no where near the standards set in Batcha or Padayappa. Raghuvaran, Solomon Papaya, Chinni Jayanth, and few other comedians make their guest appearance.
Sivaji - The Boss is a film that has style but is devoid of logic.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
1971 - A journey that falters at the end
A good offering from the stables of Sagar Creations (remember the makers of the almost ever-lasting 'Ramayana'). Ramanand Sagar's grandson, Amrit Sagar, makes his debut as a direction with 1971. The story revolves around 54 MIA (missing in action) Indian soldiers from the 1971 Bangladesh war with Pakistan.
The film begins six years after the end of the short war. The country has almost forgotten its heroes who lie in hope of freedom from the Pakistani jails. The film begins to pickup pace after the POWs (prisoner of war) are all herded in a camp near the border with Indian Kashmir. But the inmates soon detect the reason for their shift to the camp and the deadly game of deception played by the Pakistani authorities who have no plans to release the POWs, despite International pressure and the presence of Red Cross officials in Lahore.
They realise that they have been shifted to a camp only to fool the representatives of Red Cross and the families of Indian jawans who are on visit to the Pakistani jails in search of their kith and kin. From here on the film begins the descend into incredulity.
The inspiration of the film for this part appears to be from the Hollywood movie of yesteryear's: The Great Escape (starring Richard Attenborough) The role played by Attenborough also appears to be tailor-made for Manoj Bajpai.
The plot of preparing Pakistani uniforms by using dyes is pretty unbelievable. Some of them steal the belt, epaulets and other paraphernalia worn by a Pakistani major. In the Great Escape they attempt to flee by digging a tunnel. In 1971, they attempt to make good their escape by hijacking a military truck, which continues to make its journey undetected past a check post.
What strikes one is the blatant anachronism that is replete in the movie. The self-loading rifles and the vehicles used are from post-90's. Another sore point is that vehicles used, most of which are of Indian-make, unless the entire decimated Pakistani army is shown to operate on on captured Indian vehicles captured during the war. (mahindra jeeps, Toyota trucks, etc)
However, the most illogical point is the inability of the Pakistani forces to track the six escaped POWs, despite the advantage of operating in familiar terrain and ample air and ground troop support. It is perplexing why the Pakistani army which goes about firing openly, does not use sniffer dogs and search parties to track three of the POWs who are fleeing on foot.
Apart from several gaps in the storyline, the movie makers have introduced two irrelevant songs and sentimental dialogues that really drags the story towards the end. The movie also tries to bring about a religious balance by having a Muslim subedar, a Christian officer and Hindu soldiers showing solidarity in times of stress.
Manoj does justice to his role as being circumspect of the intentions of the Pakistani captors and their intentions. The film rests on Manoj's shoulders but with too many incongruous instances and discrepancies, if loses steam.
1971 - A journey to freedom that loses way towards the end.
The film begins six years after the end of the short war. The country has almost forgotten its heroes who lie in hope of freedom from the Pakistani jails. The film begins to pickup pace after the POWs (prisoner of war) are all herded in a camp near the border with Indian Kashmir. But the inmates soon detect the reason for their shift to the camp and the deadly game of deception played by the Pakistani authorities who have no plans to release the POWs, despite International pressure and the presence of Red Cross officials in Lahore.
They realise that they have been shifted to a camp only to fool the representatives of Red Cross and the families of Indian jawans who are on visit to the Pakistani jails in search of their kith and kin. From here on the film begins the descend into incredulity.
The inspiration of the film for this part appears to be from the Hollywood movie of yesteryear's: The Great Escape (starring Richard Attenborough) The role played by Attenborough also appears to be tailor-made for Manoj Bajpai.
The plot of preparing Pakistani uniforms by using dyes is pretty unbelievable. Some of them steal the belt, epaulets and other paraphernalia worn by a Pakistani major. In the Great Escape they attempt to flee by digging a tunnel. In 1971, they attempt to make good their escape by hijacking a military truck, which continues to make its journey undetected past a check post.
What strikes one is the blatant anachronism that is replete in the movie. The self-loading rifles and the vehicles used are from post-90's. Another sore point is that vehicles used, most of which are of Indian-make, unless the entire decimated Pakistani army is shown to operate on on captured Indian vehicles captured during the war. (mahindra jeeps, Toyota trucks, etc)
However, the most illogical point is the inability of the Pakistani forces to track the six escaped POWs, despite the advantage of operating in familiar terrain and ample air and ground troop support. It is perplexing why the Pakistani army which goes about firing openly, does not use sniffer dogs and search parties to track three of the POWs who are fleeing on foot.
Apart from several gaps in the storyline, the movie makers have introduced two irrelevant songs and sentimental dialogues that really drags the story towards the end. The movie also tries to bring about a religious balance by having a Muslim subedar, a Christian officer and Hindu soldiers showing solidarity in times of stress.
Manoj does justice to his role as being circumspect of the intentions of the Pakistani captors and their intentions. The film rests on Manoj's shoulders but with too many incongruous instances and discrepancies, if loses steam.
1971 - A journey to freedom that loses way towards the end.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Letter from a politician
Dear fellow party men,
I greet you at a momentous occasion in my life and the state I serve. It has been 50 years since I first entered politics. What a glorious time it has been for my family (thats worth Rs 150 crore), my state and my people (read: my family).
I rememeber the transition I made from films to politics. The days of struggle to bring purity to our 'culture' and our 'great language' lies fresh in my mind. Yet, today I feel deeply saddned by the events that have befallen our party (read: family). Recent differences have led to the loss of lives and property. This could have been avoided if the media had not highlighted our differences.
These problems have persisted over the years and in the process, there have been loss of lives and property. In this regard, I announce the formulation of 'Family Feud Fund', wherein those losing lives and their property will be adequately compensated from funds provided by the government.
I have always worked towards the rehabilitation of the down-trodden and women. In this regard, I have successfuly rehabiliated Mrs P, the wife of slain Mr P, a party loyalist (read: a thug who had several murder cases against him), who was killed in an encounter with the police a few years ago. The cries of despair from the innocent that rang in my ears have forced me to take a decision in this regard.
I take this occasion to announce the entry of my great-great-granddaughter Ms K in politics who will perpetuate my legacy and the party's vision (read: my vision), once she reaches adulthood. I have also planned to launch a new channel as per the wishes of the people (read: the party mouthpiece).
I thank the party cadres, my fellow countrymen, my followers and my fellow politicians for providing me the chance to serve my country and state at the highest level.
Your's artistically inclined politician
Mr K
I greet you at a momentous occasion in my life and the state I serve. It has been 50 years since I first entered politics. What a glorious time it has been for my family (thats worth Rs 150 crore), my state and my people (read: my family).
I rememeber the transition I made from films to politics. The days of struggle to bring purity to our 'culture' and our 'great language' lies fresh in my mind. Yet, today I feel deeply saddned by the events that have befallen our party (read: family). Recent differences have led to the loss of lives and property. This could have been avoided if the media had not highlighted our differences.
These problems have persisted over the years and in the process, there have been loss of lives and property. In this regard, I announce the formulation of 'Family Feud Fund', wherein those losing lives and their property will be adequately compensated from funds provided by the government.
I have always worked towards the rehabilitation of the down-trodden and women. In this regard, I have successfuly rehabiliated Mrs P, the wife of slain Mr P, a party loyalist (read: a thug who had several murder cases against him), who was killed in an encounter with the police a few years ago. The cries of despair from the innocent that rang in my ears have forced me to take a decision in this regard.
I take this occasion to announce the entry of my great-great-granddaughter Ms K in politics who will perpetuate my legacy and the party's vision (read: my vision), once she reaches adulthood. I have also planned to launch a new channel as per the wishes of the people (read: the party mouthpiece).
I thank the party cadres, my fellow countrymen, my followers and my fellow politicians for providing me the chance to serve my country and state at the highest level.
Your's artistically inclined politician
Mr K
Monday, May 21, 2007
Letter to the employees from the super-boss
Dear Friends and Associates,
It is with great happiness that I announce that our quarterly profits has hit a new high. Our profit margin has grown 50 % over the last quarter. We have gained 5 new clients. Our focus is now to make this 100% profit margin.
In this regard, we have elevated Mr B to the post of Vice-president internal/external communications. He has 25 years of experience in several capacities and was the Vice-President of Worldwide Mad solutions (until it closed down a few years ago).
Towards my vision to make our organization 100% profitable, I have envisioned the setting up of in-house committees to cut down costs. A few ideas have already been discussed, one being the wastage associated with the use of tissues in restrooms. Associates can now bring their own tissues to reduce cost to company. Second suggestion has been the use of candle lights instead of tube lights to cut down on the cost incurred towards electricity.
So lets take the first step towards making this organization more profitable for all of us. Thank you people. You are welcome to provide more suggestions to make our organization truly profitable.
MD, Mad Solutions Ltd
It is with great happiness that I announce that our quarterly profits has hit a new high. Our profit margin has grown 50 % over the last quarter. We have gained 5 new clients. Our focus is now to make this 100% profit margin.
In this regard, we have elevated Mr B to the post of Vice-president internal/external communications. He has 25 years of experience in several capacities and was the Vice-President of Worldwide Mad solutions (until it closed down a few years ago).
Towards my vision to make our organization 100% profitable, I have envisioned the setting up of in-house committees to cut down costs. A few ideas have already been discussed, one being the wastage associated with the use of tissues in restrooms. Associates can now bring their own tissues to reduce cost to company. Second suggestion has been the use of candle lights instead of tube lights to cut down on the cost incurred towards electricity.
So lets take the first step towards making this organization more profitable for all of us. Thank you people. You are welcome to provide more suggestions to make our organization truly profitable.
MD, Mad Solutions Ltd
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Unnale Unnale - candy floss for the eyes
I went with very little expectations and I was just right about it. Unnale Unnale (roughly translated "Because of you, Because of you") is just candy floss that has a story line that is wafer-thin. The film opens with quite a promise with a couple arguing in an office, while colleagues look on bemused.
The film then goes travels to the past and the reasons for the confrontation between the young lovers Jhansi (Sada) and Karthik (debutant Vinay). The handsome Vinay does justice to his role as an easy-going youth who is unable to choose between Jhansi and Tanisha (Kajol's sis).
The couple part ways in India only to meet again in Australia while Karthik is on way on a business trip. The cinematography captures the landscape very well and provides the perfect foil for Harris Jeyaraj's peppy and melodious numbers.
The first part of the film runs smooth until the hero meets Tanisha, who is shown as an extrovert. (Soon her immature pranks did get on my nerves.) She makes a half-hearted attempt to re-unite the couple but fails. The pace of film flounders after the intial half and the scenes soon turn repetitive.
Tanisha first attempts in histronics is noteworthy but her lip-sync appears awful in a few scenes. The comedy track of Rajusundaaram, Satish and Shrinath has very few laughs in between, with most of the crassy jokes clearly targetting the front benchers.
Finally, Sada lets go of her lover, Karthik, who gets married to Tanisha. The begining and the end were good, though one wishes director, Jeeva, had give more attention to the story as well. This film is for people who wish to tour Australia without taking the trip or paying for the airline fare. A one-time fare for those who have nothing to do at weekends.
The film then goes travels to the past and the reasons for the confrontation between the young lovers Jhansi (Sada) and Karthik (debutant Vinay). The handsome Vinay does justice to his role as an easy-going youth who is unable to choose between Jhansi and Tanisha (Kajol's sis).
The couple part ways in India only to meet again in Australia while Karthik is on way on a business trip. The cinematography captures the landscape very well and provides the perfect foil for Harris Jeyaraj's peppy and melodious numbers.
The first part of the film runs smooth until the hero meets Tanisha, who is shown as an extrovert. (Soon her immature pranks did get on my nerves.) She makes a half-hearted attempt to re-unite the couple but fails. The pace of film flounders after the intial half and the scenes soon turn repetitive.
Tanisha first attempts in histronics is noteworthy but her lip-sync appears awful in a few scenes. The comedy track of Rajusundaaram, Satish and Shrinath has very few laughs in between, with most of the crassy jokes clearly targetting the front benchers.
Finally, Sada lets go of her lover, Karthik, who gets married to Tanisha. The begining and the end were good, though one wishes director, Jeeva, had give more attention to the story as well. This film is for people who wish to tour Australia without taking the trip or paying for the airline fare. A one-time fare for those who have nothing to do at weekends.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Ooh! aah! and Ouch!
A bumpy weekend for me as I tumbled on the road and stumbled to a theatre to watch a film, which was finally not worth the effort. It was an accursed fellow motorist who did this to me, now left ambling along and hopping around for a few days to come.
A perfect weekend it was for me, until I drove my two-wheeler towards Citi Centre via the Cathedral Road. In haste the gentleman drove till the incident left me with a bleeding knee and sweat down my brow.
As I passed the Anna flyover, I noticed a corporation lorry parked near the median. What I didnt notice was a man on a bike with a babe, probably taking a long hike. He cut across without a second thought that brought my weekend plans all to a nought.
All that I remeber is that I flew like a bird before I could even speak a word. I landed on the road like a drunken toad. Tough it is for me for the next couple of days as I try performing mundane functions using innovative ways.
A perfect weekend it was for me, until I drove my two-wheeler towards Citi Centre via the Cathedral Road. In haste the gentleman drove till the incident left me with a bleeding knee and sweat down my brow.
As I passed the Anna flyover, I noticed a corporation lorry parked near the median. What I didnt notice was a man on a bike with a babe, probably taking a long hike. He cut across without a second thought that brought my weekend plans all to a nought.
All that I remeber is that I flew like a bird before I could even speak a word. I landed on the road like a drunken toad. Tough it is for me for the next couple of days as I try performing mundane functions using innovative ways.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
Tch ... Tch ... Mind Your Language dear
Well, what a reaction I must say! I am referring to my previous blog site wherein I had projected my perspective on a certain social issues that had occurred in the last few weeks. And what was the reaction of the public? Anonymous folks using the choicest abuse to put forth their flawed point across.
I expected this kind of reaction. Not surprising at all, considering the circumstances and the type of people capable of such mischief. One Ms anonymous was speaking about dollars like as if I had never seen a $ in my life.
One spoke about morals or rather the lack of it on my part. By using choicest abuse they thought it would stop me from blogging. Sorry folks, you are wrong. Try something better and more creative the next time and, if possible, with a bit of dignity.
One of them asked me to write my entries in a diary, another asked me to put it up on a hosted server. One threatened me that my wife will put me behind bars for domestic violence. Again, its my wife, I know what is to be done. I guess I dont need strangers to tell me what needs to be done.
It was quite funny reading the comments from people who appeared desperate to voice their opinion. It is worthy to remember here that some people choose to write what they wish in their blogs but when the same is written by others, they take instant offense to it.
For the nameless entities and the anonymous souls out there on the Net, let me put it across very clearly - a blogsite, regardless whether it is yours or mine, is very personal. Those who lack the stomach to accept the views of others should best refrain from visiting that particular website, rather than indulging in cheap antics like throwing barbs under the guise of an anonymous blogger. Of course one unexpected fallout of this is that the number of hits for my blogsite has risen dramatically. I guess I have to reluctantly thank you strangers for that.
adios strangers and grow up!!!
Blah Blah Blah ...
Being an IT professional, I consider myself lucky if I get a Saturday or Sunday for myself. Weekend normally means sitting home and working on my personal computer. But today it was one of those "rare" Sundays where I had thought of doing something useful - reading the autobiography of Martin Luther King Jr or cleaning up my car. But alas! I wasted my time in a place I shouldn't have been, listening to stuff I didn't have to, and trying to be nice to people when I knew I wasn't nice.
The occasion was the inauguration of a building by a prominent personality from the judiciary. The chief guest was a renowned judicial activist, a man worthy of praise and a very humble individual. Yet, I couldn't appreciate any of these qualities, as i sat hungry and fuming on a hot Sunday.
I had brought my car since mother had to bring the harmonium to render a prayer at the beginning of the program. I should have fled at the end of the prayer. I got a bit curious and made the mistake of staying back a little longer. By then, people had trooped in and I found half-a-dozen cars blocking the pathway of my parked car.
I was forced to sit and listen as the panel of guests took turns in giving a "biographical account" of each others lives. The speech had so much of data that many in the audience, it appeared, were as perplexed as me. I have had similar experience in school, wherein teachers rammed in as much information as possible in the shortest possible time. This was done with the fond hope that students would be able to remember at least part of lessons taught to them.
In this case too, I experienced similar result of this "mental exertion"- I began to nod off. Not wanting to embarrass the chief guest and my mom, I and my wife (who had unwittingly accompanied me) made our way out of the hall.
But the afternoon heat was so relentless that I felt like a fish being friend in oil. I circumnavigated the building as many times as possible; woke up friends from their afternoon siesta to tell them I am bored, sent silly SIMS to everybody on my phone book list; tried playing nanny to some of the young kids running loose around the premises.
Yet, the monologue went on... Just as I was about to leave the place to have my lunch at a hotel, lunch was served. Never have I been so ravenously hungry. I hogged like a pig, merely shaking my head to everything that my wife said. The words just bounced off my ears.
Finally I gave up, and I left home with my dad, who had come there to have lunch with us. I regret going there - what a waste of time!!
Life is a drag
Its has been quite hectic for the past two months, with very little time for myself, my wife, my folks or my friends. With a very tight work schedule, I have had to work on almost every Saturday and Sunday. Here are a few observations, though, which am sure, seem to be a common malaise among IT and IT-ES professionals:
Am more familiar with the security guard than some of my fellow employees; I have forgotten to dream (forgotten to count sheep as it is called) and instead dream of project deadlines; I fear the adverse comments of my client more than the adverse comments of my wife; My best friends are my office colleagues; I have never witnessed the sunset; Most of my information about my relatives and friends is outdated; By the time I decide to watch a good movie in a theater, it is telecast on the satellite TV channel.
I am more concerned with the office laptop than with my bike; I need reminders on my cellphone to remember my folks birthday; The last break I took was when I got married three months ago; I am so habituated to the use of swipe cards that I am absent-minded and try to use my swipe card to open the front door of my apartment.
These symptoms, I read, are common among IT professionals. Though I am trying to get a life outside the office, its tough balancing the hectic work schedule and my domestic life. Its not easy to get domesticated... Am trying hard :)
Am more familiar with the security guard than some of my fellow employees; I have forgotten to dream (forgotten to count sheep as it is called) and instead dream of project deadlines; I fear the adverse comments of my client more than the adverse comments of my wife; My best friends are my office colleagues; I have never witnessed the sunset; Most of my information about my relatives and friends is outdated; By the time I decide to watch a good movie in a theater, it is telecast on the satellite TV channel.
I am more concerned with the office laptop than with my bike; I need reminders on my cellphone to remember my folks birthday; The last break I took was when I got married three months ago; I am so habituated to the use of swipe cards that I am absent-minded and try to use my swipe card to open the front door of my apartment.
These symptoms, I read, are common among IT professionals. Though I am trying to get a life outside the office, its tough balancing the hectic work schedule and my domestic life. Its not easy to get domesticated... Am trying hard :)
My Honeymoon in Kerala
The week prior was too hectic and too hazy to remember; the only memory left behind was that I was now a married man. A constant reminder of my altered marital status was a mild backache - a consequence of constant bows and attempts to seek blessings at the feet of elders who had gathered to attend my wedding in Hubli on December 15.
It was now time to relax and enjoy my honeymoon and hence I was on my way to Idukki, a district in Kerala. My destination was Greenberg Resort for a six-day-seven-night stay. I had never stayed in a resort, and the nearest I came to making a decision on this was when I had looked at the brochure of another lovely resort and dreaming of a perfect holiday but was woken up from my day dream by the sight of the price tag attached for the holiday.
Observation
Nevertheless, I had got a good bargain, and hence proceeded to go to Greenberg Resort in Kulamavu. I got down at Ernakulam Town and was picked up by a taxi hired by the resort. I felt the first pinch when I parted with Rs. 1,400 just for that 80-km trip to the resort. As we drove towards the resort, I was wonder struck by two observations: the lush green cover along the road margins and the humble veshtti being the uniform choice of garments worn by men.
As the taxi began climbing the hills towards our destination, I was awe-struck at the breath-taking view below us. As the taxi snaked through the S-bend roads across the mountains, we could feel the temperature drop. Flowers of varying hues adorned both sides of the roads, even as the taxi zipped past these sights at break-neck speed. So sharp were the road bends that Mangal and I found ourselves sliding back and forth on the backseat of the vehicle like kids stuck on a mechanized seesaw.
We finally reached the resort at 11 30 am, tired and hungry. At nearly 2,500 ft above sea level, it was cold and our ears felt like they had been plugged with cement. We hogged like pigs and slept like dogs the entire day. We woke up the next day to “take a look” at the place. The sight was phenomenal, with a little pond in the middle and pretty little cottages that surrounded the place. Most of the staff couldn’t understand Hindi, Tamil or English but somehow managed to deliver what I required at the right time and the right place.
Minor disappointments
However, there were minor disappointments in store for me: like when I switched on the TV, I found two Malayalam movie channels and one more news channel that faithfully kept repeating yesterday’s news in Malayalam. My phone didn’t work either, as Airtel had no coverage in that region and, hence, had to bother the hotel phone operator, who gleefully charged Rs 20 per call, regardless of the duration of the call.
In less than three days we had gone on a boat ride on Cheruthoni river, a major tributary of Periyar river, visited three dams: Cheruthoni, Kulamavu and Idukki (after paying a bribe to the policemen guarding the dams); an elephant ride that cost Rs 250 per head, and a boat ride on the Periyar.
Not surprisingly, I had a brush with an angry goose, a wild monkey and a confused Frenchwoman. The first one was at the resort that had a couple of geese that were let out for a few hours in the morning.
Wild goose chase
For a change, it was Mangal’s attire (blue top and pink skirt) that probably “got its goose”. The normally docile geese began making hostile postures and one of them began to swagger towards us with wings flapping and neck craning in the front. Mangal recoiled and ran towards me, seeking assistance. I stood for a minute before I saw him advancing towards me. Fear gave wings and I yanked her off her feet before fleeing to safety.
Monkeying around
In the second instance, during our visit to the Periyar Lake, as we stood waiting for the boat ride, we were accosted by a nasty monkey at the drinking water point. He sat calmly not taking much notice of people until I advanced to quench my thirst from the tap. I was brave until the fellow showed his lovely yellow pearls. For the second time in less than three days I fled, forgetting my thirst and my ego.
French connection
This incident happened while I waited patiently for an hour or so to sit atop an elephant. The fee was stiff, Rs 250 per person to sit on top of an elephant that appeared bored with life and with us. Mangal was in a skirt and hence preferred to sit with both her legs to one side while I and a French woman sat in the front.
She managed to strike a conversation with her limited knowledge of English. It went something like this: My name is Jonna (something too long to remember). Owi, we in Kerala… first time…my daughter … big MNC…. Bangalore…management…two years. Great I thought I introduced myself, what’s your name I asked. The answer was typical: Oh (something in French). Name me…. Jonna.. My daughter in … big MNC….Bangalore…management… two years.
For the next 20 minutes we had a conversation on a range of topics; overpopulation; bad roads; fleecing and tourism (at least that’s what I did); she spoke in French while I conversed in English; each perfectly aware that neither understood the other, while Mangal sat laughing herself silly.
What we did those six days and what we saw and felt is now safely relegated in our memory. But the experience of being in God’s Own Country was truly exhilarating. An enchanting experience that we are never likely to forget till life’s end.
Friday, May 4, 2007
Understanding the E-learning Project Cycle
Many a time I have met friends and elderly relatives who have asked me what I do for a living. I have time and again struggled, albeit unsuccessfully, to explain my job profile. I am not part of the IT crowd; not a journalist; not a call center employee; not part of the BPO sector. I work as an editor in an e-learning firm.
Attempting to explain my job profile, it appears, is an uphill task. Am sure quite a lot of us have suffered similarly. Here's a sample I picked from the Net which you can probably use to explain your job profile to friends and relatives:
1. Project Manager is a one who thinks nine women can deliver a baby in one month.
2. Process Developer is a one who thinks it will take 18 months to deliver a baby.
3. On site Coordinator is one who thinks single woman can deliver nine babies in one month.
4. Client is the one who doesn’t know why he or she wants a baby or what to do with it.
5. Marketing Manager is one who thinks he can deliver a baby even if no man and woman are available.
6. Resource Optimization Team thinks they don’t need a man or woman; they will produce a child with zero resources.
7. Documentation Team thinks they don’t care whether the child is delivered; they will just document nine months.
8. Quality Auditor is the one who is never happy with the process to produce a baby.
9. Editor is one who wonders why so much mess was created during the entire process. *
10. Instructional designer is one who is left thinking what went wrong - the process or the end product.
* This happens to my job.
Attempting to explain my job profile, it appears, is an uphill task. Am sure quite a lot of us have suffered similarly. Here's a sample I picked from the Net which you can probably use to explain your job profile to friends and relatives:
1. Project Manager is a one who thinks nine women can deliver a baby in one month.
2. Process Developer is a one who thinks it will take 18 months to deliver a baby.
3. On site Coordinator is one who thinks single woman can deliver nine babies in one month.
4. Client is the one who doesn’t know why he or she wants a baby or what to do with it.
5. Marketing Manager is one who thinks he can deliver a baby even if no man and woman are available.
6. Resource Optimization Team thinks they don’t need a man or woman; they will produce a child with zero resources.
7. Documentation Team thinks they don’t care whether the child is delivered; they will just document nine months.
8. Quality Auditor is the one who is never happy with the process to produce a baby.
9. Editor is one who wonders why so much mess was created during the entire process. *
10. Instructional designer is one who is left thinking what went wrong - the process or the end product.
* This happens to my job.
Those Tumultuous 20 Days
The year has finally come to an end, so has my bachelorhood. December was quite a month to remember not just because my wife won a "Masters" in managing the household, but also because the last 20 days of that month witnessed so much action, much more than what I have witnessed in last the 20 months of my life.
The landing
First my brother landed from the U.S. on December 5th. Then began the rush to get his visa (his visa had expired) renewed on December 7. Once that was successfully completed, it was time for him to introspect on his decision to say "yes" to his bride-to-be. He finally said yes on 8th. Then began a mad rush to arrange for his engagement ceremony that was to be held on 9th. By then my would-be-bhabhi, Tripthi, and her family had landed in Chennai.
The drive
My first trial-by-fire had begun after my dad wanted me to take by bhabhi and her family to T.Nagar (the most crowded and lousiest place to drive during peak hours) for shopping in the evening. My situation was no better since I had just learnt how to drive two weeks ago and I now faced the prospect of driving a fully loaded vehicle in peak hour traffic. I ended up becoming deeply religious by the end of our journey. I thanked my stars after we reached safe, except for a bruised ego and a few scratches on my vehicle.
On 10th we had a satyanarayana puja at home, a long ceremony held by the groom and the bride's families at least 10 days prior to the marriage to seek the blessings of the almighty.
December 11 we were busy packing up our bags. While on December 12 it was journey time for us to Hubli. We reached on December 13th and began unpacking, a process which took 24 hours, considering the number of suitcases, jewelery and the presents that were stocked in them.
D-day minus one
December 14th morning me and my dad woke up at 3:30 a.m. to pick up four different sets of guests coming from four different directions in three different modes of transports. We reached the station at 4:35 a.m., only to realise that the train would be at the station at 6:30 a.m. and that there was some kind of communication gap that ended up in us coming two hours earlier at the station.
By 12 pm we had collected all our guests and "deposited them safe" in the hotel rooms that had been booked for them prior. At 6 p.m. some of the ceremonies were held prior to the big day. We slept at 11 p.m. that night, tensed and knowing not if things would go the way we had planned.
D-day:
Since some of the ceremonies had been held the day before we woke up late at 5 a.m. and began to get ready. Mangal's relatives began to trickle into the hotel lobby for the traditional welcoming ceremony even as hotel guests and the staff stood gawking at me like a caged animal in a zoo.
Since we reached the wedding venue after a heavy breakfast I feared the proceedings would put me to sleep. However, much to my relief, the ceremonies went smooth, thanks to the priest who kept us awake with his light hearted banter and jokes.
But as I had been warned earlier by my already-married friends and cousins, the wedding ceremonies went on till 3:30 pm. I had no option but to continue smiling and welcoming guests even as my stomach continued to growl for attention.
D-day + 1
Finally the ceremonies were over, but we still had to visit a temple in Ankola that was nearly 135 kms from Hubli, to visit our kula devata (family god, roughly translated). We took at trip on December 16th. Awesome sight and good darshan and a good 7 hours later, we returned to Hubli, exhausted but thrilled to have visited the place after nearly 19 years.
Honeymoon
Finally it was journey back home on December 17 with my wife and family. We reached here the afternoon and started off for Ernakulam on 17th night for our honeymoon in Idukki district of Kerala. We returned from the trip to Chennai on 24th morning for our reception that was to be held in Chennai on December 25th. On December 27th I was back on duty.
Good ol' days of yore
In 20 days I had covered almost 8-10 remote locations in three states. Most of all I felt it was the grace of god that nothing went wrong during my trip and during the wedding or reception.
My happiest moments, however, were reserved on the day of my reception when I met some of my friends from the present and the past. Every time I met someone from the past, old memories clouded my mind; those days in school, college, or my postgraduate diploma institute or the things I did as an NCC cadet in college. Truly memorable 20 days of my life.
The landing
First my brother landed from the U.S. on December 5th. Then began the rush to get his visa (his visa had expired) renewed on December 7. Once that was successfully completed, it was time for him to introspect on his decision to say "yes" to his bride-to-be. He finally said yes on 8th. Then began a mad rush to arrange for his engagement ceremony that was to be held on 9th. By then my would-be-bhabhi, Tripthi, and her family had landed in Chennai.
The drive
My first trial-by-fire had begun after my dad wanted me to take by bhabhi and her family to T.Nagar (the most crowded and lousiest place to drive during peak hours) for shopping in the evening. My situation was no better since I had just learnt how to drive two weeks ago and I now faced the prospect of driving a fully loaded vehicle in peak hour traffic. I ended up becoming deeply religious by the end of our journey. I thanked my stars after we reached safe, except for a bruised ego and a few scratches on my vehicle.
On 10th we had a satyanarayana puja at home, a long ceremony held by the groom and the bride's families at least 10 days prior to the marriage to seek the blessings of the almighty.
December 11 we were busy packing up our bags. While on December 12 it was journey time for us to Hubli. We reached on December 13th and began unpacking, a process which took 24 hours, considering the number of suitcases, jewelery and the presents that were stocked in them.
D-day minus one
December 14th morning me and my dad woke up at 3:30 a.m. to pick up four different sets of guests coming from four different directions in three different modes of transports. We reached the station at 4:35 a.m., only to realise that the train would be at the station at 6:30 a.m. and that there was some kind of communication gap that ended up in us coming two hours earlier at the station.
By 12 pm we had collected all our guests and "deposited them safe" in the hotel rooms that had been booked for them prior. At 6 p.m. some of the ceremonies were held prior to the big day. We slept at 11 p.m. that night, tensed and knowing not if things would go the way we had planned.
D-day:
Since some of the ceremonies had been held the day before we woke up late at 5 a.m. and began to get ready. Mangal's relatives began to trickle into the hotel lobby for the traditional welcoming ceremony even as hotel guests and the staff stood gawking at me like a caged animal in a zoo.
Since we reached the wedding venue after a heavy breakfast I feared the proceedings would put me to sleep. However, much to my relief, the ceremonies went smooth, thanks to the priest who kept us awake with his light hearted banter and jokes.
But as I had been warned earlier by my already-married friends and cousins, the wedding ceremonies went on till 3:30 pm. I had no option but to continue smiling and welcoming guests even as my stomach continued to growl for attention.
D-day + 1
Finally the ceremonies were over, but we still had to visit a temple in Ankola that was nearly 135 kms from Hubli, to visit our kula devata (family god, roughly translated). We took at trip on December 16th. Awesome sight and good darshan and a good 7 hours later, we returned to Hubli, exhausted but thrilled to have visited the place after nearly 19 years.
Honeymoon
Finally it was journey back home on December 17 with my wife and family. We reached here the afternoon and started off for Ernakulam on 17th night for our honeymoon in Idukki district of Kerala. We returned from the trip to Chennai on 24th morning for our reception that was to be held in Chennai on December 25th. On December 27th I was back on duty.
Good ol' days of yore
In 20 days I had covered almost 8-10 remote locations in three states. Most of all I felt it was the grace of god that nothing went wrong during my trip and during the wedding or reception.
My happiest moments, however, were reserved on the day of my reception when I met some of my friends from the present and the past. Every time I met someone from the past, old memories clouded my mind; those days in school, college, or my postgraduate diploma institute or the things I did as an NCC cadet in college. Truly memorable 20 days of my life.
Insane Solutions to Insane Issue
India has always had a host of problems to its credit, right? Cricket, politics, social justice, law, poverty. There are hundreds of issues that we Indians love to discuss over a cup of coffee or lunch with our pals and family members. Here's a new look and probably out-of-box solutions to some of biggest problems that plague our country.
Problem 1:
Reservations for the 'poor'Strange but true, while the entire world fights against overwhelming odds to come forward, we Indians take pride in classifying ourselves backward in a bid to get freebies to come forward.
Solution: Make 99% reservation, so that 99% of the population is covered by reservation for jobs, promotions and even seats in the Parliament. Leave the 1% for the moneyed class and those with political clout. Merit can go down the drain. We are marching forward and hope to catch up with West soon, say in another 150 years.
Problem 2:
Cricket IndiaOur cricketing heroes have just proved to be zeros in South Africa. With 4-0 drubbing in the five one-day series, the Men in Blue have been beaten black & blue. There appears to be no hope or scope of improvement.
Solution: Lets appeal to the International Cricket Council (ICC) and get ourselves tagged as "underprivileged team" and, thereby, enjoy special status. Appeal to the ICC to have 17 players to play in the place of 11 and ask for 60 overs for our side while others play 50. But does this still guarantee us a win in the future, perhaps not, but good excuse to lose the next time!
Problem 3:
Frequent vandalism of statuesHmm this is quite a problem. With Indian landscape dotted with high-rise buildings and statues of leaders, freedom fighters, goons and hoodlums of different social standings, guarding them against vandalism and bird goo has becomes a tough task. When vandals strike, the entire country erupts into well orchestrated riots that lead to burning of buses and trains.
Solution: Make a theme park where you park all these statues in one big place. So vandals belonging to each group can break statues of dead leaders of different parties and hence give the rioting mob enough space to indulge in violence. Incidentally, such statues would also benefit trans-migratory birds that would get their fair share of rest rooms during their flight.
Problem 4: Converting farmland into factoriesThis defies a solution. Having steamrolled their political campaign during elections the political party has given nothing in return. This surely is being ungrateful to their moneyed mentor. So the party in power plans to sell farmlands to the industrial powerhouse. Good for investments, bad for farmers.
Solution: If providing suitable land is problem, why not give all the lands acquired by politicians through illegal funds and through benami means. Going by the quantum of lands acquired by our political masters in the recent years, industrial powerhouses will never face shortage of land and will never be shooed away by farmers or opposition political parties.
Problem 5: Criminal administered justiceWe have had too many TV channels busting the reputation of some of our esteemed Members of Parliament, especially when they were in the process of accepting bribes or while they were indulging in moral debauchery. If that's not new, we have had candidates accused of grave crimes now wanting to rule the country. But then there appears to be a few laws preventing them from doing so. Why prevent such down-to-earth aspirations of "honest and hard-working citizens"?
Solution: Well our political class is so full of criminals and the morally corrupt that just one kind of politicians isn't going to make any difference in the great political circus. Remove all laws that hinder MPs from murdering each another. Make it mandatory for candidates to have murder charges against them as pre-requisite to stand for elections, perhaps, this will "don'...err dawn a new era for Indian democracy.
Problem 6: Ganguly-Chappell rowToo much has been said about the two; too much has been talked about the two. This issue has caught the imagination of the country and even the Parliament so much so that they kept aside vital matters to discuss Ganguly's inclusion/exclusion in the team. We need to put an end to this once and for all and stop wasting every body's time and money, including the TV news channels that have been giving a "blow-by-blow" account of the entire proceedings.
Solution: Arrange a mother of all fights: a duel to the death between the duo. A duel that will involve use of bats on the opponent. That would be better than the net practice session for dada. Let the match be telecast live, which am sure a few sports channels will be glad to do so. A few sponsors thrown in, and we have an interesting match better than those organised by the WWF. Anyway the one who is knocked out will be out of the team - either Ganguly or Chappell - one problem less for India.
Problem 1:
Reservations for the 'poor'Strange but true, while the entire world fights against overwhelming odds to come forward, we Indians take pride in classifying ourselves backward in a bid to get freebies to come forward.
Solution: Make 99% reservation, so that 99% of the population is covered by reservation for jobs, promotions and even seats in the Parliament. Leave the 1% for the moneyed class and those with political clout. Merit can go down the drain. We are marching forward and hope to catch up with West soon, say in another 150 years.
Problem 2:
Cricket IndiaOur cricketing heroes have just proved to be zeros in South Africa. With 4-0 drubbing in the five one-day series, the Men in Blue have been beaten black & blue. There appears to be no hope or scope of improvement.
Solution: Lets appeal to the International Cricket Council (ICC) and get ourselves tagged as "underprivileged team" and, thereby, enjoy special status. Appeal to the ICC to have 17 players to play in the place of 11 and ask for 60 overs for our side while others play 50. But does this still guarantee us a win in the future, perhaps not, but good excuse to lose the next time!
Problem 3:
Frequent vandalism of statuesHmm this is quite a problem. With Indian landscape dotted with high-rise buildings and statues of leaders, freedom fighters, goons and hoodlums of different social standings, guarding them against vandalism and bird goo has becomes a tough task. When vandals strike, the entire country erupts into well orchestrated riots that lead to burning of buses and trains.
Solution: Make a theme park where you park all these statues in one big place. So vandals belonging to each group can break statues of dead leaders of different parties and hence give the rioting mob enough space to indulge in violence. Incidentally, such statues would also benefit trans-migratory birds that would get their fair share of rest rooms during their flight.
Problem 4: Converting farmland into factoriesThis defies a solution. Having steamrolled their political campaign during elections the political party has given nothing in return. This surely is being ungrateful to their moneyed mentor. So the party in power plans to sell farmlands to the industrial powerhouse. Good for investments, bad for farmers.
Solution: If providing suitable land is problem, why not give all the lands acquired by politicians through illegal funds and through benami means. Going by the quantum of lands acquired by our political masters in the recent years, industrial powerhouses will never face shortage of land and will never be shooed away by farmers or opposition political parties.
Problem 5: Criminal administered justiceWe have had too many TV channels busting the reputation of some of our esteemed Members of Parliament, especially when they were in the process of accepting bribes or while they were indulging in moral debauchery. If that's not new, we have had candidates accused of grave crimes now wanting to rule the country. But then there appears to be a few laws preventing them from doing so. Why prevent such down-to-earth aspirations of "honest and hard-working citizens"?
Solution: Well our political class is so full of criminals and the morally corrupt that just one kind of politicians isn't going to make any difference in the great political circus. Remove all laws that hinder MPs from murdering each another. Make it mandatory for candidates to have murder charges against them as pre-requisite to stand for elections, perhaps, this will "don'...err dawn a new era for Indian democracy.
Problem 6: Ganguly-Chappell rowToo much has been said about the two; too much has been talked about the two. This issue has caught the imagination of the country and even the Parliament so much so that they kept aside vital matters to discuss Ganguly's inclusion/exclusion in the team. We need to put an end to this once and for all and stop wasting every body's time and money, including the TV news channels that have been giving a "blow-by-blow" account of the entire proceedings.
Solution: Arrange a mother of all fights: a duel to the death between the duo. A duel that will involve use of bats on the opponent. That would be better than the net practice session for dada. Let the match be telecast live, which am sure a few sports channels will be glad to do so. A few sponsors thrown in, and we have an interesting match better than those organised by the WWF. Anyway the one who is knocked out will be out of the team - either Ganguly or Chappell - one problem less for India.
Hubli, Here I Come
I live in Chennai, a city where smoke-spewing government buses and autorickshaws are more efficient as fumigating machines than the contraptions used by Chennai Corporation during their annual exercise to drive away mosquitoes during the dengue/malaria seasons.
I also drive on the roads of this great city; roads that appear to have been inspired by the landscape on the moon. I curse too, just like my fellow city dwellers, of the inefficiency of the city administration; of the inability of the garbage collector to clear the dustbins on time; of the inability of the traffic cops to regulate traffic; of the bad condition of metropolitan buses and of the lack of basic infrastructure in the city.
But there are places worse off than where we stay. This is just my experience, the good and bad:
Eyes wide shut
Having left Chennai the previous afternoon at 1:30 p.m. it was quite a long journey and I felt tired despite having gone to sleep early that night.
But it was not an uninterrupted sleep as I had wished. Twice a truant cockroach woke me up by playing hide-and-seek with me by crawling between my bedsheets. Once raindrops dripped onto my head through the closed window and the other time then a kind gentleman sleeping on the upper berth dropped the contents of his pocket right on my head and woke me up in the middle of the night to help him find it.
My fiancée and her dad came to meet me at the station at 6:30 a.m. I was quite groggy when I reached the Hubli station and had to sleepwalk till I reached the auto stand. A long queue of autorickshaws stood outside the station - old ramshackle Lambrettas - that had gone out of service in Chennai long ago.
I proceeded to sit, but my fiancée motioned me not to, for then I realised the bargaining and had not yet begun. The auto driver demanded a hefty Rs 60 for a mere 5 kms, which I thought was too steep even by (CAFS) Chennai Auto Fleecing Standards. Anyway, we got into the auto after bringing down the price to Rs 45.
Ride of a lifetime
Day 1: I have always been uncomfortable sitting in autos that had bucket-type seats. For they make me feel like sitting on a closet. Nevertheless, that was only the least of the problem that lay ahead. We hit the road at 30 kms per hour. Mangal made me sit between her and her dad. They had a good reason to do that. As we approached the road along the Hubli Airport, they clung on to the autorickshaw harder than before. Being the uninitiated one, I did not attach any significance to the change in their posture as I sat dozing with the suitcase on my lap.
Within a few minutes I began to feel the auto wallop like a horse let loose from its stable. I was rudely woken up from my semi-slumber. It was akin to being tossed inside a spin-drive of a washing machine, minus the water to cushion your fall. My stomach churned, twisted and turned as we happily bounced down the "pit-holed" roads of Hubli.
As the journey progressed, so did my agony, since the roads appeared to be getting steadily worse to a point where I had seemingly managed to defy Newton's Law of Gravity by being perpetually in a state of suspended animation.
There appeared to be a strange pattern to the law of perpetual motion which I appeared to be experiencing during this apparently perpetual ride in the rickety auto: At slower speeds we bounced up and down but at higher speeds we oscillated left-to-right, which made me wonder if all three of us would ever reach our destination without facing the prospect of finding ourselves thrown on the road and the poor driver realising that his passenger had "left" him long ago only when he turned around to get his fare.
Truant traffic cops
Day 2: We got into the bus to travel to Dharwad, a 20-km ride to my granddad's place. We passed some breath-taking scenery of lush green paddy fields and mountains but I regretted not having taken my camera along to capture these awesome sights. But my thoughts were disturbed as we passed in front of the Hubli court. We waited for 25 minutes as the deputy chief minister made a surprise visit to the festivities marking the Karnataka Day.
The cops couldn't’t handle the traffic or the half a dozen cars accompanying the VIP's motorcade so they did something easier - they just towed away all the parked cars on that road and made way for the VIP and his henchmen to park their cars. This led to altercation between the traffic cops and the owners of cars that had been towed away. This in turn led to a traffic jam, which I am all too familiar in Chennai. That delayed our progress by 45 minutes, while my granddad waited for us at his place fuming at our delay and the delay we caused to have our lunch.
IT is a boom
Day 2: The brainchild of a previous chief minister, this IT park is housed in a lovely building that looks more like a shopping mall from the outside than an intended office space for major IT firms. Some folks, I am told, bought plots and houses around this building, hoping that the land prices would shoot once the IT boom hit Hubli. That was five years ago and they are still waiting for the boom to happen. Good luck, folks!
Story time
Day 2: Having visited my grand dad's place after nearly 15 years, it was time to recount old memories and the days of yore: The games I played with my cousin brother and how my elder brother at the age of three walked out of the gate and got lost with only my grand mother's photo around his neck to identify him. It was story time, I an adult but eager as a child, to know what my grand dad did as sub-inspector in the Customs Department prior to the independence of Goa from the Portuguese. The number of times he traversed through thickly-wooded forests on the trail of Portuguese smugglers and how he busted smugglers and their hideouts. It was like going back in time, when your parents used to tell you stories while you lapped up every word before your bedtime.
Mangal gets a fright
Day 3: The last day we went on a walk a few kilometers together early in the morning to lush green fields where a little pond appeared to have attracted buffaloes and several birds that I had never seen prior in my life. I could identify only the woodpecker but others appeared to be too exotic for me to identify.
Mangal talked about how we ought to get a house near a green field and amid pastoral surroundings. A house that should overlook a mountain, where the radiance of the sun should reflect from the water of a nearby pond and where the sound of chortling birds and the fragrance of flowers of homegrown garden should wake us up every morning.
As she kept speaking my attention drifted, as usual, and my eyes fell on a yellow band that lay near the slushy lake bed a few feet away from us. I realised that it was a snake that had been disturbed by our talk and our movement. He quickly slithered into the thicket. But not before I had pointed out to Mangal, who in reply, shrieked and pulled me away. We left in a hurry, but I thoroughly enjoyed the experience, notwithstanding, the snake or Mangal’s avowal of never venturing into a field again.
I also drive on the roads of this great city; roads that appear to have been inspired by the landscape on the moon. I curse too, just like my fellow city dwellers, of the inefficiency of the city administration; of the inability of the garbage collector to clear the dustbins on time; of the inability of the traffic cops to regulate traffic; of the bad condition of metropolitan buses and of the lack of basic infrastructure in the city.
But there are places worse off than where we stay. This is just my experience, the good and bad:
Eyes wide shut
Having left Chennai the previous afternoon at 1:30 p.m. it was quite a long journey and I felt tired despite having gone to sleep early that night.
But it was not an uninterrupted sleep as I had wished. Twice a truant cockroach woke me up by playing hide-and-seek with me by crawling between my bedsheets. Once raindrops dripped onto my head through the closed window and the other time then a kind gentleman sleeping on the upper berth dropped the contents of his pocket right on my head and woke me up in the middle of the night to help him find it.
My fiancée and her dad came to meet me at the station at 6:30 a.m. I was quite groggy when I reached the Hubli station and had to sleepwalk till I reached the auto stand. A long queue of autorickshaws stood outside the station - old ramshackle Lambrettas - that had gone out of service in Chennai long ago.
I proceeded to sit, but my fiancée motioned me not to, for then I realised the bargaining and had not yet begun. The auto driver demanded a hefty Rs 60 for a mere 5 kms, which I thought was too steep even by (CAFS) Chennai Auto Fleecing Standards. Anyway, we got into the auto after bringing down the price to Rs 45.
Ride of a lifetime
Day 1: I have always been uncomfortable sitting in autos that had bucket-type seats. For they make me feel like sitting on a closet. Nevertheless, that was only the least of the problem that lay ahead. We hit the road at 30 kms per hour. Mangal made me sit between her and her dad. They had a good reason to do that. As we approached the road along the Hubli Airport, they clung on to the autorickshaw harder than before. Being the uninitiated one, I did not attach any significance to the change in their posture as I sat dozing with the suitcase on my lap.
Within a few minutes I began to feel the auto wallop like a horse let loose from its stable. I was rudely woken up from my semi-slumber. It was akin to being tossed inside a spin-drive of a washing machine, minus the water to cushion your fall. My stomach churned, twisted and turned as we happily bounced down the "pit-holed" roads of Hubli.
As the journey progressed, so did my agony, since the roads appeared to be getting steadily worse to a point where I had seemingly managed to defy Newton's Law of Gravity by being perpetually in a state of suspended animation.
There appeared to be a strange pattern to the law of perpetual motion which I appeared to be experiencing during this apparently perpetual ride in the rickety auto: At slower speeds we bounced up and down but at higher speeds we oscillated left-to-right, which made me wonder if all three of us would ever reach our destination without facing the prospect of finding ourselves thrown on the road and the poor driver realising that his passenger had "left" him long ago only when he turned around to get his fare.
Truant traffic cops
Day 2: We got into the bus to travel to Dharwad, a 20-km ride to my granddad's place. We passed some breath-taking scenery of lush green paddy fields and mountains but I regretted not having taken my camera along to capture these awesome sights. But my thoughts were disturbed as we passed in front of the Hubli court. We waited for 25 minutes as the deputy chief minister made a surprise visit to the festivities marking the Karnataka Day.
The cops couldn't’t handle the traffic or the half a dozen cars accompanying the VIP's motorcade so they did something easier - they just towed away all the parked cars on that road and made way for the VIP and his henchmen to park their cars. This led to altercation between the traffic cops and the owners of cars that had been towed away. This in turn led to a traffic jam, which I am all too familiar in Chennai. That delayed our progress by 45 minutes, while my granddad waited for us at his place fuming at our delay and the delay we caused to have our lunch.
IT is a boom
Day 2: The brainchild of a previous chief minister, this IT park is housed in a lovely building that looks more like a shopping mall from the outside than an intended office space for major IT firms. Some folks, I am told, bought plots and houses around this building, hoping that the land prices would shoot once the IT boom hit Hubli. That was five years ago and they are still waiting for the boom to happen. Good luck, folks!
Story time
Day 2: Having visited my grand dad's place after nearly 15 years, it was time to recount old memories and the days of yore: The games I played with my cousin brother and how my elder brother at the age of three walked out of the gate and got lost with only my grand mother's photo around his neck to identify him. It was story time, I an adult but eager as a child, to know what my grand dad did as sub-inspector in the Customs Department prior to the independence of Goa from the Portuguese. The number of times he traversed through thickly-wooded forests on the trail of Portuguese smugglers and how he busted smugglers and their hideouts. It was like going back in time, when your parents used to tell you stories while you lapped up every word before your bedtime.
Mangal gets a fright
Day 3: The last day we went on a walk a few kilometers together early in the morning to lush green fields where a little pond appeared to have attracted buffaloes and several birds that I had never seen prior in my life. I could identify only the woodpecker but others appeared to be too exotic for me to identify.
Mangal talked about how we ought to get a house near a green field and amid pastoral surroundings. A house that should overlook a mountain, where the radiance of the sun should reflect from the water of a nearby pond and where the sound of chortling birds and the fragrance of flowers of homegrown garden should wake us up every morning.
As she kept speaking my attention drifted, as usual, and my eyes fell on a yellow band that lay near the slushy lake bed a few feet away from us. I realised that it was a snake that had been disturbed by our talk and our movement. He quickly slithered into the thicket. But not before I had pointed out to Mangal, who in reply, shrieked and pulled me away. We left in a hurry, but I thoroughly enjoyed the experience, notwithstanding, the snake or Mangal’s avowal of never venturing into a field again.
The Interview
Attending interviews can be fun. Yes, it can, especially if you have no intention of joining the job and your visit is merely to check-out the company, understand what is expected from a prospective employer, and most important of all, to check who makes a bigger fool of themselves: the interviewer or the interviewee.In this case, it was the guy who interviewed me. The position of an editor in a "reputed company" that managed the content of a popular website was referred to me by a friend's friend's friend. With great expectation and excitement, I called up the company representative on his cellphone and fixed an appointment with him for the following day.My first disappointment was when I went to park my two-wheeler outside the nine-storied complex on Anna Salai that housed the office. The drainage pipes had huge craters on them, through which copious amount of water was being generously showered on two-wheelers (and their owners) that were parked below. The stink from the water was so strong, i almost felt faint by the time i ducked the artificial waterfall and managed to park my bike.I reached the second floor but was astounded that there was an office of a nationalized bank but no indication of the company that supposedly existed there. The guard of the nationalized bank lay in slumber even as flies made a unholy halo over his head. As I was about to call it quits, my eyes fell on a small dingy room filled with people who were typing away to glory on their outdated computers. A small printout of the company's logo and name stuck on the beetle nut-stained walls of the building announced that i had finally reached my destination.I fled from the scene, but was later reassured by my friends that I needed to attend the interview to decide the worth of the company rather than merely going by the outward appearance of the "office". Having regained considerable amount of composure and courage, I called up the guy and set up a date for an interview the next day.I went early and sat on a wooden bench while the mousy little attender sat on a small stool like a cat waiting to pounce on a mouse. I waited for 15 minutes but wasted little time in examining my prospective workplace.The place reminded me of a godown that had been converted into an office. A bunch of wires hung from the ceiling like trapeze ropes in a circus. The walls had been painted an ugly combination of pink and green. Worse still, were the ancient A/C units that appeared to be magically held back in place by plywood boards and wooden pegs and which threatened to fall on the people below by a mere touch of its switches.Finally our man arrived with laptop that appeared to be manufactured a few decades ago. I sat facing him as I told him about my present job profile and what my work responsibilities entailed, even as he pretended to work on his comp. My second mistake was when I asked him what was expected of me in the firm. Here's more or less how the conversation went about the job profile and my expected duties at the "office": "You know our website no, you need no to upload news all the hour no. You know, relevant news no, should go up no. As for what you need no for you to know, you should know MS Word and usage of the Template no. You will work in shifts no you know, because no we are dynamic site you no".That was it! I didn't know whether to say no or simply that i know i was in the wrong place. I thanked him for spending his valuable time in interviewing me. He promised to get back to me after consulting his head office in Bangalore. As I left the building I had made up my mind: this job vacancy was a definite no-no for me.
Pre-marital Shivers
It will be exactly a month from this date that i will be getting married in Hubli, Karnataka. Preparations are in full swing, invitation cards being sent to different corners of the country. Well its time for celebration, many might say. But its also time for self-introspection: Is my job secure? Is my savings enough? What does the future hold for me? These questions are some of the many that have been clogging my mind for quite sometime now. As a simple ceremony seals a new relationship between two individuals, two new lives will begin a journey in uncharted territory called destiny. I guess only time will tell, and in the meantime all I can do now is hope for the best.
These Silly Indian 'Soaps'
As a kid, I still remember, how i used to plead with my parents to permit me to watch TV 'serials' amidst a hectic schedule before the exams. Yes, 'serials' as they were called then, were endearing, something you looked forward to watch after a hectic day at school/college. A wholesome entertainment for the entire family - grandparents, parents and kids included. I can still remember sprightly little 'Swamy' from R.K. Narayanan's 'Malugdi Days', the carrot-munching detective in 'Karamchand', or the upright judge in 'Barrister Vinod'. Can one forget the eerie, but sometimes realistic tales in 'Ek Kahani'; or the brilliant portrayal of a family caught in the tumulus times of the partition in 'Tamas' ; the emotional strife suffered by a family in 'Bunniyad' and the real-life characters living on a street in 'Nukkad'?While 'Ye Jo Hai Zindagi' never failed to tickle your funny bone, 'Rajani' raised awareness on consumer rights by weaving brilliant stories around the lead character, Rajani, and her problems with the Indian system. The young woman who overcomes male discrimination to become a police officer in 'Uddan' was probably one of the first serials to create awareness on women empowerment through television.Contrast this with the sample 'Soaps' that are beamed in our living rooms: Kahani Ghar Ghar Ki, Kyu Ki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi (Hindi); Metti Olli, Kollangal (Tamil); Adhuri Ek Kahani (Marathi)The common thread among most of today's 'soaps' are the tiffs between bad mom-in-laws, daughters-in-law and equally evil sisters-in-law who spend most of their time planning each others downfall, often going to the ridiculous extent of using 'black magic' spells and even hiring killers to finish the job.The other common alternative to the 'script' has been to introduce the "other" woman/man in the lead character's life. With serials being extended or prematurely concluded as per TRP ratings, the storyline and characterisation has all gone awry. The results have been quite hilarious: People wake up from coma, amnesia and sometimes even wake from the dead. Characters appear as twins with no prior rationale explanation of their existence; ex-lovers appear after years to blackmail the lead characters; illegitimate kids pop up from nowhere, demanding a share of the ancestral property. It is little wonder that characterisation often appears hollow; the script is horrendous, while the storyline never seems to have an end. To make matters worse, TV stars either call it quits or commit suicide when the serial still tops TRP charts. These stars are promptly replaced with new faces who continue spouting the same silly dialogues of their predecessor. So have we seen the end of the golden era of Indian TV serials?
Ambition: Where Does it Stop?
To follow desire is to wander from death to death. But not having ambition is akin to not being alive at all. Isn't ambition one of the most important factors that have made individuals as great as we know them today?Had it not been for ambition and hard work, would Napoleon ever have been considered as an emperor in history? As a matter of fact would India have had industry giants like Tatas or Birlas? But how many of us have ever asked these pertinent questions before starting on the quest to achieve our goal? Are you willing to wreck a friend's career to rise up the office hierarchy? Would you tell your boss what your friend confided in you about his manner of functioning? Would you break friendships, chalk out cunning strategies to achieve upward mobility? Would you steal someone's ideas and present them as your own to your boss to score a few brownie points? Are you willing to ignore your former friends just to rub shoulders with people who matter the most at your workplace? How much are you willing to please your boss just to sit on that exalted chair or to get a phenomenal pay rise, the next month?Do we ever think of all these questions before indulging ourselves at other people's expense? For people who believe that means always justify the end, it is always lonely on the top.
Humko Deewana Kar Gaye (Drove Me Mad!!) - A review
The translated version of the title would best describes your mood after watching this C grade trash from director, Raj Kanwar. At the end of the movie, I was left wondering how so many (like me and two of my friends) decided to get fooled into wasting Rs. 90 and also a good part of the Sunday evening by merely going through publicity material in the medias. The plot is something we have probably watched a zillion times in Hindi, Marathi, Kannada, Malayalam and Tamil movies. A boy-meets-girl after bumping into each other at frequent intervals. (By this time we had in fact begun to yawn!!)Akshay is engaged to Bipasha Basu, who unfortunately is reduced to making guest appearance throughout the movie - the beginning, the middle and just before The End. Bips is a high-flying fashion designer, who is interested in her career more than her would-be, Aks. Tired of waiting, he flies to Canada, where he meets his ultimate dream babe. Enter Katrina Kaif, a cute-looking lamb waiting to to-be-married (halalled) to a rich and crazy industrialist, played by the vintage-looking Anil Kapoor. Kat dislikes Anil, who incidentally looks like he's just walked out of a horror movie set without removing his makeup. Poor Kat tries to make amends to her lack of acting abilities by displaying more skin than necessary. As the movie progresses (at snail's pace), Kat's hemline too progressively rises, while the neckline progressively plunges. (Incidentally, that's when the menfolk, including me, actually began to take "notice" of Kat). The movie is interspersed with the now ridiculous song-and-dance routines on snow-peaked mountains. Both Kat and Aks frequent tumble into irritating dream sequences that never seem to end. To make matters worse, there is Aks' sister, played by Bhagyashree. This sister loves to frequently utter a one-liner: "Very funny", which after a certain point time, fails to tickle the funny bone of the audience. Sufficient attention could have been given to Bhagyashree's clothes Her dress appears a bit too small for her size while the inspiration for her dress design pattern seems to have come from curtain makers.Anyway, the cinematography is insipid; the dialogs horrendous. In fact, the emotional scenes are the worst, since they tend to evoke laughter and tears of joy.Vivek Shauq as Ak's Pakistani friend, who has a problem keeping his drink, mouth and mojo in check, fails to lift the film or the sagging shoulders of the by-now drowsy audience.As the film finally progresses towards the end, Anil realises what "true love" is all about only after marrying her. He forgives Kat and Aks. The "highlight of the movie" comes at this point of time, when Anil Kapoor snatches his wife's mangalsutra and flings it away, saying that she is free to horse around with Aks. Bips too realises that Aks is no longer in love with her. (What a great coincidence that Bips turns out to be Anil's designer for his wedding clothes!!) The credit line appears after Bips spews profound words of wisdom about Aks and Kat: "They were not made for each other, they were mad for each other". Then comes the best part of the movie - THE END.BOTTOM LINE:Katrina's plunging neckline and rising hemline is not enough to keep the audience awake.STATUTORY WARNING: Proceed to watch the movie at your own peril.
15 Faltoo Fundas for Hindi Film Buffs
Ever felt sorry for having arrived late at a theater and missed the first 10 or 15 minutes of a Hindi film? Fear not, for probably you haven't missed anything at all, except for the song-and-dance routine that accompanies the introductory credit line. Over the years, Bollywood's dream factory has been churning such "excellent" quality of Hindi films, that we have been hooked to them since the time of our great-great grandfathers. Such "variety" in story lines, script, dialogs, scenes and dances have won global appreciation. And for those fascinated by tinsel town's histrionic ability and for those seeking to know more about Hindi films, here's a quick guide to the rules that go into the making of such time-tested formula-based Hindi movies for the masses:1. Scene I: The coughing father or the widowed mother sleeping on a charpoy in the corner of a dilapidated house of the hero or heroine, should necessarily kick the bucket by the end of scene 2.2. Widowed moms always wear white, sing in praise of the lord and are always born blind or partially blind.3. Scene 2: Grown up sisters of the hero always get raped by the end of scene 2, leading to their suicide (preferably by hanging from Sarees), wherein the hero gets a solid reason to beat the crap out of the villain and his henchmen.4. Hero always uses expletives like Kutta, Kamina, Harram... to describe his arch enemy.5. Hero gets beaten on the head, loses memory, but always regains it after being struck at the same spot twice!! (medical miracles never cease to happen in Hindi movies) 6. Scene 3: Meets heroine, romances around trees, sings duets preferably in the Swiss countryside or the Alps. 7. Scene 4: Hero finds baddy to be either the heroine's brother or daddy. Baddy daddy too finds his daughter's romantic interludes irritating, sends henchmen to finish off the hero.8. Henchmen cant shoot straight, can't knife a person in the heart and have never learnt the art of fighting. 9. Scene 5: Baddy daddy or brother finds other ways to harass hero, kidnaps brother's or sister's or probably neighbour's child, who is not surprisingly called Rahul/Rohan/Pinky/Rinky (or Winky).10. Scene 6: Frantic search begins; hero and heroine stop duets. Cops are called but they never figure out anything anyway. The man-servant, who is not surprisingly called Ramdin or Ramu Kakka, too is initially suspected. But he's such a sweetheart, he cries every time he sees Rahul/Rohan/Rinky/Pinky/Winky's black-and-white photo.11. Scene 7: Villain makes extortion call, demands either money or that hero come alone (for a judo match) for final settlement. Hero never calls police, goes alone.12. Scene 8: Kills half-a-dozen goons single-handedly and sustains severe injuries like a minuscule cut on the forehead that oozes with tomato ketchup.13: Scene 9: Saves dangling heroine, who incidentally gets kidnapped in between a few scenes. Rahul/Rohan/Pinky/Rinky or whatever is freed after hero kicks the hell out of the villain. 14. Scene 10: Police finally arrive in large numbers, take the villain and his cronies to jail. Option A: Baddy Daddy changes his mind and accepts daughter's matrimonial choice after a five-minute lecture. Option B: Daddy too Baddy, hence, attempts to snatch pistol and shoot, but fails, as hero snatches weapon from nowhere and empties half-a-dozen rounds into the villain.The couple walk into the sunset. 15. Addendum: If the movie is an emotional-unrequitted love-tragedy tale and without a villain in sight, hero dies due to natural causes, namely blood cancer or brain tumor that often leads to frequent aches in the head or heart or stomach, resulting in the spewing of equally painful 10-minute monologue before his death in the last scene.IMPORTANT NOTE: Doctors are never present until patient dies and come in only to say: "Sorry" and shake their heads sympathetically.Three cheers to Bollywood!!!
Bachelorhood Interrupted!!
It was a month of madding deadlines and nerve-numbing work that never seemed to cease. Working on a three or four-month project seemed like those gross daughter-in-law Vs mother-in-law mega serials (we love to watch on the idiot-box), which have irrational twists in plots and which threaten to continue for the next 20 years without an end in sight. Having put my head, heart, soul, time and everything else possible for the project, i finally found some time to pursue certain "extra-curricular activities" like purchasing a new two-wheeler and choosing a wife.Yes folks, finally i got hitched. The engagement ceremony took place at my place in Chennai on April 13 amidst lot of rituals and relatives. However, workload had not reduced and i did my bit for the day even though i had taken a compensatory-off for my engagement. My day began early with work at 6 a.m. from home. This was stuff i had not submitted the previous day. However, I finished work around 10 a.m. and sent them across. The next phase of work was at home; my early part of the afternoon was spent cleaning up the house and making it presentable for guests that were to assemble soon. Towards 2.30 p.m. I was reminded by my folks to get dressed for my D-Day.My lady came in a Saree, while i was dressed in a green Sherwani. The best compliment i could get for the day, i guess, was from an elderly family friend, who said "i looked decent" in my new clothes. Nevertheless, guests began streaming in at around 4 p.m. By 4.30 p.m. it was house-full. And by 5 p.m. the priest had begun the rituals. Having never been engaged before, except with work, I watched the proceedings with great interest. But the mid-summer heat and the undue attention from kids among the crowd, was quite disconcerting, often reminding me of the monkeys that i used to tease as a child, during my routine visits to the Vandalur Zoo. Food arrived at 5 p.m., sharp. But I couldn't lay my hands on them till 6 p.m. After the exchange of garlands, the crowd blessed us. Then, it was time to take the customary blessings from all the elders who had the assembled in my house. My would-be and I had planned to take-off to the beach by 6.30 p.m. However, some elderly folks seemed reluctant to budge from our place till 8.30 p.m., leaving us with little choice but to indulge in friendly banter with them about inconsequential issues that had no bearing on us, the community, the country or the world at large. Tired of waiting, we gave a broad hint and finally left for the beach and were back at 10.00 p.m. By then i was too tired and I hit the sack at 10.30 p.m. And that's what I term "quite an eventful day".
Politics: The Ten Little Indians
Indians, will agree, in varying degree, that politics is quite an interesting field. The only field that requires that the applicant have no qualification or experience to be elected to a post, though decisions made as elected policy makers may tend to affect the lives of millions; an enterprise that requires very little capital but pays rich dividends for those making it big. Here are ten “endearing” individuals, who have left an indelible mark in our psyche with their “selfless deeds” and “public services” in their attempt to make it big in the “great Indian political circus”. First on my list of favorites is this maverick one-of-a-kind politician, who rose from being a milkman to a Chief Minister (and then a Central Minister). This man finds bovine companionship more comforting than human company. Having milked his cows for the first 30 years of his life, he is said to have continued the practice long after his ascend in the political scene. He is accused of milking the exchequer and amassing over Rs 900 corers.Second on the list is the fire-band leader from the East, who walked out of the grand old party to form a new party. Having hated the Communists, who have been ruling her State with a vice-like grip, she hoped her exit from the grand old party would pave the way in her becoming the Chief Minster of that State. After having walked in and out of several alliances, faster than crossing a busy national highway, she now finds no takers for a grand alliance to form a “Third Front”. Third on my list, is a woman from the North, who shares similar character traits with the one mentioned above but hails from a different ideological stable. Prone to quick temper but neither gifted with tact or reason, the lady’s over-vaulting ambition resulted in frequent clash with top leaders of her party. She was eventually shown the door from the party that nurtured her. Her much-vaunted rath yatra (awareness drive), before the State polls, was supposed to stir a sympathy wave and sweep her to power. Instead it just swept her into political wilderness.Fourth on my list, is this “honourable” Member of Parliament who is well-known in the country for his 12 "dishonourable" deeds that include murder, extortion, smuggling, only to name a few. A man who changes parties faster than one gets to changes his dress, this “respected” Member of Parliament is much respected in the political circles for his muscle power and a large well-armed, well-funded private army that could put an Italian Mafioso to shame.Fifth on my list, is a far less harmless variety of a politician, a man who rose from a humble agrarian background to become the Prime Minister, albeit, for a short tenure. This man, whose son later rose in revolt to upset daddy’s political applecart in a South Indian State, was eulogized as having empowered farmers with his electoral victory. He is widely know for his inefficiency and has been widely pictured with eyes wide shut during meetings. Sixth on my list is a person one can term as an “intellectual”. An IIT professor with a PhD from Harvard, he burst into the political scene in mid 90’s, hoping to be a kingmaker. Ten years since, this would-be-kingmaker has been reduced to a one-man party that regularly issues press releases that appear as single columns in the inside pages of a national daily. This aspiring kingmaker has been reduced to a political court jester.Seventh on my list is a politician from the West of India. As communal riots consumed his State, the Chief Minister sat justifying the reason for the riot. Known for his vitriolic speeches against the minority community, this man takes the pride of having safeguarded the self-respect of the majority community by inflaming their religious passion. Touted as the one of the most efficient Chief Ministers, he is also equally blamed for his efficient manner of protecting the perpetrators of the violence that killed thousands.Eight on my list, is a small-time South Indian politician who has made it big by stirring anti-English agitations and striking clever alliances at the Centre. He gets his regular share of kicks and publicity by blackening giant advertising hoardings written in English, while his London-educated doctor-son, serving as a Minister in the Central Government Cabinet, addresses national and local meetings in English and loves to get photographed in Western attire. Ninth on my list is a man who is past his prime and has crossed 80. At a time when most people seek retirement from politics, this man continues to hold steadfast an alliance, containing a cluster of parties that have diverse interests and ideologies. His decision to see his son as future leader of his party has not gone down well with other party workers and his second son. A gifted orator, writer, and novelist, he gets his daily rush of adrenaline by shooting barbs against the Chief Minster of a State. Tenth on my list, is a woman known as much for her vindictive nature as her steely guts. Though a political novice when she entered the political arena in the early 1980’s, she was quick to pick up the art of political one-upmanship. She and her omnipresent friend have been accused of large-scale corruption but court cases and electoral defeats have never rocked her boat. She gets her share of kicks by directing police to pick up political opponents from their homes in the middle of the night.
(mis)adventures Of A Bachelor Boy (In high spirits)
Christmas season can really lift your spirits, especially for happy-go-lucky bachelors like us. We (Manu, Pillai, Sam, Suresh, and I) lived in a cheap, second-grade flat in Coxtown, Banglore. The four of us worked as copy-editors for a national daily, while Pillai was employed in the IT field. We had our share of kicks. For Manu, Pillai, Sam and Suresh, it was drinking, for me it was watching them get drunk.Manu was keen to enjoy every ounce of his bachelor days since his girlfriend had threatened to put an end to it by marrying him soon.Comprehending the inevitability of having to reform his wayward life and eventually giving up his love for spirits in favor of his future wife, Manu moved in with us a month before he was to get married, on a pre-condition that it would be party time every weekend. My pals agreed willingly. So did I, for a different reason. The day before Christmas (it was on a Sunday), we invited the entire editorial staff for a bachelor’s party. We pooled in the money and purchased food, rum, whisky, vodka and red wine.The day began quite early by our standards at around 8 p.m. Friends began streaming in for quick drink. As it was a working day, they took turns to get drunk and stumbled back to office to finish the pages. (Some of the pages had a few typographical errors, the next day.) As the night progressed, the booze flowed and crowd got more raucous. The aggressive ones mellowed down, while the sober types began getting aggressive as the time progressed. However, the weather played spoilt sport as it began to rain heavily. To compound our misery, our area was plunged in darkness, due to unscheduled power cuts. Booze can have strange effects on the human mind. Pillai began his monologue on Kerala’s twisted politics, Sam on Shakespearen plays, while Suresh busied himself with Aristotle’s philosophy. As the three rambled on, Manu a die-hard-canine-hater (especially of the street dogs that seemed to be in abundance in Cox Town), began to get worked up, after hearing the howl of a distressed street dog. We rushed out in pouring rain, only to realise that a street dog had fallen in a narrow pit that had been left open for a borewell. On his insistence, we began the task of retrieving the dog in pouring rain. With torchlight to illuminate our progress, we got to work with a bucket, a rope and few good hands.As fellow journalists came in for a second round, everybody lent a helping hand in attempting to rescue the terrified canine, as Manu stood supervising the operation. Persistent attempts failed as the terrified dog refused to climb into the bucket and bit the rope. Having run out of other viable options to get the dog out, we decided to go in for the easier one - to get Manu drunk until he dropped senseless to the ground. A few more glasses did the trick and Manu was soon fast asleep, while the rest of the crowd continued with their nocturnal activity. By the time the “high-spirited guests” had left, and each of my friends had drunk themselves silly, the clock had struck 3 a.m. But the party was not yet over for others. Hence I retired to bed early, leaving my drunken friends to settle down later that morning. That was to cost me dearly. I woke up around 7 a.m. to realise that the front door was ajar and had not been bolted the entire night. My Bata shoes that I had bought from Chennai last week were missing. I frantically woke up my friends to tell them of the latest development. However, Manu ignored me, Sam laughed it away, Pillai seemed unconcerned, while Suresh gave me a lecture on materialism.But I was not the only one to lose my foot ware. I soon discovered that the nimble-footed thief had also made away with Sam’s Rebook, Pillai’s Woodlands formal shoes and Suresh’s expensive wristwatch from the hall. In contrast, Manu took it as a personal insult that his weather-beaten, two-year-old shoe had been left untouched in favour of our footwear.Our search seemed futile as the thief had also picked up our socks that had been left to dry on the cloth line. The incident left a deep mark in our minds. My friends promised never to drink again, at least, not with the door left open.
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