Random Thoughts Of A Demented Mind

IMPORTANT

2006-02-12T16:01:00.000-05:00

Everyone ! While exporting my blogspot to my new wordpress blog, evidently something went dreadfully wrong with the result that all linebreaks/paragraphs got lost. Not to worry, I will soon be moving to my own domain name where everything will be okay.

Update: My new website is up. Kindly adjust your bookmarks. I shall fix the redirect from this page in a few days. Thank you for your cooperation.

So here it is : http://greatbong.net

Please put further comments on the new site only.

Death By Humor

2006-02-09T10:21:00.000-05:00

"Looking for comedy in the Muslim world" is a movie in which Albert Brooks tries to find out what makes Muslims laugh. It's another thing that the movie's protagonist travels to India and Pakistan in order to find out the answer to his question----reflecting the general cluelessness of Americans in figuring out even the definition of what the "Muslim world" is. I don't know if Mr Brooks found the answer to his question mainly because he was in the wrong place, but for the last few days we have been privy to what does not make Muslims laugh. Caricatures/cartoons of the Prophet to be precise. Of course, we have countless examples of evil long-nosed Jews being used in text books as a focal point of communal hatred across the "real" Muslim world----but that of course is kosher. Or halal. What's important to note is that people have ultimately come around to accepting the fact that the Danes are evil. If you thought that the Danish were peace-loving people famous for pastries and cheese and a dogged football defense---then you are obviously deluded. But it's never too late to identify your enemy---and it is with some amusement that I see the Islamic world go hammer and tongs at Denmark: ransacking their embassies, burning their flags and stomping on them for good measure. They have even cancelled their air tickets to Denmark---which means more of them will migrate to France. Something is truly rotten in the state of Denmark---and methinks it is not just their calorie-laden Danishes. Which brings me to another observation: Where the heck did the people in the Gaza strip suddenly get all those Danish flags from? Do they have a massive stash of Norwegian flags also? And the dudes in Somalia, do they even know where Denmark is? Why I am blogging about this is because it is one of those issues where both sides are right. Let us first look at the Danish newspaper. I mean obviously they are well within their rights to publish essentially racist stereotypes and pass them off as "comic freedom of expression"---it's "all a joke" and we humble Asian servants should wag our tails and laugh. Of course their funny bone goes for a walk sometimes: it seems a few days ago before publishing these cartoons they rejected some rather unflattering caricatures of Jesus Christ because they were afraid they might offend someone. Namely themselves. What these Laudrup-lovers did not factor in was that someone who had bought shares of the company which makes Danish flags and supplies equipment to Danish/European embassies all over the world had made sure that the right people read the cartoons. In other words, radical Muslim clerics who are not blind. All of a sudden the "real" Muslim world, a happy place with suicide bombers, AK47s and a democratically-elected terrorist organization (Hamas), got inflamed. Which was a big surprise to people who were taken aback by the ransacking of embassies, the violence and the scale of hatred unleashed all over----after all they were not like this when Salman Rushdie wrote the "Satanic Verses". Then they had been lively but essentially peaceful. It was only later that they read Ms Rushdie aka Padma Lakshmi's cookbook and demanded that she give them head. Salman Rushdie's head that is. Coming back to the present mess, the American government came out with a statement condemning the insult to Islam. CNN and most news organizations in the US refused to carry the offending pictures because of respect to Islam and not because they were afraid of maraudering Islamic protesters attacking their reporters and infrastructure. I mean if this was pictures of Hindu gods on footwear or panties---then of course they would have carried them. After all that's art. This is death. Incidentally, it's not as if Hindus aren't learning the art of democratic civilized dissent---they did attack M Hussain when he portrayed Saraswati in the nude but right now there aren't just enough madass Hindu zealots to worry the CNNs and the NBCs of the world. Needless to say that might change in the near future. In conclusion, I wonder why the Danish government did this. Of course it was not just the newspaper---it's a national conspiracy, else why would they be burning the Danish flag? Or why would normally-liberal Islamic countries remove their embassies from the said country? Or the Indonesian government declare Danish badminton players as personae-non-grata? Was one moment of racism-induced glee worth the trouble? Did they not know that there are some religions in the world who are not that laid-back? Or is the colonial hubris sometimes difficult to cast away? Of course ,the Iranians known for their accepting culture and their stand-up president (the same guy who sent a get-well-message to Ariel Sharon wishing that he dies soon and believes that the holocaust was a myth) have struck back----with a newspaper publishing caricatures of Hitler in bed with Anne Frank. Well at least it's not violent and in this context of global over-reaction and death, that's kinda okay. I must say that this cross-civilizational death match of comedy is extremely funny. Except for one small problem. Nobody is laughing.

Zinda Buddha Beta (Old Boy Is Alive)

2006-02-05T18:49:00.000-05:00

[Okay here is another bit of fiction from the Greatbong. After all of you (well almost all) panned my last post, this is my revenge---another short story. I shall keep on writing such posts till I get positive comments. This is also my review of the movie "Zinda"] Sanjay Gupta, director of "Kaante", "Zinda" and other Bollywood classics, wakes up one morning. His mind is reeling---last memory he had was a drunk evening with Sanjay Dutt, Mahesh Manjrekar groveling in front of Dubai Bhai on the phone and doing screen tests for some actresses. But where is he now? A small room with one television set, a rack full of DVDs---it is obvious to him he has been kidnapped. But by whom? He had given the overseas rights to Bhai, sought the "blessings" of the Balasaheb--in all discharged all the duties of a Mumbai director/producer. And yet why is he in this solitary room with just a TV set , DVDs and a plate of pao bhaji inserted through a hole in the door? He breaks down. Pleading with his unknown captor to let him go. But noone replies to his anguished cries. He only gets regular meals of the same pau bhaji and nothing else. The TV tells him about the outside world----and then there are the DVDs. Realizing he can do nothing else and besides he always made films based on DVDs, Sanjay Gupta starts watching these movies one by one. Putting the time to good use---he thinks. Aaah what a treasure trove. He starts making copious mental notes of which movies to copy once he gets out, how to "Indianize" it and how to pass off each of them as his creations. But he knows not when he shall get out---if at all. From time to time, a strange tune plays (he notes in his mind to copy that tune once he gets out), his room fills with noxious gas---the kind one smells after one too many bean burritos and he collapses. When he comes to, he finds he has been shaved, bathed and his DVDs replenished with new ones. A year passes. And another. On the TV he sees all the movies he had plans of Indianizing being remade one by one by his one-time friends---Manjrekar, Ramgopal Verma and suchlike. All his babies being taken away from him in front of his own eyes and Sanjay Gupta powerless---confined in this hellhole. He breaks down, tries slashing his wrists with a extras DVD (the 2nd disc noone watches) but his evil captor wont even let him die. And then he decides to strike back. No more wallowing in self pity. He tells himself that he has to keep himself alive in order to seek revenge on the man who has imprisoned him. It is obvious that it is one of his "friends" who have kept him imprisoned so that he can pass of Hollywood/Korean movies as his own and not have to contend with the master of the lift---Sanjay Gupta. Revenge. He starts thinking for the first time in his life---working on a original plot. He makes copious notes, does and redoes the script---after all he has all the time in the world. Because when and if he comes out, he needs something "original" to get into the game---something to challenge his friends who have taken the patent on copying while he rots in this cell. Then it happens. 15 years to the day he was kidnapped he is released. He finds himself on the top of a Mumbai roof, a set of cool shades and a wad of cash in his pocket. And a cell phone. Which rings. A voice says :" You have 5 days to find out who did this to you----that is find out who I am. I can either be a madman or someone who hates you so much that he could do this to you". Sanjay Gupta then embarks on a mission of singular revenge and hate where he goes after his captors. Hammers are wielded, teeth fly, blood splatter, tons of paubhaji are consumed and then in an amazingly original scene where with a director's megaphone stuck up his ass, Sanjay Gupta takes on a roomfull of murderous clapper-boys. And then the climax. He comes face to face with his nemesis. Sanjay Gupta is zapped. No it is not a Bhai. It is not Subhas Ghai. It is not the husband of any starlet who auditioned for an item number for his movies. It is a Chinese-type guy---Sanjay Gupta asks "Kaun bhe tu?" (Who the hell are you?) The evil man smiles---Sanjay you lift my movie in its totality to make "Zinda"---and publicly claim that you only took a scene. And then to top it off, you cannot even recognize me when I am standing in front of you. I am Chan-wook Park, the director of "Oldboy". Sanjay: And for this you ruined 15 years of my life. Ruined so many scripts of mine. Just for this one small thing? And oh for your information, "Zinda" is not a straight lift ---it is an "Indianization" of your movie..... Park: Indianization---now what's that? Is it like taking a while loop and making it into a "repeat-until"? Or taking a variable "i" and renaming it "counter" ? That kind of originality, Mr Sanjay Gupta? Is that what's called Indianization? Sanjay: No no wait. I did make a lot of changes. Like you had the guy kidnapped from a police station after a drunken binge ---waiting to go to his daughter's birthday party. I made him "pretending" to be drunk so that he gets a seat in a posh restaurant where he didnt have reservations. Plus in " Zinda" the wife was pregnant but the hero didnt know it---in "Oldboy" he already has a daughter. Park: Oh wow. So was this change something that was your idea or was it because Celina Jet-Li did not want to play a Mom? Sanjay(smiling sheepishly): Well that's Indianization for you. Park: And you know what, Sanjay. There was a reason why the protagonist is shown drunk and missing his daughter's birthday party---it kind of sets the stage for the end....basically doing something called "character development". Ever heard the term? Sanjay: Mmm no. Property development I know. But character development? Park: Baaah. Sanjay: Okay okay I made a whole lot of changes now that I think of it. Show me where in your movie the girl says "Meri ma bhagwan ke liya paratha paka rahee hain " ( My mother is making parathas for God)----and before you make a wisecrack I dont recall her saying that her mother is making smelly tofu for God either. And the things that Sanjay Dutt sees in his prison cell---99 Kargil etc etc are all original ideas of mine. In your movie the term of imprisonment was for 15 years, in Zinda it was 14 years---like Ramji' s exile. And oh, I showed Lara Dutta in a bra with her shirt ripped off---your movie had a gratuitous breast shot. Okay I accept I could not show that scene without getting in trouble with the Indian censor board---while they are fine with blood flying around, a breast shot is not kosher for the boobs on the committee. Park: Bullshit. Hogwash. All minor cosmetic changes---mostly dictated by circumstances beyond your control. You dont know how anguished I have felt seeing "Zinda" again and again---it has been a violation of my artistic soul. Oooh the blatant copying, the same sets, the same ideas, the same gasmask----uff it just makes me want to take a hammer and pull out your teeth. Sanjay: Forgive me oh Mr Park. It was a small mistake---okay I accept I copied all my movies from one source or the other , however I did some work also. But I went overboard with "Oldboy"--did virtually nothing. I made a mistake. But why make me suffer for 15 years? Why?I have changed---I have made a new script...an original one. Park: Ha ha ha. Look around you. See those TV screens. Do you see what's going on there? Sanjay: Mmm a movie is being shot.....so what? Park: Ha ha again. Do you know what the script for the movie is? It's the same thing you wrote during those 15 years. Your masterpiece. Your brainchild. It is now going to be raped...no make it gangraped in front of your eyes by those hacks you see there on the TV screen----obviously you will not be credited for the script. It will be as if you don't even exist. Well Mr Sanjay, how does it feel to be on the other end? How does it feel to see one's labors being passed off by someone else as theirs without acknowledgement? Are those tears on your face? I love them. Yes 15 years was needed Mr Sanjay to give you time to lovingly create your own intellectual baby, for you to have a bond with your creation. So that when you see its rape you anguish more. And feel my pain. And of countless other directors. Now brace yourself for the final shattering truth. The movie's director is Dev Anand. Obviously he is also the hero. Uday Chopra is the second hero---you last saw him 15 years ago..now he has lost all his hair and has made the full transition to a trans-sexual. The heroine is Payal Rohatgi whose implants, in the 15 years you were gone, have lost some of the saline solution and the technical staff are all from Mithunda's Ootie filmcrew. How does it feel Mr Gupta? Gupta (on his knees crying like a baby): No no no I beg. I plead. Do not do this to me. Give me back my script. It's my life---it's my 15 years. By the way, Dev Anand is still alive? Park (taking a bite out of a bean burrito) : Muaahhhhhhhhh......................Mr Gupta, sorry to say no feel-good ending here. Welcome to the club.

Michelangelo

2006-02-04T01:53:00.000-05:00

[One more losing entry in a creative writing competition. The stipulation here was that the story had to be about 500 words. So without further ado, let me present one more reason why I should stay away from fiction] He walked up the steps. He was happy---another job well done. Within moments, he would be with his ten year old son and his lovely wife. He knew he was not like any other dad or husband. A life of sitting behind a desk was not for him. Ever since he was a kid, he knew his calling ----to be an artist. But not a painter or a musician----those had been done to death.You go to an art gallery. You see a painting. You move on. Listen to a tune. Move it from your mind for another. Too ephemeral. He wanted his art to leave a lasting effect—once you would be touched by his "brush", there would be no going back. And what, he reasoned, could leave more irreversible impact than personally drawing the line between life and death? His art was murder-- and vocation. And today he was coming back from a "hit"---oh how he hated that word. He much preferred the word "execution". A "hit" implied a hodge-podge job whose success depended on fortune—hit or miss. However when he did his job, there was nothing left to chance. Every execution was meticulously planned, all emergencies accounted for. Even the person executed suffered the minimum pain possible---a clean bullet through his heart. Nothing messy, nothing unaesthetic. It was because of the perfection he brought to his work that he never had a police record. As far as the law was concerned, he just did notexist. But he did. And there is nothing a true artist hates more than anonymity. So he signed each of his masterpieces by leaving a picture of Michelangelo on the dead body----a calling card to tell the world that the master was here. He always carried a Michelangelo picture card in his jacket pocket because Michelangelo was his talisman. He was Michelangelo. He knocked on his door. Today had been his sixth execution. A darkroom, a sleeping mafia boss, one muffled shot and then silent death.The streets however will not be silent. Soon they shall burn as the vendetta wars begin. He would be out of it though, reading his son a bed time story. His only regret was that he could never tell his family what he did for a living. The ones he loved most would never know how great he was. The door opened and his son ran into his arms shouting "Daddy"…………His wife was behind him smiling. " I told him to go to sleep but he is so excited about some prank he has pulled that he insists on telling you about it." Yes he thought. His son is at that age when they begin playing pranks. The age of innocence--------he wondered when that passed him by. Giggling uncontrollably, his son said "Papa papa, today I saw you put a card with the picture of an old man in your pocket. And while you hugged me in the morning, I put my hand inside your pocket and replaced his picture with this picture………ha ha you did not even notice." Clasped in the child's small hands was a signed family group photo that he had printed out as a card to fit into his wallet. He had printed out two of them---one of which was being held by his son. The second family group photo lay drenched in the blood of a 60 year-old mafia don. The master had made a mistake.

Memories of Calcutta Book Fair

2006-02-01T18:27:00.000-05:00

[Since the migration is delayed on account of "technical difficulties" ( Doordarshan terminology), let me continue posting. And do a export at the end] I am neither religious nor a big bibliophile. And yet the things I miss most about Calcutta and my old life , without doubt, are Durga Puja and the Calcutta Book Fair. That is because Durga Puja is not only about religion. Just like the Book Fair isn't merely about books. People. Yes both of them are also about people. And the essence of Calcutta---my favoritest city in the whole wide world. When I close my eyes and think of Book Fair, the sound of shehenai on the public-address system comes warbling back to me---through the many years that have passed. I am flooded by memories---the puddles of water on the Maidan, the discarded bamboo poles lying about, the dust everywhere stirred up by the peripatetic peregrinations of millions, the tattered newspapers flying around in a midafternoon vortex of air, the smell of freshly-printed books, the sense of peaceful hustle-and-bustle all around. All was well with the world. Make no mistake. The Book Fair is about books. Only not just about it. When I was a kid, eons ago Book Fair was The event. It was where I got to spend my birthday money and set sail for imaginary worlds where I would encounter the antics of Satyajit Ray's Feluda and Professor Shanku, the tall tales of Narayan Gangopadhyay's Teni-da, the spooky charm of "World's Best Ghost Stories", the adventures of Tintin and the surreal comedy of Bantul the Great and the naughty Nonte-Phonte. My memories of these early days constitute strikingly fresh images of a small boy going wide-eyed into the huge pavilions holding his father's hand tight lest he get lost in the crowd. And his father reaching up the shelves and then looking down and saying---this book is good for you. Let's buy this. I also remember the feeling of irritation and impotent desperation as this aforementioned father took his sweet time going through heavy books in the boring Oxford book stall while the horrid book agent (who used to sell books at Indian Institute of Management) kept on showing him one new arrival after another. Aghast at the time being wasted on this futile activity, the small boy, with a strand of freshly-eaten pink cotton candy hanging from his nose, kept on pulling at his other hand ---reminding him that the Rupa bookstall was filling up. And the "Limca Book of Records" was flying off the shelves like hot cakes. Samuelson could wait. The man with the longest moustache could not. As I grew older, things became different. Baba would come on his day and me on mine. Of course there was one family day---Baba , Ma and me. But bookhunting became more personal. I never liked coming with friends to the Book Fair---I preferred solitude . It was easier to get lost in the crowd while being alone. Also my friends were too much into question papers, GRE big book, competitive exams and VC++ Unleashed ---which to me was too much work. And quite against the spirit of the whole thing. I had nothing against GRE test papers and did a fair amount of mugging too----but thinking of the corporeal world at the Book fair was to me like entering a temple with shoes on. In short, anathema. Just as much a cosmic disturbance as forsaking the pakoras and coffee at the Coffee House stall for the chicken kababs and roast legs from the Arambagh Hatcheries cubicle. Okay I confess. I ate all of them. Because one should never book-hunt on an empty stomach. Or discriminate between the Coffee House laddoo, the Rollick ice cream, the Fish Fry from Benfish and the Paan from Mantu's. One of the principal attractions of the fair was being able to physically leaf through the books ---an experience we seem to be gradually losing in the world of Amazon and Barnes and Noble. And the books that were ideal for leafing through were those lavishly photographed expensive picture books which you would never see anywhere else----the World War encyclopedias, the National Geographic's anniversary collection, a collection of greatest pictures from Life magazine. And also those pictorial Kamasutra and erotic massage books ----furtively going over a page or two before a disapproving stare from an older person would lead me to quickly reach for the Complete Gardening and Home Improvement book reclining next to it. Every year of course there was one hyped-up, must-do thing at the Book Fair. Once Jacques Derrida was the special guest[sorry my mistake: not Saki as I initially typed] and a lot of people turned up just because he was "heavy"(or because of the reassuring "da" at the end ). Another time, Shobha De came to promote one of her steamy KLPD novels and a minor riot broke out to see her. Another year the hottest selling book and topic of conversation was , hold your breath, Arindam Chaudhuri's Chicken and Egg book. I remember asking the popcorn guy to put more butter on my popcorn while he discussed with his mate this great new "management" guy (yes he used the word) whom he had seen in a book-signing session nearby and how he looked like a mahamanush (great man). And was a Bengali too. The magic of books. And the ponytail to provide an aura of intellectualism. However I was not the one to be taken in by the hype. Okay maybe a few times. But in general, I never found the big stores particularly appealing--most of them were just like the other. And I could go to these places any time of the year. However what was unique to me at the Bookfair was the little stalls. They were the lifeblood of the event--totally bereft of commercialization, selling books noone could possibly sell in an economically viable way. Some were motivated by a belief---the Ananda Margis, some by a cause---punish the Rajakars (the Pakistani collaborators during Bangladesh's war of independence), and some by a dream that had passed them by---old emaciated men peddling thick tomes of Marx and Engels. Then there were the amusing ones---stalls for selling Yoga books by the Ironman of Bengal where one could get weighed for free if one bought one of their books. And finally the foot-soldiers of the fair--those peddling "Little Magazines"---printed versions of what we would nowadays call blogs---poems, small bits of prose, humor, satire, rants--all sold at bargain basement prices. And what's more the authors were themselves selling it, engaging you in a conversation that sometimes intentionally, as part of their salesmanship was escalated to a heated debate and then asking..no compelling.. you to buy the "Little Magazine" for prices that ranged from Rs 2 upwards. Sometimes the magic of the bookfair lay in sitting down on the ground and just observing people. Because those who love books are as fascinating as the books themselves. The young intellectual--bearded, jhola in hand and a faded kurta. The struggling artist---peddling his pictures and small sculptures. The bald-headed, thick-glassed bibliophile wending his way to Subarnarekha--the stall that sold rare, out-of-print books. The family out for an evening of fun with the packet of shrimp bought from the Benfish stall being the principal purchase. A group of college kids talking and laughing. A couple holding hands, lost in themselves. And me sitting, a bag of fast-disappearing pop corn in my hand leafing through the book of life. Free of cost. In conclusion, my abiding memory of Book Fair would be this man we met a long time ago. My father and I were sitting on the grass. Poverty writ large on his face and his faded, threadbare shirt, he came and started reciting a poem. And then asked my father whether he would like to buy a poem for 10 paisa. (His punch line was " a poem for 10 paisa"). He had in his hand several printed copies of a small leaflet---each of which had 10 poems written by him. And he was selling it for Re 1 a pamphlet. My father asked him what he did for a living. Smiling shyly, the man said that he is a poet. He lives far away in a remote village in North Bengal and all through the year he goes to different fairs all over West Bengal---mostly village melas where he recites and sells his leaflets. He also proudly pointed out that every few months he comes up with new material. When my father asked him where he stayed during the Book Fair, he smiled enigmatically and the poetic, dignified silence left no doubt as to the fact that he possibly slept on a footpath. My father bought one of his leaflets and after he had gone read a few of them. They were of middling quality---a jewel in the dust this man surely was not. But therein lay the beauty of it. The beauty of conviction. The beauty of dreams. The fact that this man believes that one day he will make it as a poet . And what's inspiring is that despite the odds he faces every day, he still manages to radiate enthusiasm for his craft---a luminant joi de vivre that comes from believing in what he does. That sales pitch of "a poem for 10 paisa" accompanied with the boisterous recitation---he must be doing this routine about hundreds of times every day, mostly to people who are irritated by his presence (I saw another group on the grass who basically told him to f*** off) and just want this nuisance to leave them alone. Looking at him going about his work, I realized that not once during his numerous sales pitches does his enthusiasm or self-belief waver, nor does he ever sell his poverty and ask for sympathy---not when insulted, not when rebuffed and not when sleeping on the footpath on a cold Calcutta night. That , my friend, is the mark of a true artist. And the Book Fair is where you find him.

Notice

2006-01-30T13:28:00.000-05:00

Dear readers, RTDM is contemplating on moving from blogspot to a hosted site (where I shall be able to use Wordpress in all its glory). I have been meaning to do this for some time now but the horrible effects this will have on people who are linked to my permalinks has made me dither. But alas I am unable to find a way to device a technological solution for this because redirectors work in (as far as I know and I don't know much) the header section and there is no way I will be able to have "permalink-specific" redirections. [Each individual entry goes into the body section and the header section is reused from the front page]. So people who have bookmarked to permalinks will have to reset their links-----everyone will be redirected to the new homepage where there will be a nifty search box that will enable you to go to the post of your choice. But for now don't change any bookmarks. Please. My new blog is still in a 3/4 created state---kind of like Puri's Jagannath. I am still struggling with putting my tracker in the footer and most importantly finding a good, cheap, reliable host (Yes I know I am being unreasonable). One of the main reasons why I was tentative about moving is because in terms of reliability, blogspot rocks. You do lose a post or two if you aren't careful but overall its availability has been beyond reproach. Suggestions are solicited. My new-look blog can be seen as a work in progress at http://www.freepgs.com/greatbong . People who could suggest improvements in the design are welcome to opine. And extend concrete help. And oh reload it a few times to see the changing headers---there are 9 in all. [This is also the reason why updates may be a bit slow]

A letter from Andaman Cellular Jail

2006-01-26T11:56:00.000-05:00

I have never had a guest blogger here at RTDM. But as of today, I am going to make an exception. I present (fanfare)----my mother. A little context: My father, a professor at IIM Calcutta is going to retire in February. So on his last LTC, Baba and Ma went to Andaman Islands---both for some peace and quiet (they deserve it for having brought me up) as well as to visit Andaman Cellular Jail----the place where my grandfather (my father's father) , Jyotirmoy Ray [his picture in the Cellular Jail museum on the left] spent 4 years of his life [his sentence was for 7 years commutted to 4 as part of an amnesty program] as a political prisoner (He was part of the revolutionary movement in Bengal and transported arms to the revolutionaries). He died in 1991. This post is based on a mail my mother wrote to me after coming back from Andamans----I have added some things to it based on phone conversations I had with her since then. In all, it's a joint effort between mother and son---in some places the feelings are Ma's (as conveyed through the telephone) and the words are mine and in some places both of them are Ma's (being part of her original letter). With January 26 here, I thought of sharing it with you. Dear Phuchiburo (that's me) and Mago (my wife), Our first stop of the day was the Cellular Jail. The weather in Calcutta was cold but Andaman was hot although it was also officially winter there. There is a museum inside in the jail where the pictures of freedom fighters who were detained here are kept. We did not know that Dadu's picture features prominently there. So when I saw Dadu's photo on the wall with "Armed Action Case" written on the top of it and his name below, I froze-- literally and emotionally. You don't expect to see your own kin as an exhibit in a museum and that too someone who has been around you physically. All these times we have gone to so many museums and seen so many people's pictures and their personal effects but I never ever felt any sort of emotional twitch anywhere in my otherwise very emotional mind because all of them were just "people"-- mere statistics to me . Yes they were heroes--noble people whom I respect but who are ultimately strangers---the kind that stare back at you from history books and from the walls of museums. You stop, look at them, feel respect and then move on to the next picture. But this was different. The man in the picture was someone I knew--in flesh and blood. I called him Baba, I touched his feet, I loved him and I got mad at him for certain things that he did or didn't do. This was Jyotirmoy Ray, my father-in-law, revolutionary, member of a dangerous anti-British secret society and one of the prisoners of Andaman Cellular Jail. The same man who also lovingly called me khukuma. After my son's marriage, I really came to know what emotional value that simple word "ma" conveys because I call my daughter in law "maago" and nobody knows better than me how much I love her. Same relationship, same love, same hate, same agreements, same disgust, same happy moments. The only difference is that I can't talk to him now but my daughter in law can talk to me and that is a gigantic difference. I realized that tears were now flowing down my cheeks. I felt terribly breathless --- the impact of controlling my emotions in a public place. Now I know what celebrities in the public domain feel like; not that I am a celebrity but my father-in-law is. I shuddered to look at your father because I knew what was going through his mind. If this is how I felt, then God knows how he was coping . After all he is his youngest son and the most favorite and pampered of all the three brothers. I really did not want to look at him but my impulse took over. God, he was a mess. I wanted to hold his hand but could not bring myself to because instead of being a source of strength to him, I myself would break down and make a fool of myself in a public place. Plus he seemed to be lost in a world of his own as he looked at the picture---lost in the memories of his father and his own childhood. So intensely personal to your father was this moment of sadness, remembrance and pride that I did not want to impinge on its tear-soaked purity. So I just pretended to look at other pictures of freedom fighters who are heroes but definitely not my kin ---in order to get a grip on myself and attain the demeanor of an objective museum-visitor. Your father did the same thing for the same reason. We did not look at each other on purpose lest the emotions come flooding back again. Anyway, we took some pictures and moved on to the next section. This is where the exhibits are. I came to learn that the British authorities made Indians torture fellow Indians. According to them if any prisoner needed any punishment, which was pretty often, then they were to be whipped by Indians---the white man did not want to get his hands dirty with the blood and the sweat. The whipping was done while the prisoner was strapped to a frame by hand and feet so that there was no running around or change of position to lighten the torture. Prisoners' non-cooperation or hunger strike or failing to fulfill the work quota called for various degrees of punishment as Britishers consider themselves to be fair minded! The Cellular jail was built by convicts. It had seven wings spread in the form of seven spokes of a wheel, though unequal in length. There were 696 cells specially built for solitary confinement of the prisoners. A three storied central tower was built at the centre of the convergence of the seven wings. A single guard could supervise all the seven wings from this vantage position. Another unique feature was the total absence of communication between the prisoners in the different wings, since the front of one row of cells with verandah running all along, faced the back of the other wing. Each cell measuring 12ft by 7 ft had an iron grill door. A 3 ft by 1 ft ventilation 9 ft above provided some light and air. A verandah about 4 ft ran all along the front of the row of cells from one end to the other end of the wing. Each cell grill was well secured with sturdy iron bolt and lock which ran through a rectangular channel on the outside of the cell wall a few feet away from the entrance door. This way the prisoners could not even touch the lock for tampering. Each wing had a courtyard in front with a workshop where the prisoners toiled during the day. There was only one kitchen for the prisoners of the whole jail. The prisoners ate in their cells. The food was passed through a trap door. There was a pot (similar to the one in which they ate) which was to be used for urine and stool within the cell that were to be cleaned by the prisoners when they were let outside in the morning for toiling. They ate, slept, wept and plotted for the freedom of their land in those dingy dark rooms with the stench of excreta, blood, tears and sweat and the screams of pain emanating through the walls as their only companions. In the jail, work in the oil grinding mill was all the more terrible and caused several deaths. The quantity of work they were made to do was not humanly possible. Thus almost every day was a punishment day. The punishment varied from whipping to hand cuffs for a week to bar fetters to solitary confinement. With hand cuffs the prisoners had to eat and drink like an animals. Bar fetters were long iron rods joined from hand cuffs going down to the ankle cuffs. This way the prisoners could not bend any way. If they decided to lie down, they would have to throw themselves on to the ground and thus get hurt in the process. Some of them were fed boiled wild grass and their drinking water was collected rain water with worms in them. A majority of the prisoners went through these unimaginable indignities and punishments but did not give in. Some committed suicide. Some lost their mind. For some, their body gave way but not their spirit and they went onto a more peaceful place. Going through all these made me feel absolutely drenched out. Honestly I could hardly move. I did not ask your father about how he was feeling because I knew the answer. Just like any Indian, I have read about freedom fighters and the freedom struggle. But I never really realized the actual depth of the zeal that drove them even though I knew that it involved my father in law. The incidents were just dates and events you had to memorize and analyze for examinations though it gave you a warm fuzzy feeling to read about the sacrifices of so many. But somehow such emotions only scratched the surface----it made us feel "patriotic" in the way an Indian victory in a cricket match makes us feel. However this Andaman visit and the associated experience and emotions touched a chord that ran much deeper. Is this the reason why psychologists refer to the experience of going back to your "roots" as so important a part in the process of self-realization? If this is the reason they do, then I fully agree with them. Of course I must also add that had it not been for my own association with a freedom fighter whom I loved, I would surely not have this depth of emotion and understanding in spite of my first hand experience. We went to the ground floor cells. Barring Savarkar's cells, all cells were unmarked because the prisoners were quite often shifted from cell to cell. This means my father in law was anywhere and everywhere over here. By this time my brain cells were asking me to stop due to the physical discomfort from the knee problem. (my mother has a debilitating knee condition which has severely hampered her mobility) But my heart was on autopilot---and somehow in this place the consciousness of your own physical discomfort pales in comparison to the realization of what the people here had to endure for years. I decided to climb up the two floors above. Your father knows my knees' endurance level so he was surprised at my decision. I told him "I want to show my respect to my father in law in my own way". We went two flights up looking at those empty dingy cells as if searching for the man who directly and indirectly gave me all I have. The cells were, in a way, frightening---despite the apparent peace and tranquility that reigns today, there is still a brooding sense of pain, suffering and death that hovers over the place like a cloud---invisible yet palpable. But no there was something else which is even more powerful---a light ethereal wondrous presence that dispels the darkness of suffering. Hope. The hope that sustained these men (your grandfather among them) despite floggings, torture and subhuman treatment. The hope that one day things would be different, the hope that their sons and daughters would grow up in a land free from foreign oppression. And as your father stared into the dark abyss of a cell reaching out for a part of your grandfather forever lost in these walls, I could not help thinking that somehow your father's presence here, as a free man and as a professor of a premier institute of higher education of a proud resurgent India, is a vindication of the sacrifices your grandfather and his fellow prisoners made. It was getting late. We moved away---leaving behind the shadows of your grandfather and his fellow patriots. I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness , great pride and a deep sense of understanding of what a hero my father-in-law really is. In a way, it seemed as if I was knowing him all over again---so many years after he passed way. As we went out of the gates, a bird, catching the last rays of the sun, spread its wings and vanished into the sky. Looking up, I silently thanked your grandfather for everything and I am sure that he heard me all right. Do visit this place if an opportunity arises. You owe it to him. God Bless you Ma

Baba Log

2006-01-23T13:39:00.000-05:00

Rahul Gandhi at the Congress plenary session mouths a few platitudes and has the whole of the nation (or that's what the Press wants us to believe) hanging on to every word that emanates from his golden-spoon holding pearl-shaped lips. Congress sycophants beg, plead and cajole Rahul to wield the Anduril Sword and take over from Denethor aka Manmohan Singh, the Queen-appointed Satrap but Rahul, in all humility that supposedly reminds us of his father, refuses to take the offer and instead vows to keep on working as an ordinary Congress worker. Hell he even sits among the sweaty unwashed Congress cadres as a sign of humility despite repeated entreaties to sit on the throne on the main podium. I don't know about you but I am impressed. And jealous. Dammit I wish I had as my family heirloom the undisputed leadership of a national party. And PhDs to keep my seat warm till I "grow up" and a thousand (make it hundred thousand) countrymen prepared to fall at my feet. Not to speak of getting a membership in a club under the "eminent person category" in a snap whereas it takes normal aristrocratic millionaires about 30 years. Reasons for eminence? Somewhere mixed in my DNA is the DNA of a guy who was one among many who negotiated our freedom. But I am being unfair to Rahul Gandhi. After all, it's not that you need "qualifications" to be a politician----compared to some barely literate people who call themselves MPs, Rahul can read/write and possibly do arithmetic, he looks good in a galabandh, he has not murdered anyone (not that we know of it in any case) and is smart enough never to be caught in a sting operation. Which coming to think of it is what makes him such a good candidate to be a politician---the rich heritage of obfuscating corruption that is his by inheritance. Remember Bofors? The scandal where noone got caught but everyone knew whose pockets got lined? And boy did VP Singh and the BJP try to dig some dirt---any dirt that could pass off as proof.....but nothing. Circumstantial evidence--plenty. Real evidence---none. Now that's pure pedigree class----not the Khush Hua variety where they proposition women with lewd lines and bargain for a few thousands. That kind of behavior is why Kushwaha is a member of the "Four Friends Boys Club" which does SantoshiMa Pooja while Rahul Gandhi is a member of the Gymkhana. So yes on second thoughts let me change what I said at the start about Rahul Gandhi being someone who has been foisted on the country on account of his parentage only. (after all this is about politicians so I am allowed to contradict myself) I think Rahul Gandhi does have the requisite"qualifications" to be the leader of free India because it is only because of his pedigree that he has the ideal mix of presentable looks, perfunctory education, rehearsed homilies, family recipes of vanishing currency bills without a trace and a capacity for vacuous verboseness. Basically, the ideal CV for a someone whose adult life will be spent in saying "Yeh Banana Hain Woh Banana Hain". So yes, I do have some nice words for Rajiv. But absolutely none for the worst example of nepotism I see around me----Uday Chopra. A balding, steroided muscle-bound creep who has the single most moronic grin in the industry after Sanjay Kapoor symbolizes much of what is wrong with the Indian polity and the entertainment industry---a 24 carat lump of talent-dung passing off as an achiever purely on the strength of his last name. Hold on you say. He is not the only star son out there-----and there are several who can justifiably be said to be the same. But for them the market forces hold sway---being the sons/daughters of actors they can be "launched" with much fanfare but have to ultimately make it on their own (Remember for every Hrittik Roshan, there is one Puru Rajkumar). However this Uday Chopra is a class on his own just because his dad Yash Chopra runs the most powerful movie production house in India (Yashraj films), has an amazing network of distributors, a snazzy ability to package age-old wine in new eye-pleasing bottles and an acute premonition of what will work and what wont (Okay even he makes mistakes but not as often as everyone else). This hold his family exerts over the industry puts Uday in an unique position---you want to make a movie under Yashraj banner? Sure. Just cast my son. And the full infrastructure of the production house is behind you. Uday Chopra who? One of the granite-faced school-kids sprayed with carbide in Yashraj films' "Mohabbatein" , Uday Chopra had "Made for Television and Game Show" written all over him. Except that he, like Rahul Gandhi, had pedigree. Under Papa's watchful eye, Sanjay Gadvi (one of the horses in Yashraj's stable) made "Mere Yaar Ke Shaadi Hain" with Uday Chopra essaying the role of Julia Roberts in "Best Friends Wedding". Yes I know. Don't even ask. After that turkeyed at the BO, you would think that Uday Chopra would become a clapper-boy. No such luck ! Kunal Kohli's venture under the Yashraj banner "Mujse Dosti Karoge"----and guess who turned up in a "guest role" like a bad penny. Uday then tried to go solo with "Charas" and "Supari"---both of which, in the lingo of Rahul Gandhi, lost its deposit at the box office. Any other actor, after these debacles, would have gone on to play the role of a terrorist who gets bumped off in the first two reels (Puru Rajkumar) or gravitated towards Bhojpuri movies or gone onto twinkle-toed stardom in "Nach Baliye". That is not if you were Uday Chopra. Like a jock itch that refuses to go away, he was unleashed in 2003's megahit Dhoom (Sanjay Gadvi) and delivered his first hit (if you go by the spiel Yash Chopra's folks put in the trade papers). Of course in a movie which had Abhishek Bachchan, John Abraham, a lot of cool bikes and Rimi Sen's Shikdhoom moves it could be argued, with justification, that even if Sanjay Kapoor had played Uday Chopra's role,"Dhoom"'s bottomline would have still stayed the same. "Okay that's it. No more people to take away Uday's wooden thunder"---thundered Papa. "My beta wants to act like desi P Diddy---he wants to cavort with busty Babewatch rejects in the West. Now if I like a good papa don't pay for his aiyashi, then who will? After all Raj Kapoor also gave Rajeev Kapoor some fun in "Ram Teri Ganga Maili"...too bad Raj-saheb died else I am sure he would have given Rajeev the same treatment I give my balding ladla. So yes where was I ? Oh yes I have to make a movie around my son? Story? Arre ooh Arjun Sablok----take the plot of "Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge", sex it up a bit, throw in some supposedly "hep dialogue", introduce a new angle not explored before in Hindi movies i.e post-coital conversations and make a movie. But be careful, my son should get the best babes--okay? He has so much trouble in real life with the hairloss and all----but this is , as they say, is his "baap ka duniya". Capiche? " "Neil and Nikki"(2005) is made. For the first time, the heroine wears a bra for 70% of the screen time. Let me rephrase that---Tanisha wears just a bra in this movie ( No it's not a stylish eetsy-bitsy dress----it's a bra you see in Walmarts. She wears just that ---only for her that is outerwear). [Author's note: I intentionally say " bra you see in Walmarts". This wasnt even the Victoria's Secret bras which are way more artistic. Or maybe I am wrong---Tanisha ruined whatever touched her.] Uday Chopra is at his best (or worst) aping Shahrukh Khan and Tanisha is as soothing as someone rubbing a balloon with her nails. The biggest tragedy? "Neil and Nikki" is a moderate hit---thanks to the legendary Yash Chopra marketing savvy which means there will be more of Uday Chopra in every home production. If it had been a monumental flop, maybe just maybe, Uday Chopra would have disappeared. Just like the fact that the Congress needs to be totally decimated all over India in order for them to understand that the reason why they are not the Congress of the 50s is because they have been hijacked by a coterie of corrupt sycophants who have transformed the party from a movement of the people to a bunch of money-hungry asslickers who would like us to believe that the surname Gandhi is some kind of divine mandate to rule. Alas none of the above is likely to happen---Yashraj will go on giving hits and the Congress will hang on . And we shall end up seeing a whole lot of Uday Chopra and Rahul Gandhi in the years to come. [Update 1: This post gets mentioned in Mumbai Mirror, January 25 (print edition) as part of their "Blogger's Park" section. ]

Anon Commenters Beware

2006-01-19T12:12:00.000-05:00

So anonymous commenters, those who call me Oxymoron and advise that I drop the "Great" part from my moniker, you think that you can continue heaping abuse on me/Ganguly and get away with it ? Of course you do. Sitting behind your desks at the "Software Technology Parks of India" (this is where most of the abusive comments come from ) or whatever you think you can keep on defecating in my comments section without any repercussions? After all whats a fat, geeky, timid Bong going to do even if he finds out who you are or where you are from? All I can say is be afraid. Be very afraid. And remember *if* one day a man wearing a trench coat, a helmet, battle fatigues, two guns, body armour, 1000 rounds of ammunition and a pasted wig lands up at your door, drop whatever you are doing and run. Very fast. Let me tell you a story. A story of a man called Biswanath Halder, an expatriate Bengali in US and an MBA from Case Western University. Now this man is your average Joe Bengali guy who boasted of mastery in business and mathematics but had a record of repeated rejections (Digital Equipment Corporation refused to give him a job 26 times) and never had a girl friend because according to him he was short of money. In short, the same old story. He used to run a website for Indian businessmen which he believed someone was trying to hack into. What was fairly obvious was that someone was leaving nasty comments on his guestbook: [His guestbook which has now messages from white supremacists and people asking for his organs after he dies is here] Here is what the original Anon wrote---the lines which pushed Biswanath over the proverbial edge: Bizzy Halder is a moron. This guy makes a living out of creeping people out. From his fake hair, to his fake teeth, his whitey tighty shorts and pants, to his shit stained sweaters this guy is a LOON. He's been kicked out of every lab on campus and everyone makes fun of him. So let's not even talk about credibility. Don't listen to a word this guy says. Now what this "anonymous commenter" did not know that leaving abusive comments on a Bengali guy's webspace is like biting the balls of a sleeping lion. Halder using his superior zen traceroute capabilities found out that it was some dude from the Case Western University who was violating his mindspace. After appeals to the university to take action fell on deaf ears (including a dismissed lawsuit), Halder decided to take the matter into his own hands. Now before we go further on let me tell you Halder, like most Bengalis, had extensive military training (or that's what he claimed on his resume hosted at the now defunct website halder.ws and at junior.apk.net/~halder/ ) and engineering/real estate expertise. It was rumored that he was once a rogue assassin of the disbanded ultra-secret killing squad called Hilsa Force but that has never been confirmed. What however was true was that pushed to the brink he did what any anti-Iraqwar peacenik would have done---he took up arms. Marching into Case Western University armed to the teeth with the expressed aim being to "liquidate the university in order to save mankind" (his own words), Biswanath Halder meant business. In a scene inspired from the Bengali movie "Matric" (shortform for Matriculation) featuring "Kanu" Ribs and Lawrence "Fishbone", Biswanath wearing a bulletproof vest and a wig glued on "a kind of World War II Army helmet" walked through the corridors of learning in super slow motion---brandishing two handguns. As Biswanath's defense lawyers argued, despite sporting two guns and a wig and having a wish to save mankind by liquidating Case Western, Bishwanath was not really looking for a fight---he just wanted to protest and negotiate with the university from a position of strength ( a lesson he imbibed from the MBA the same institute granted him). And come on, I am sure all of us at some point of his life or the other has wanted to go into his degree-granting institute brandishing deadly firearms---so nothing wrong in living out that fantasy. But what was supposed to be a rage-inspired protest against anonymous abusive comments soon turned ugly. He lost his eyeglasses in the confusion. Now what people do not know is that for a Bong to lose his specs is as traumatic a personal experience as a Gujju losing his wallet. Panicking he started shooting (whether he said "Say Hallo to my choto bondhu" [Author's note: choto bondhu is Bengali for "lil' friend"] was never conclusively proven)--- killing one person, pumping bullets into the buttocks of another innocent bystander and grievously injuring yet another. A fullscale shootout with the SWAT team ensued with the supremely skilled Biswanath holding of America's finest using guerilla tactics he acquired in the training camps of Baruipur (a suburb of Kolkata). But ultimately, after taking a bullet himself Biswanath was subdued, arrested and charged under GWB's new stringent anti-terrorism laws for waging war against USA. (A charge that was subsequently downgraded to murder). Now Biswanath waits to be sentenced---either to life imprisonment or to death. Lives have been lost and dreams have been broken. And all this because of anonymous personal comments. Better be careful dear sirs/madams---some of us bloggers/netizens don't take personal criticism all that well. [Note: It may be argued that the original comment-perpetrator got away but that was just because Biswanath lost his specs and could not see who he was shooting. If he had glued the specs together to his helmet (like he did with his wig) and then gone out of control, things may have been different]

Dev Sahab and the Oscars

2006-01-17T13:08:00.000-05:00

The battle to breach the last border---the Oscar Awards continues for living legend Dev Anand with his latest directorial masterpiece--Mister Prime Minister. While the rest of the Indian movie industry continues submerging itself in a lala land of song, dance and romance Dev sahab, at the young age of 82, keeps on directing one realistic movie after another---whether it be the hard-hitting Censor (which laid bare the inner workings of the Censor Board), Love At Times Square (a love story set amidst the collapse of the Twin Towers) and his latest offering Mister Prime Minister ( a story of memory loss, earthquakes, political horsetrading, rap songs and navel-baring Al Qaeda operatives). Dev Anand is universally acknowledged to be the greatest Hindi movie director alive today. Did I mention he is 82 years old? Yes I think I did. I must be getting senile. Feisty as a 25 year old, his movies are still a huge hit with young and old alike. What's unique about Dev Anand is that he is the true embodiment of the Renaissance man---a modern day Da Vinci who can do everything. Do you remember Awwal Number---the "ahead of its time" movie from which movies like "the Rock" shamefully copied its plot from? For those of you too old to remember, Awwal Number was the movie which made Aamir Khan's career. It was a story of a terrorist plot hatched by a disgruntled cricket player (Aditya Pancholi playing the role of Sourav Ganguly, the pissed-off superstar) being foiled by Dev Anand, who is, hold your breath---the coach of the team, the captain of the team and the commissioner of police all rolled into one. One man, one post? Humbug. Blending cricket, music, international intrigue, flying balloons and skirts Awwal Number remains a high water mark for Indian movies. Then came one of his masterpieces circa 2001. Dev Sahab ran into trouble with the Censors during the production of "Main Solaah Baras Ki" (This "main" in the title, I found out, does not refer to Dev Anand because of the use of the feminine "ki") ---small-minded men and women who could never appreciate Dev Sahab's dazzling camera work and out-there-stories. Rather than giving interviews and press releases, Dev Anand did what a true artist would do---he slapped them back using his creativity, exposing what really goes on inside the closed doors of censor meetings. Using the famous "movie-inside-a-movie" approach and as mentioned by another reviewer the "Rashomon" technique of intertwined plots, Censor marks the high noon of Anand's creative genius. The story of Censor is about a celluloid masterpiece Aanewala Kaal directed by who else but Dev Anand (Vikramjit) which falls foul of the censor committee for its bold theme and gratuitous cleavage shots. In a casting coup that gives us a glimpse into Dev Anand's supreme sense of irony---the Censor board consists of Mamata Kulkarni (yes you heard me right), the sozzled Jackie Shroff, Amrish Puri and Madam Rekha. Each of the censors have reasons for blocking the masterpiece---as an example, one of the committee members makes a lewd pass at Vikramjit which he being honest and upright (morally that is) naturally rebuffs. Looking at it from the said censor's point of view, imagine being rejected by an 80-year old. Naturally she takes it to heart and decides to kill Dev Anand's baby ie the movie. [Sidenote: A lot of people have suggested that this "seduction by a member of the Censor Committee thing" is actually inspired by a real life incident faced by Dev Anand when he was 79. Related bit of trivia: Asha Parekh was the chairman of the censor board from 1998--2001.] Meanwhile Miss Maggie (Archana Puran Singh), an Academy committee member, sees Vikramjit's movie, smuggles it out of the country where it becomes a rage and snags two Oscar nominations. Needless to say, it wins all of them and even the Oscar of all Oscars (ie the greatest movie EVER) and Dev sahab gives a moving speech to the world which changes hearts all around. A proud moment for all Indians indeed---even though it takes place on film. After "Censor" Dev Anand announced plans to make a movie on the shooting of the entire Nepali royal family by the crazed prince. That plan was shelved officially because Devji didnt want to do another Nepal movie (after Hare Ram Hare Krishna) but whispers went around that the crazed prince had brandished a gun at Dev Anand once he learnt that he had decided to do a movie on him. Instead Dev Anand made "Love At Times Square"---a romantic triangular love story set in the Big Apple ala Breakfast at Tiffany's which had Dev Anand playing an Indian billionaire who donates money to Mayor Gulliani to rebuild a ravaged New York City. Woody Allen meets Keshu Ramsay----as one famous critic called it. Then came the supreme controversy. Dev Anand's decision to do a biopic on Ravi Shankar and Anoushka and Norah Jones was met with stiff resistance from the Shankars. Again it was whispered that the sisters didn't want Dev Anand to play Ravi Shankar but it was fairly obvious that they did not want their story of out-of-wedlock impregnation of other people's wives being revealed to the world. But the international hype was huge. Nicole Kidman and Salma Hayek auditioned for the roles of the two sisters but Dev Anand rejected them on the grounds they were "too old". Irony. However when Anoushka called Dev Anand a "jerk", he had taken all that he could take and pulled the plug on the movie. After all as he pointed out, it was he who was flattering the Shankars by publicizing their story. Bloody ingrates. Dev Anand had by that time moved onto greener pastures. He had become besotted by another idea--born out of his disgust with the political system. Mister Prime Minister was born. Essaying the role of the newspaperman in Bhuj (Johnny Master) and the billionaire tycoon (Prem Batra), Dev Anand gives the performance of a lifetime---busting an Al Qaeda operative masquerading as a "village shoeshine chamiya" , kissing a girl old enough to be his granddaughter...err make that granddaughter's daughter (goodbye Imran Hashmi), rapping away like 50 cents to the lyrics of "Missterrr Prime Ministerrrrr ha ha ha"(A must-hear), shaking his head like an out-of-control spring doll and true to form, keeping the camera on exposed navels and cleavages---just like any 82 year old who wears a black wig would do. [Trivia sidenote: The name of the lucky girl who Dev Sahab kisses (she is his wife in the movie) is a PhD from Harvard (or so she claims) and was discovered by Dev Anand when he saw her in a Bendadryl commercial. Note to actresses who want to land a Dev Anand movie--get modeling assignments for medical products, Dev Anand will surely notice you then] However bastard Bengalis never forgot how Dev Anand outed the Sourav Ganguly character in Awwal Number. When Mr Prime Minister was released, only one viewer turned up to see the movie first day first show. Just one. And no, it was not Dev Anand. Because he was attending the world premier of the movie. Not in New York. Not in LA. Not in Paris. But in an ice-cream parlour in Ahmedabad. Is he finished at 82? Will he hang up his hat? No sir. Dev Anand, who has said that his aim is to win the Oscars, gives a final shout out. The matinee idol said he does not believe in blowing his own trumper, it is for the viewers to judge. ''If you like it, give a clap and smile. And, if you don't, I'll come back and produce another film on some contemporary theme". So go and watch "Mister Prime Minister" and give a clap and a smile. Else we shall all be responsible for the consequences. Not convinced yet? Fact 1: A few days ago, Abu Salem, international terrorist and known murderer, confessed to everything and started bawling like a baby supposedly "out of repentance". Fact 2: "Mister Prime Minister" was released just a few days before Fact 1 happened. Coincidence? Or effect-cause? I shall leave that for you to judge.

A Few Phone Calls

2006-01-14T15:22:00.000-05:00

Saturday morning. I wake up to see that Shahid Afridi has blasted the Indian attack to smithereens. Younis Khan, another mediocre player whose career India has made, came as close to a double century as possible. As a result, we are now battling to save the Test. And I had lost the Indibloggies Indiblog of the year to Amit Varma (225 to 159 votes). Not surprised at either result, I was however taken aback when my phone started ringing. Me: "Hello" Voice at other end: " Aieeeeeeee salaaaaaaaa. Tu haar gaya. Amit Varma ne tujhe lamba kar diya, maachish ki tili ko khamba kar diya." ( English translation: You lost? ...rest is quite untranslatable) Me:" Prabhuji? Mithun-da? Please don't get so agitated. It's perfectly okay...." Mithun-da: "Bhari bazaar main tera izzat loot liya jaaye aur main hijre ki tarah baitha rahoon?" ( English translation: You are raped in broad daylight and I, like an eunuch, do not do anything?) Me: "But Prahu-ji , I am not your sister---no-one has raped me. Please...it's ok..." Mithun-da:" Kya Ok Ok laga rakha hain. Yeh kya saboon ke bar hain jo bar bar lagaya jaaye? Jine tumhe vote nahin diya un darindon ko to main maar maarke kothewali ki us jaga ki chamri ki tarah bana doonga jo phatke kha kha-ke kali ho jaati hain, har ma behen ki gaali ho jaati hain." (English translation: What "Ok Ok"? Is this a cake of soap which can be used and re-used ? [Author's note: Ok was a brand of soap popular among the toiling masses--the kind who love Prabhu-ji's movies] I shall thrash those devils who did not vote for you so hard that.....rest is again untranslatable.....those interested are asked to see the movie "Gunda" from which this dialogue is taken, just like the "lamba kar diya" line) Me: " No no please...no violence. Listen to me Prabhuji..." Mithun-da :" Do chaar chaye aath dus....bus" (Translation: 2 , 4, 6, 8, 10---enough) The phone disconnects. Gawd. So Mithun-da reads blogs. And that too mine. Just as I am collecting my thoughts, another phone call. Voice on phone:" Hailo. Theees eeeej Bhappi Lahiri. Pleej do not looj hart." Me: " Oh Bappi-da. Thanks for calling. " Bhappi-da: " Phor you I hab composed inspeerational moojik---it weel be sooperhit, it weel win Granny's. Let mee play a few baaars. Tan tan tan ta ta, tan tan ta ta" Me: " Bappi-da you composed that? That's the theme from "Chariots of Fire"." Bhappi-da: "Off course---to geeb you inspeeration I need to get inspeeration. Now I must go, shoopershtars Michaeel Jaxon, Madonna and Shamantha Phox are waiting in my leebing room ashking for some toons." Michael Jackson waiting for toons. Indeed. The phone rings again. Voice on phone: " Hello. Am I speaking to Greatbong? This is Parnab, PhD from Princesston, honorary LIAR from Hambridge calling you to ask for an interview in connection with the Indibloggies award." Me: " But I lost. Why do you want to interview me?" Parnab: " Maybe it's because as losers we can both empathize." Me: "You got a point. But seriously, who would be interested in reading an interview with me?" Parnab: "You are right. Noone. That's why I am going to say that this is an interview with Che Guevara." Me: " What crap. I am not going to be part of a lie. Plus you cannot get away with it---Che is dead." Parnab: " Who says so? The quizmaster is always right. In my world Che is alive---did you know that it's he who shouts out "Monica ooh my darling" in "Piya Tu Abh to Aja"? Did you know that Narendranath Dutta (who later became Vivekanand) was the first bowler to take 4 wickets in Calcutta Maidan cricket? Do you know that the baby in the 1977 Coca Cola advertisement was Angelina Jolie? Do you know that the brandname "Lakme" is derived from the Hindu goddess "Laxmi"? Do you know that Jyoti Basu was the lawyer who bailed out Mithun Chakraborty when he was arrested on grounds of being a Naxal? Do you that Osama Bin Laden's father was supposed to do Omar Sharif's role in "Lawrence of Arabia" ? Do you know what monumentous event happened when a young British hippie watched Clint Eastwood's Dirty Harry while high on pot? " Me: "Mmm no" Parnab: "The name "Harry Potter" was born . There are a lot of things you don't know. So don't act smart. Or as the dons say to each other in the hallowed halls of Oxford--"Zyada shana mat ban".On second thoughts, I don't need you for the interview---you ask too many questions." Another disconnect. Good riddance I thought to myself. Though at the back of my mind, an interview would have been nice---I could have talked about how important blogs are, how important I am----and so on. Inundated by celebrity calls, I decide to get pro-active. And call one of my heroes---the Ganguly before he...ahem...calls me. Me: " Hello is this Maharaj?" A maniacal voice at the other end: " No this is the real Raj---the prince of dungland. Kindly wait, Ganguly has gone out to face the Pakistani bowling. He will back in 30 seconds." Me: " Ha ha. Old pathetic joke. Stop bullshitting---I am not your waterboy. Plus this is nighttime in Pakistan---there is no game going on. Raj Singh :(maniacal laugh): "Ha ha....okay I lied. The truth is that he and Nagma are having a reunion after many years. Again let me repeat what I said: he will back in 30 seconds"....(more laughter) Me: "Okay whatever. Just tell him that the Greatbong called to inform him that despite Dada voting for me, I lost the Indibloggies." Raj Singh: " No need to tell him. He knows and I know---all you Bongs are losers by default. As I like to say , Bongs are "Dull"-Mians. Let me tell you a joke I heard---one day Sourav Ganguly scored some runs. Oh wait that was the joke ! Whoppie. And just so that you know, I read your blog too---you oxymoron you. " I disconnect the phone. Just another uneventful Saturday in paradise. [PS: Congratulations to Amit, Jai , Megha and the other winners. And a huge round of applause to Debashish for running a smooth election. And a heartful of gratitude for everyone who voted for me.]

Powerplay

2006-01-12T09:48:00.000-05:00

I cant tell you how depressed this picture made me feel. (from Indiauncut). So what's going on in this picture to the left? Let's see what Amit who took this picture says. "At one point, Raj Singh Dungarpur, the team's manager, got Wasim Jaffer's attention and pushed his glass towards him. He wanted Jaffer to pour water into it. Jaffer politely obliged." Am I depressed on account of Raj Singh Dungarpur's imperious regal air, the fact that he does not even acknowledge Jaffer's action with a glance---instead staring straight on like a Sultan watching a mujra while his wine goblet is refilled by an underling? No I am not. I am depressed because I do not have anyone "under my command" who would be sufficiently afraid/in awe of my powers so as to pour water into my glass while I kept myself otherwise occupied. After all Dungarpur and I are kind of similar otherwise----both of us have no personal achievements to speak of, both of us make idiotic, self-important statements, neither of us has any idea of cricket, both of us love Mohammed Azharuddin, both of us hate Sourav Ganguly and both of us were born into royal families. Okay maybe not the last one (or perhaps the one before too), but you get the picture. To be honest, I have always admired people in authority who push their subordinates about and treat them as personal serfs. A senior cop who gets on the shoulders of a constable to avoid getting his feet wet, a professor who sends his PhD students to do his family's groceries, a powerful administrator who has home guards cooking and cleaning his house are all objects of my undiluted admiration. Take my Class 6 Arts teacher. One day he took a boy's collage work (something he had spent hours doing) and in front of him ripped it up, slapped him hard on his face and said " Do you know why I ripped your work? Because I don't like your face." While the young boy, tears running down his cheek, picked up the remnants of his work from the floor and our arts teacher paced the class saying "Keep me in good mood, children" I remember thinking to myself--- Wow what an achiever. Today he is going to go his dingy Bhowanipore hovel and over a dinner of rice and daal tell his fat wife--Guess what I did today ! I made a 12 year old boy cry. While his wife would reply---"Ooh you hunk of a man you. Come to bed bobba and ride me like a rickshaw". Yes even at age 12 I was having such thoughts. And idolizing my Arts teacher. And worshipping some of the other noble men and women who would accept gifts from their students---from things like diaries and chocolates to more significant things ---all given in the hope that the teachers "liked their faces". I remember our school "foundation day" where our founder used to sit on an elevated pedestal smiling benignly while kids piled past him --laying at his feet "presents" which ranged from greetings cards to gift packs of scents and toiletries. I wanted to be like him---lording over puny humans who knew that this superman had the power of life and death over them. Just like Wasim Jaffer knows that Raj Singh , who as we all know has been sent on the Pakistan tour purely as a stooge of the ruling BCCI clique, exerts an inordinate say in selection matters (though technically speaking, he is not supposed to). So while Jaffer knows that acting as his towel boy may not get him into the team, refusing to do so would be like consuming cyanide with respect to his cricket career . Which is why, like a meek boy, he was obliged to service his master. Now that is what is called Pawar...sorry Power. In conclusion, I wonder (yes I wonder a bit too often) what would have happened if one day underlings snap. What if, pushed to the corner and sick and tired of their fear of authority being taken for granted---the constable drops his superior into a ditch, the student puts laxatives in the groceries, the home guards throw the frying pan at their boss and ask him to cook his own food, the class 6 kid shoves his boot up the Arts teachers ass, students refuse to "celebrate" foundation day and Wasim Jaffer pours water on mega-blowhard Raj Singh Dungarpur's head. That would be some day. Water on "dung"----the stink would not have gone away too easily.

IndiBloggies---Campaign Poster

2006-01-06T22:24:00.000-05:00

Ladies and Lads, The Indibloggies, the Indian blog oscars or should I say Manikchand Gutkha Filmfare Awards are here. "Random Thoughts of a Demented Mind" has snagged a nomination in the Indiblog of the year category. Yes I am shamelessly canvassing for votes. After all, an aspiring politician has to start somewhere. So here is the link: http://poll.indibloggies.org/index.php?sid=1 [Update: The poll has closed and hence the link is no longer valid] You don't need to have a blog site to vote. Leave the field blank if you do not have a blog. Again the name of the blog is "Random Thoughts of a Demented Mind". It is nominated in the first category (Indiblog of the year 2005) . Deadline for voting: Jan 10, 2005. [Update: Okay this should be 2006 but after turning thirty, I have been in a state of denial with respect to the passage of time. I hope that explains this slip.] Even if you do not vote for my blog, do cast your vote for some of the other excellent blogs nominated. Okay that was too politically correct. Just vote for me in my category. If I win, I shall dig two tubewells in your area, guarantee jobs for your family for all eternity, find out who killed Divya Bharati and join hands with Raj Singh Dungarpur in denouncing Sourav Ganguly. Honest. ------------ I have often wondered as to the Oscar acceptance speeches of those who lose ---the ones we never hear, the ones that stay in the pocket and are torn apart in the post-Oscar party in the restoom between sniffs of white powder and tears. So here in this post, I present to you my "winning acceptance speech" for the Indibloggies----the one which you shall never hear. Or would not have heard. (Looking upwards at the heavens and holding back rehearsed tears) Thank you Big G. I love you. And Mum, the most important person in my life. And dad ---you have been always there for me. My beautiful wife. My agent, my manager, my makeup man, my kindergarten teacher---you all know who you are. And of course my readers---the ones who voted for me...(blowing kisses) My theme song---"Ek Do Teen Char Pyar Chahiye Kitni Baar" from Waqt Ki Awaaz plays and I know my time is over. ----------------------- What I find even more intriguing is the post-Oscar bitching that goes on in the post-party where questions are asked "off record" and the ones who lost, lose the hypocritical grin and the polite claps, and let loose the fire of their angst. Reporter: GB, How does it feel to have not won the best Indian blogger of the year? GB (adjusting my bowtie): Dahling, read my lips. I don't care. I mean who cares for awards anyways? The fact is that my readers love me---I get 600-1000 a visitors day---that's love for you dahling. Day in day out. What's one award here or there? And remember this is a popular award ----Anil Kapoor used to buy all the editions of Filmfare and win Best Actor in the 80s. And SRK won best actor for "Veer Zara"--need I say more? Reporter: But GB you campaigned for the award remember? GB: I did not. I was merely popularizing the blogosphere by asking people to look at the blogs that had been nominated. I do have a duty to my community. Of course I did not canvass....silly boy. Reporter: Well you took in just a few votes. Where did your readers vanish during the polling days? GB(angrily): Okay you impertinent lout. Listen to me once and for all. There is nothing I can do if my readers never look at the title of my blog "Random Thoughts of a Demented Mind" and go and vote for "Random Thoughts from a Confused Mind". They just saw the first "Random Thoughts" and voted for it. Also I made a tactical mistake of putting up a picture of myself taken in the light a few days before polling---it totally scared away my female readers. And even some male ones. In retrospect, maybe I should have used Latin for my blog title---something like "Absit invidia " (No Offense Intended) or "Ad praesens ova cras pullis sunt meliora "( Eggs today are better than chickens tomorrow ) [mmm on second thoughts no...I might have been sured for copyright infringement by a certain management institute] or "Ad eundum quo nemo ante iit" (To boldly go where no man has gone before)---at least I would have had a shot for the best "tag-line". Plus my blog would not have been confused with someone else's. And all these nice pictures of Shakti Kapoor and Mithunda did not get me a "Best Design" nomination----politics, petty politics. If a picture of Mayawati still does not get you at least a "Best Design" nomination you can bet that there are casteist, Bramhinical forces at work. The award was rigged I tell you. Reporter: How? GB: I don't know. And I don't care. If I did not win it, it is rigged. That's the truth. There were powerful forces at work behind my defeat---so powerful that I don't even know who they are. Not that I care for awards. I blog because I want to write. Now hurry off before I stop giving interviews altogether. ---------------------- Do remember to vote. And happy blogging.

The Great Indian Humor Challenge

2006-01-04T14:03:00.000-05:00

Watching the moronic Shekhar Suman rolling his eyes and cracking the worst kind of PJs in the pathetic Jay Leno-ripoff "Movers and Shakers" and wallowing in the verbal diarrhea-afflicted Sidhu's infantile attempts at forced laughter on "The Great Indian Comedy Show" and manfully enduring the physical humor that passes off for "comedy" in Indian movies I cannot help but wonder----what happened to the great comic tradition of India? Where are the Birbals and the Tenali Rams and the Gopal Bhaands of today? Afraid. Very much afraid. Because we Indians cannot take a joke. We love to laugh at other regional groups but when the butt-end-dagger of the joke is twisted into us, we are unable to take the acid. So a Bengali will laugh at a Sardar joke but would call a bandh if someone made something up based on the Bong stereotype. A Tamil would laugh at Mithun-da but feel insulted if the joke was on Rajni. A Hindu would poke fun at Islamic traditions but get all uppity once the tables were turned. [An exception: Only Sardars can take Sardar jokes in good spirit] As is evident, we Indians have notoriously fragile egos and in such an environment, comedians always run the fear of verbal, if not physical, lynching. Which is why we deserve the Shekhar Sumans and the Navjyot Sidhus and the Johnny Levers and their homogenized and pasteurized humor which because of its excessive sanitization is the only type that is universally acceptable. Which also explains its abysmal quality. However this kind of irrational sensitivity is not present in other cultures. Take the Americans for example. Every night the way Jay Leno savages celebrities and politicians, one shudders to think what would have happened to the bloated egos in India if even a tenth of this was said on Prime Time Desi TV. Shiv Sainiks would have been ransacking NBC, Yadavs would have been burning trains in Bihar, Bengalis would have started a new political party, Tamils would have been railing against Aryan conspiracies, Amitabh Bachchan would have stopped giving interviews and in general life, as we know, would come to a stop. Consider this. Laura Bush stands next to her husband during the White House Correspondent's Dinner and delivers a comic knock out punch to George W Bush making fun of his inability to pronounce "nuclear", his poor reading habits and even his bedtime activities. Can you imagine this in India? "Ooh there you go again", says future anonymous commenter "bootlicking the West." I never get this logic. What is the problem in imbibing the good things of the West---their rationality, their work culture and their sense of humor? Remember also that we were not always as humor-challenged as we are now----the Upanishads make fun of priests and how rituals are their means of ensuring a cushy financial future. In Bengali literature, no doubt inspired by the anthropomorphic traditions of the Bhakti cult, Vedic Gods acquired flawed human forms which made them endearing, but judged by today's standards , blasphemous bastardizations of their original Vedic images. Shiva is depicted as a good-hearted, loyal but forgetful and poor man-of-the-house (funnily the definition of an ideal husband ), Parvati/Durga as the harried housewife trying to make ends meet on the slender pickings of her beggar better half, Nandi and Bhringi are Shiva's no-good pals/underlings, Kartik is the meterosexual, airhead dandy who goes about wooing women (the Bengali word for meterosexual is "Kartik thakur") , Ganesh is the pot-bellied genius geek, Saraswati the musically-inclined learned but serious sister and Laxmi who loves money and the good life. Much of 15th-16th century literature talks about their family life and let me tell you it is not charitable to what Bhappi Lahiri would call their "imeej". However, it is heartwarming and funny in a way Shekhar Suman can never be and Bal Thackeray can never accept. As for me, I endeavor to be funny. My humor often is targeted at specific individuals and I know I can get away with it because I am a cowardly blogger who sits an ocean apart from India and , face it, not many people read my blog. If I came on DD Bangla (DD7) and made fun of Mithun-da or the "Gimme Red" CPM bhailog or Mortal Kombat Mamata, I would be in deep shit. However even here, I am not immune to brickbats. As someone commented, people love my Mithun rantings only because I am a Bengali making fun of another Bengali. If I do the same treatment to Rajanikant or Rahul Dravid would I still be "as funny" ? I would suppose not. And woe betide me, if like Crystal Blur , I make fun of our glorious epics (which I have done by the way---only not so "in-your-face" as her). I was amazed to see reactions to it on the lines of "an attack on Hindusim" and "making a sex comedy out of a revered epic". Gawd ! For starters, it is this intolerance and taking oneself too seriously which is an "attack on Hinduism". So just give it a break. And Mahabharata, as we all know, is a highly sexed-up, amped up story which should be taken for what it is---a wondrous fairy tale encompassing all emotions known to man (including lust) and *not* a sanitized sacred text which cannot be made fun of or re-interpreted. So can Hindu sensibility never be hurt? Of course it can. Is all art innocent? No it is not. This is where we should use our judgment and our intellect and recognize the difference between humor and actual attempts to hurt us---else if we club everything together, we lose focus and end up looking like hypersensitive fools. You want a real example of where Hindusim was attacked. The movie "Fire"---a vulgar, detestable movie despite the fact that it was about my favorite subject in the world---lesbians. What was the need to name the protagonists as Radha and Sita? There was no humor there. Why was the Sanyasi shown to be suffering from enlarged testicles? No other motive than to show disrespect---again no humor, no contribution to the plot. And the more-than-subtle innuendo that it is Hinduism that oppresses women with the last scene hinting at the two women adopting a different religion---was that necessary in the context of what the movie supposedly was about? Another example. Why are images of Hindu gods put on foot-wear or lingerie? Why not Jesus Christ's? Why not Muhammed's? Because people know they can get away with denigrating Hindu Gods in Europe/US. Putting Christ would lose them their markets, Muhammed their heads. And another. The monstrosity that passes of as an introduction to Hinduism in California text books: The monkey king Hanuman loved Rama so much that it is said that he is present every time the Ramayana is told. So look around—see any monkeys Again no humor here. And another. The US president celebrates Islamic festivals in the White House but when it comes to Diwali it is given a miss. Official reason: "Hinduism is religion-specific and not country-specific"....hello ? Does Id/Christmas/Hanukkah sound country-specific? These above are valid issues--- however not things for which we should be engaging in violence or disruption. Doing so would go against the grain of the very culture we claim to be so sensitive about. Of course that does not mean we should not protest---obviously we should but in a civil fashion. It is undeniable that the people who have critiqued Crytal Blur are well within their rights to do so as long as they don't engage in Shiv Sainik behavior--which they haven't. And they do have the right to be hurt and vent their feelings---just as I have my right to think that they have gone over-the-top. I genuinely believe that Crystal Blur's Mahabharata isnt just a juxtaposition of naughty words---there is genuine humor there.....and the motive isnt just to shock for the sake of doing so. I also don't find any disrespect to Hinduism.... as of yet. But the more important thing to consider is what would happen if what Crystal Blur has written becomes really really popular (and I wish it does not for her sake) in India. Then it surely does have the potential to make people get out on the streets, frothing at the mouth and running around in a frenzy. They don't need to know what a blog is or what English is, someone just needs to tell them that Hindus/backward castes/Muslims/ are under attack and they will all be running around like programmed orang-otangs. And it is precisely this kind of knee-jerk reaction for which comedians in India, at least the ones who are in the popular media, have to stay on the straight and narrow path. Correction. There was one person who tried to do something different---someone who was genuinely funny and whose humor had teeth. His name was Sajid Khan and his "Kahene Main Kya Harj Hain" (Sony) was one of the funniest half hours on Indian TV. Ever. But his comedy was, by Indian standards, too offensive and too biting. (I remember he once did a rather caustic take-off on Dilip Kumar on Zee Cinema--the program was "Ikke Pe Ikka" possibly and soon there were angry outraged mails on the writeback section in Zee saying that one of the doyens of Indian movies has been insulted and Zee should do something about it) . Tragically yanked from prime time and never given his due because his humor was too "out there" and thus unable to command a following like Shekhar Suman (and his TRP), Sajid today plies his trade on "Saab TV" which can honestly be said to represent the bottom of the Indian television channel foodchain. And also does a guest apperance or two on "The Great Indian Comedy Show" as a glorified extra while the supremely untalented Shekhar Suman hosts the jamboree. However it still must be said that it was prudent on the part of Sajid to have only made fun of film stars. If he had made fun of Sonia Gandhi's Hindi or lesbian Indian politicians or Vajpayee's "Thodi Si Jo Pee Li Hain" or Mayawati's "Salaam Namaste" lifestyle or LPY's chamiya dance with Kholkarni or horny nude sadhus then he would have been six feet under in no time. Compared to that fate, I am sure he prefers Saab TV. And so do we. [Check out this similarly themed post from Gaurav]

Reserving My Table

2006-01-02T22:36:00.000-05:00

So now the government, in its full mafia glory, has made an offer industry cannot refuse. Either the private sector voluntarily puts quotas for backward classes in place or the government will enact legislation which will force them to do the same thing. Some industry bigwigs had put up a proposal to train backward classes at company cost in order to make them competitive in the job market----but the government is not concerned about training, it wants their vote banks to have jobs---training and competency be damned. In a way, extension of reservations to private sectors was inevitable ----after all Ram Vilas Paswan's son may have been satisfied with a job in SAIL or ONGC but his grandson considers governmental jobs passe. He wants to work at Infosys and Wipro and its upto Ram Vilas Paswan to ensure that his grandson has the same sinecure that his son held. The supporters of reservation (an ovewhelming majority of whom stand to gain from it) base their arguments on two principal premises. 1. For 5000 years, there has been total discrimination against Dalits. So now for another 5000 years, there should be "social justice" based on the injustices of the past as a means for a historical balancing of equations. 2. A higher class official is likely to discriminate against a lower-caste candidate because he is assumed to be incompetent by virtue of his birth. Hence the government needs to step in to make sure that biased people in power are "forced" to take lower-caste candidates. Let's look at point number 1. If we accept the premise, then we logically should also allow for the demolition of mosques (because temples were destroyed), the forced conversions of Muslims into Hindus (because Hindus were converted to Muslims by the sword) and massive pillage for the sake of historical retaliation against Muslim invaders. As a matter of fact, right wing loons like Praveen Togadia base their anti-Islamic vitriol on the basis of precisely such "historical" arguments. Most sensible men realize that historical wrongs cannot be rectified in such a manner--it merely doubles the injustice rather than canceling each other out. 2. For government jobs, this logic indeed makes some sense. In a culture where productivity and performance are alien concepts, it can be argued that people in power could keep on perpetrating historic wrongs by choosing people of their own kind. However this logic cannot be applied for reservations in private sectors because of the presence of a factor governmental agencies do not concern themselves with (because of their inherent monopolistic nature)---the market. If private companies discriminate against otherwise competent people on the basis of their birth, then they are compromising their ability to stay in competition. By the laws of the "market", there will be at least one company which will understand that caste-based discrimination is not good for business and will derive a competitive advantage from it--- a state of affairs so unstable that its competitors wont allow it to exist. As a result, no company is going to base their recruitment based on caste considerations. In this context, it is indeed sad to see someone like Dr. Singh, who is wise enough to understand the egalitarian effects of market forces, attempt to force companies to base their recruitment on factors other than the competence of the candidate. The implementation of this caste-politics-driven heavy handedness would lead to a compromise of the competitiveness of Indian companies in the global market----something Narayana Murthy obviously understood because of which he proposed other options. Someone may point out that I am also making a connection between incompetence and low caste----if a certain percentage of the workforce is drawn from backwards sections, why does it automatically mean that quality will be compromised? Again the answer is market forces. An individual cultivates personal competency based on a system of incentives (in this case negative)----if I am not competent, I won't get a job. The assumption made here is that there is competition for jobs ie the number of candidates outnumber the number of positions. However, a system of reservations takes away the competition for a certain section of the population with the result that their incentive for cultivating personal competence is lost. Why slog away at getting an A in Compilers when I know that my birth certificate itself will guarantee me a cushy job? In conclusion, historical wrongs do need to rectified. Sections of the population are still deprived of opportunities and it is the responsibility of the government to make sure that social justice is handed out. But the way to do that is through training and need-based financial assistance and by putting in checks and balances so that "backward classes" who have already availed of assistance do not keep on qualifying for it generation after generation based on their last name. However this is precisely what Paswan wants---he not only wants to look after his grandson but also his grandson's grandson so that independent India keeps on apologizing to them, by giving them "guaranteed jobs " for the wrongs meted out to Paswan's grandfather. PS: The author has no personal stake in the argument. I am not a high-class Bramhin. And I also think Ram Vilas Paswan rocks. I really do. Honest. Update 1: Excellent post on the same topic at the Acorn .

A Birthday Story

2005-12-30T19:53:00.000-05:00

Late night. A glass of rum-coke by my side. Surfing the net when all of a sudden my ICQ window pops up. There's a message: From BirthdayBoy_at_20: Hi. I know this sounds kind of weird. I am you ,when you were 20. I just wanted to see if you are online....had some questions to ask you. Yeah right. This has got to be a practical joke. A few of my friends---the very few I have know its my 30th birthday on the 30th of December and this must be their idea of a joke. Very funny. I type back. Yes BirthdayBoy_at_20 , this is BirthdayBoy_at_30. Nice joke. Now which clown is this? From BirthdayBoy_at_20: As I said, BirthdayBoy_at_30 this is going to sound weird. I am actually "you" 10 years ago. I don't know how this is happening but somehow we are being able to communicate through chat----and I want to ask you basically----how did I turn out? Some people take the gag so far that it becomes unfunny. BirthdayBoy_at_30: Okay smart guy, I may be a bit drunk but not that sloshed. Buzz off. BirthdayBoy_at_20: Wait wait. I have proof. I am sending you a picture----no-one else is going to have this picture, at least none of your friends . It feels strange saying "yours" because these friends are mine too. Or will be. See this picture. Recognize the guy? Holy moly. That's me at 20. I could not believe it. How the hell did this guy....................... BirthdayBoy_at_30: Okay I don't know how you did this. Or what in the name of Mithun is happening. But it seems you are me at 20. How creepy meeting you again, like this, just when I am going to turn 30. So what do you want to know? BirthdayBoy_at_20: First up, am I a MBA from Columbia making 7 figures a year, driving a Lamborghini and jetting around the world first-class? BirthdayBoy_at_30: No you are not. Listen to yourself. What expectations baah ! BirthdayBoy_at_20: Sooo....what am I then? You mean I am not an MBA? Dont joke man.....I gotta be an MBA from somewhere...... BirthdayBoy_at_30: No you aren't an MBA. The only thing your car will have in common with a Lamborghini is that both of them will have innovative doors---the Lam's open upwards, your passenger side door will be frequently jammed. It's a 94 Honda Civic, for your information. BirthdayBoy_at_20: Cool at least a new car. Ooh wait I forgot. You are in 2005 right? BirthdayBoy_at_30: Yes I am. Very clever of you to realize. BirthdayBoy_at_20: So if I am not an MBA what am I ? BirthdayBoy_at_30: I am sorry to have to break this bit of news to you dude. But you are a PhD working in a R&D lab. BirthdayBoy_at_20: Haha now you are pulling my leg. You know me better than anyone else and you know I have always wanted to be like Banerjee uncle upstairs with the company car, the Calcutta Club membership and the masseur who comes in on Sundays. BirthdayBoy_at_30: Immature. Of course I forget you are only 20. You see at the age of 30 I have come to the conclusion that I am, in the final analysis, way too much like my father. I value my freedom and I am willing to make a financial compromise for it. It was tough coming to terms with this realization but it is true. And this epiphany didn't come all of a sudden---it was a lesson acquired by walking the path between 1995 and 2005. So straight off the bat, this may be a bit too much for you to understand right now but trust me on this one----maybe we did not set out to be a PhD but it's a rather good place to be. Considering the type of person we are and what we value in life. BirthdayBoy_at_20: Please don't mind but you are kind of sounding like Dad. Change of topic: have I traveled the world? Have I been to all the places I wanted to go? BirthdayBoy_at_30: Well quite a few of them as a matter of fact. You have been to Copenhagen, Switzerland, Barcelona , Vienna and around USA and Canada and all the European countries you have visited has been on funding money (ie not out of your pocket). So you see a PhD is not without its corporeal benefits also. And the thrill of publication, presenting original work in front of peers and interacting with some of the best minds in the world is a heady experience----something a twenty year old might not value but I have come to love. BirthdayBoy_at_20: Ooh good. Sounds fine. So I do my PhD in US...mm...feels kinda uncomfortable asking someone who is so much older than I am....but since you are me after all....do I turn out to be the super-rocking stud I always wanted to be? You know chick-magnet, party animal, bohemian hedonist without a care in the world. Do you remember how constricted you used to feel at 20 in an all-guys engineering college, growing up in a middle-class Bengali milieu, wanting to break free---total social and ethical anarchy. Do you remember, BirthdayBoy_at_30 ? BirthdayBoy_at_30: Yes BirthdayBoy_at_20 I remember. Only too well. I am sorry to have to break it to you---but things didn't quite turn out that way. Again what you cannot accept right now is that you have your limitations. As a matter of fact, turning 30 is possibly the stage when you truly realize the magnitude of all the things you cannot do. Its a sobering thought and one which, even though it comes at the cost of heartbreak and much sadness, makes your life that much easier. BirthdayBoy_at_20: Excuse me but could you repeat that in plain English? BirthdayBoy_at_30: It means "No". You won't have that lifestyle because your background and your upbringing and your sensibilities (the ones you are still not aware of) will pre-program you to take a different path. Plus lets face it----you wont cut a dashing figure in a club, you wont have the cash nor the style. Your time will be spent better staying at home, reading a book, doing creative writing....." BirthdayBoy_at_20: In other words, no Ecstasy-induced sandwich dance, no bumping and grinding. BirthdayBoy_at_30: Well there will be a lot of ham sandwiches. And burgers. Which will bring in a lot of pounds. The bad kind of pounds....not the currency. There will be grinding work and a few bumps along the way. And oh a factoid: Do you know that Tiger Woods was born same day same year as us? Somebody born that day sure achieved a lot. BirthdayBoy_at_20: So I let myself go and become fat. Not good. Will I get married? BirthdayBoy_at_30: Yes you shall. To a lovely person who is exactly right for the type of person you will grow up to be. BirthdayBoy_at_20: Oh ! That's good..... So summing up, how do you feel now? BirthdayBoy_at_30: A bit sad. The sadness from knocks sustained, trusts broken and overall cynicism about the institutions I once worshipped. The sadness from seeing ideals break and idols cracking. The sadness from knowing the things you can and cannot do. At 20, the world lay before me---I could be anything I wanted to be. I am not so sure anymore. A bit afraid. More responsibilities. More thinking of others and less about myself. More aware of my own mortality and those others whom I love. And finally more than a bit glad. Things could really have been much worse. BirthdayBoy_at_20: Boy you do sound old. I cannot believe I shall grow up to be you. In any case, thanks for all the crap old-timer. I have to go and start watching the cricket match---my favorite cricketer Azhar ...Don't want to miss his batting. BirthdayBoy_at_30: I am sorrry again to tell you this but Azhar fixes matches---he has put money on the other side. BirthdayBoy_at_20: Get lost....ewwwwww.......I am better off not knowing. I sit head in hand. Did I dream that all up? Was it the alcohol? Perhaps. Feeling emotional and light-headed, I think of the innocence , hopes and the aspirations of the person I talked to right now---so familiar and yet so strange, so present and yet so lost. Caught in the twilight haze of rational thought and hopeless dreams, my hand moves to the keyboard : To BirthdayBoy_at_40: Hi. I know this sounds kind of weird. I am you , when you were 30. I just wanted to see if you are online....had some questions to ask you.

2005---The Bong's Selection (Part 3)

2005-12-26T13:17:00.000-05:00

After my two earlier posts highlighting the Best and the Worst of Bollywood, now it is time for the So-Bad-Its-Good Countdown for 2005----surely for regular readers of RTDM its what all of you were expecting. Possibly. So here without much ado are the Greatbong's must watch for the year 2005----of course do remember to be well stocked with Prozac. Let me start by saying that the skin flick "Topless" (tag line: It takes more than guts to reach the top") is ineligible for this countdown because even I could not get through 30 minutes of this amazing work of art. Directed by one of Bollywood's greatest avant-garde directors, Nabh Kumar Raju whose portfolio includes "24 X7 Bombay Saloon Unisex" and "Flirt--Mera Dil", "Topless" is about an innocent model who is asked to pose "topless" for an ad campaign but she, according to the promotional material, stands "rock steady" against sacrificing her morals. It takes more than guts to sit through this one. Having gotten that out of the way, here's my list ---tongue firmly in cheek, brain firmly in the drain. 5. Khamosh--Khauff Ki Raat Ten people in an abandoned motel. A frightful deluge rages outside. Everyone is wet to the bones--which explains why they spend the night "khauffing". And then the bodies start piling up. Who is the killer? Why are they being brutalized? Do you really care so long as you get to see Rakhi Sawant in the bathtub? Most people have seen the twisted thriller "Identity"----one of my personal favorites of the genre in the last few years. Well Dipak Tijori had the DVD in his tijori for some time and he decided, in an orgasm of originality, to make an exact Hindi replica down to the costumes, the motel sign and the characters. However finding the ending and the explanation of "Identity" too confusing, he decided to dumb it down for the Indian audience---flattening a few of the twists at the end to make it more digestible including inserting a few "essential-for-the-plot" disrobing scenes. Also Tijori threw in a cabaret number or two----a shortcoming of the original movie many critics had pointed out. After all, we know the rule of thumb---for every 3 murders, there should be at least one item number. Which reminds us of Agatha Christie's chilling lines from "And Then There Were None" Ten little Indians went out to dine, One saw "Khamosh" and then there were nine. 4.Elaan No this is not the Madhoo-Akshay Kumar-Rami Reddy starrer "Elaan" with the song "Tururu tururu turururu kahaan se karoon main pyaar shuru?" (From whither shall I start making love) nor is this the Dharmendra-starrer Elaan-e-Jung. This is "Elaan"---one more quality product of the Bhatt family made with characteristic style and panache. A motley crew of Indians (Arjun Rampal, John Abraham, Rahul Khanna, Amisha Patel, Lara Dutta) go to Switzerland to get back, dead or alive, the greatest terrorist the world has ever known. The man is Baba Sikander----a terrifying visage of unadulterated pure evil played with Shakespearean aplomb by the Star of stars---Mithun Chakraborty, the Supreme Sith Lord. Elaan is Mithun's vehicle and he rides it like there's no tomorrow. Sometimes ensconced in his luxurious chalet in the Jungfrau region and sometimes engaging in murderous debauchery in Venice, with the "shayari sprouting" Chunkey Pandey as his right hand man, Baba Sikander pulls the strings and delivers the lines----in one beautiful Macbethian passage he tells us how despite his attempts to stay good, the world keeps on making him bad. Evil and tragic, Baba Sikander is truly one of the most 4-dimensional villains in Indian movie history. The rest of the movie however can be summed up pithily in a line from a song of the movie:" Andarlu Mandralu". 3. Fun--- Can Be Dangerous Sometimes Swapping is not a new concept in Hindi movies----its been happening to infants in Kumbh Mela for ages. But Bollywood pushes the envelope by stretching this idea to the realm of adults---more specifically to husbands. While wife-swapping is fairly well known, Fun talks about husband swapping---which is subtly different. Its so subtle that I dont even know what the difference is. Anyhow here's the story. Two women decide to play a dangerous game aided and abetted by Payal Rohatgi, 2005's biggest discovery. The game is to seduce each others husbands. In the meanwhile, Payal Rohatgi's boyfriend (shown in picture) rescues a scantily-dressed Meena Kumari-aping lady from the ocean. Thrown in is a subplot of a horny hotelier, a tartar of a wife, a voluptuous maid and a lecherous waiter--- and what do you get? Loads and loads of "fun baba fun" (as the song goes). And oh there is a murder somewhere too but really when you are having so much fun, who cares? Payal Rohatgi is a wonder of technology ---so much so that you could be excused for considering her to be a Fembot (female robot)----her dialogue delivery and facial expressions are synthetic and seems to be operating on closed-loop control. She also might be Vulcan considering the number of times she arches her eyebrows ala Spock. In conclusion, the movie's greatest strength is its extremely 'swappable' nature whereas any scene can be swapped with any other scene in the sequence and even then "Fun" would make just as much sense as before. 2. Chahat Ek Nasha In the course of her controversial career, Madonna has had her fair share of critics---the Church, feminists and angry moms . But not even her worst enemy could imagine or wish for Manisha Koirala, 200 lbs of gin-soaked flubber, to essay the role of the greatest female popstar. Supposedly inspired by the story of Madonna and Britney Spears (according to the movie promos), "Chahat Ek Nasha" is a heart-pounding story of lust, greed, desire and jealousy between two pop-stars---Mallika played by Madonna Koirala and Rashmi played by "Toxic" Jhangiani. Thrown into this mix is the object of affections of the two fine ladies---recording exec Rahul (Aryan Vaid) and a murderous bodyguard (Sharad Kapoor) who has gone slightly off the rocker under the ceaseless pressure of protecting Koirala's rather considerable body. Manisha Koirala fits naturally into the role of an alcoholic superstar----tottering about in alcohol-induced melancholia like an iceberg struck Titanic. Another weighty performance from her after Choti Si Love Story, Tum and Market. Jhangiani decides to be naughty in peekaboo Britney-ishtyle dresses , of course only because the "role demanded it" and "it was done in a tasteful way". A "Behenji Trying to be Modern" performance if there ever was one. The dialogues are Tarantino-esque and the production credits, from the guys who brought you "Market", are top-notch. In passing, "Chahat Ek Nasha" remains memorable for capturing Madonna in her full playful glory (something even Baba Sehgal tried to do in "Main Bhi Madonna" but failed), crystallizing on film the essence of the Material Girl through the flawless acting of one of India's heavyweight performers who certainly reveals a lot of "material" inside her (and some bulging out at the wrong places). 1. Laila Another Payal Rohatgi movie and you know that this strappy lass is having an annus cleavlibis (wonder year). Directed by the brother of Kenny G, Vicky G "Laila" is episodic in nature----basically a collection of the most common fantasies you would encounter in smut (boss-secretary, minister-villagebelle, master-student, actor-starlet, producer-starlet, biker-hitchhiker, godman-disciple) linked together by an invisible, imperceptible storyline. A most brilliant narrative device is provided by a mysterious man who sits in a shadow and keeps the episodes "in context". If the ideal of Engels was the withering away of the socialist state, here we see a true epitomization of the ideal of Hindi movies ---the withering away of the plot. Special mention must be made of Nirmal Pandey, once-rising-star of the Bollywood alternative scene who continues his hemorrhoidal hamming from "Mirchi Its Hot" (2004's No 1 movie) to essay the role of a lusty actor who teaches method acting while bedding a starlet. Listening to him opining on the art of histrionics, one understands how Pandey has attained his current position in the Bollywood hierarchy of stars. Summing up, Laila remains one of the most influential movies of the year---the recent Operation Majnu (Laila-Majnu) was no doubt inspired by cops watching this movie and becoming pro-active in preventing the social breakdown the movie depicts. Keep slapping. 0. Classic Dance of Love "Classic Dance of Love" cannot be ranked. It is incomparable and even calling it No 1 is an insult. Hence the special placeholder: Zero. (in honor of Mithun-da's relativistic dialogue in the movie: "There is no time, no space---only zero." ) Nothing more need be said except what has already been written here. Please read this review if you have not already.

2005---The Bong's Selection (Part 2)

2005-12-25T10:05:00.000-05:00

After my last post on "The Best movies of 2005" , here I am with the second installment, the flip side--the Worst Movies of 2005. A word of clarification: My definition of "worst" is based on the magnitude of the difference between perceived quality (hype, laudatory reviews) and actual merit (ie my evaluation). For example, "Veer Zara" would have been my worst movie of 2004 even though it was nominally better than "Mirchi---Its Hot" simply because "Veer Zara" promised so much and delivered so little. So here goes. "Neel n Nikkie", "Maine Shaadi Kyon Kia", "Kyon Ki"...and many other possible candidates don't make the list because I have still not gotten around to seeing them. And hope not to. No Entry I was expecting low-brow humor, maniacal acting, whippy dialogues and all-round madness. (All of which is exemplified in this, one of my favorite lines from "Haseena Man Jayegi"---"Yeh aapke honewale pati ke ho chuke bacche hain" [These are your would-be husband's done-before offsprings]). What we got instead was the total absence of laugh-out-loud humor (despite attempts to the contrary), a profusion of hammy acting (Celina Jaitley being the worst offender), flaccid dialogues and all-round idiocy. The fault may be because of this done-to-death story template ---husbands cheating on their wives with a femme fatale (Masti, No Entry, Shaadi No 1) that every situation and dialogue and even the actors (Fardeen Khan, Lara Dutta are common to two of these movies) look recycled, the supposedly "adult" jokes as predictable as a Mamata Banerjee bandh-call and as hot as yesterday's coffee while the songs have none of the chutzpah of the"Teri Nani Mareen to Main Kya Karoon" variety. Bring back the old Govinda, the old David Dhawan and the old Kader Khan-written scripts. Please. Black A noble, uplifting theme does not a good movie make. As I mentioned in a previous review, Bhansali lacks the touch of brevity and subtlety---each of his scenes is overwrought and hyper-dramatic. Initially whatever impact they have is worn out as he keeps on using the same heavy-handed directorial style to squeeze tears from the audience. In Devdas and Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, it was Bhansali's gaudy sets and the excess of color that overpowered the audience. Over here, it's hyper-drama with Amitabh the worst culprit delivering his dialogues with Mephistophelean glee. An example of what goes wrong when you make a movie only for critical acclaim. (And perhaps an Oscar). And forget that some people on the Oscar committee may have seen "Miracle Worker". It's risky panning "Black" without getting people coming and saying "Oh you heartless man have you no feelings?" To them I point out the first line: " A noble uplifting theme does not a good movie make". Chocolate Copying from a Hollywood movie cannot be the cause of a Hindi movie making the "Worst list". After all, that's standard practice. What however can is if the movie makers copied the original movie wrong. The makers of "Chocolate", it seems, either did not "get" the ending of the "Usual Suspects" (which is their source of inspiration) or in their unseemly haste to tack on a feel-good ending that is mandatory to Hindi movies, totally ruined the very basic premise of their master copy. If copying wrong can be forgotten in the spirit of Xmas, what even Jesus Christ cannot forgive is Suniel Shetty's atrocious wig, Anil Kapoor's faux British accent and Sushma Reddy's synthetic cleavage. Avoid this movie like the plague. Especially those who, like me, worship the original. My Wife's Murder Gati has a blog called "Nothing happens"---a rather apt description of "My Wife's Murder". RGV tries to do a Hitchcock----and falls flat on his face. When the movie finished, my wife turned to me and said--" It's over?" And all I could say was "Thank God". If "Home Alone" was a family movie without the family, "My Wife's Murder" is a suspense movie without the suspense. And twists. And turns. To be honest, Suchitra Krishnamoorthy as the grating wife looked quite familiar (wonder why) and I was just rooting for her to get murdered. I was also rooting for Nandana Sen to do a Tango Charlie cave scene and for the movie to take an unexpected turn. Disappointed on all counts. Anil Kapoor called this one of the best movies of his life. Rediff praised it to the skies. They obviously saw something I did not. Which is a pity. Mangal Pandey---the Rising Two well-endowed hotties dancing sensuously, simulating girl-on-girl action. A New York club, 2005?

No. Barrackpore Cantonment. 1857.

A British makes love to a cross-eyed, hyperventilating Indian widow. Mangal Pandey, who is "pretty fly for a brown guy" dances the funky dance with the two Barrackwatch beauties. A careless servant pours water on Memsaheb's bosom. Breast-feeding. Elaborate mujras. A servant gets aroused on watching the nocturnal activities of his memsaheb. Rani Mukherjee gets vulgarly auctioned by a lecherous slave trader. And the piece d'resistance----Kiron Kher's cleavage---truly the Massacre at Cleavpore.

Carry on Sepoys?

No. Mangal Pandey---the Rising.

Which raises the question---what exactly was "rising" here?

A disaster of the proportion of "Asoka" . Despite having material that lends itself to gripping drama, Ketan Mehta loses the plot (as well as the broader historical context) making "The Rising" the No 1, unmitigated disaster of 2005.

2005---The Bong's Selection (Part 1)

2005-12-24T21:10:00.000-05:00

Okay that time of the year. The end of it actually. And all of you must be dying to know the Greatbong's Hindi movie picks of the year---the best, the worst and the so-bad-its-good-and-so-you-have-to-watch-it. Well even if you aren't, here they are. Packaged into small capsules for your pleasure. Good Movies. Seriously I mean it. 5. Page 3: Madhur Bhandarkar exposes the seamy underbelly of the Mumbai glitterati---sex tourism, the casting couch, bitchiness, drug-use, media manipulation and bad acting. Okay not the last one. But you get the picture. Paisa Wasool: Good low-key acting, a grounded-in-reality plot and an electric ending. Bheja Fry: Slow to gain momentum in the initial reels. Not to be missed: David Bowie's "Let's Dance", remixed desi-style with Punjabi punched-in, being danced away to by a girl in a drug joint. 4. Tango Charlie: It may be a sad commentary on Indian "war movies" but Tango Charlie is, in my opinion, a far better war movie than "LOC Kargil" (an iterative loop of songs and tearful farewells) and "Lakshya" (Farhan Akthar should just stay with rich yuppie kids). Paisa Wasool: The scene in the jungles of the Northeast where the master insurgent (played with undiluted avarice by Kelly Dorji) leaves a soldier dying with his entrails hanging out in the hope that his death throes will attract his fellow armymen to come out of their hidden battle positions. And the camera focusing on one of the armymen-- his face drawn into an agonized grimace as his friend lies dying a horrible death a few yards in front of him and he is unable to come out of his hidden position in order to aid him, possibly brings out the horror and dehumanizing effects of war more than the flag-waving jingoism of "LOC Kargil". A power moment. Bheja Fry: Tanisha. Enough said. Not to be missed: Nandana Sen in the cave. Again enough said. 3. Shabd: Falsely marketed as a skin-flick, Shabd is an extremely sensitive, artistic, multi-hued movie about love, control and obsession which was far beyond the maturity level of the average Indian movie-goer. Please see my detailed review here. Paisa Wasool: Treads territory mainstream Hindi movies dare not go ---with the unfortunate effect that most people just don't get the movie. Bheja Fry: Zayed Khan and his attempts to copy the Khan. Stop him. Please. Not to be missed: Aishwarya in a black sari dancing to a Santana-inspired "Sholon Si". No acting needed. The universe is perfect. 2. Maine Gandhi Ko Nahin Mara: Jahnu Barua, the rising star of the "Bollywood alternative" firmament makes his first foray into the mainstream with "Maine Gandhi Ko Nahin Mara"-- a poetic, often surreal journey into the twilight zone of senescence and loss. Paisa Wasool: Anupam Kher, one of the greatest (but grossly misused) actors of his generation, gives an Oscar-worthy performance as an aging idealist who is losing touch with reality----the great actor we lost after "Sharangsh" is back. Bheja Fry: None. Not to be missed: A long shot of Anupam Kher sitting crumpled at the foot of Gandhiji's statue,- a realization of the full power of the celluloid medium to convey emotions without verbiage and explicit drama---a fact Hindi moviemakers fail to realize without exception. 1. Black Friday: Anurag Kashyap's explosive documentary-like, stark look at the conspiracy behind the Bombay Blasts of 1993 pulls no punches, takes no sides, glorifies nobody and villifies none. Losing neither the larger historic context of the incident nor the personal tragedies of the different protagonists, "Black Friday" is by far 2005's best Hindi movie. Paisa Wasool: No love story. No songs. No dreams. Just realism. And mind numbing terror. Because it really happened. Bheja Fry: None. Not to be missed: Tiger Memon (Pavan Malhotra)'s rage when he sees that his godown has been burnt to ashes by Hindu rioters while everything around him is untouched---a moment where despite his villainy you realize that he is, like everyone else, a victim of the maelstrom of hatred set into motion by forces far more powerful than he can fathom. [The worst movies and the so-bad-it-is-good follow in a subsequent post.]

Bhojpuri Bituwas

2005-12-22T13:39:00.000-05:00

Ever since I watched "Namak Halal" and Amitabh's "I can talk Ingliss I can walk Ingliss. and I can laugh Ingliss...Ingliss is a varry phunnny language...Bhairon becomes Byron because their minds are very narrow" I knew that there was a Bhojpuri movie hidden somewhere there just waiting to come out. And so it has ---Namak Halal has been dubbed into Bhojpuri and released as "Babua Khiladi Dadua Anari" ---inspired by "Main Khiladi Tu Anari", one of Bollywood's rare movies with a subtly gay subtext (or so people claim). Of course there is nothing of the sort in "Babua Khiladi Dadua Anari" except some beautiful "Daddu Tum" moments between Amitabh (who has always had a Bhojpuri appeal with the "Khaike Pan Banaras Wala" and "Dhanno ki aankh sharabi re humka laage" songs) and "sharaabi, kababi buddha"--- the nasal Oooommmm Prakash. Which brings us to the bigger issue at hand---the phenomenal growth of the Bhojpuri movie market. As BBC says: The industry, catering to 200m people who speak the Bhojpuri language - a dialect of Hindi - and live in the states of Bihar and Uttar Pradesh, is raking in cash like never before. Sticking to home-grown Indian family melodramas and throwing in some glamorous faces and slick foreign locations for a contemporary feel, Bhojpuri films are often outperforming Bollywood biopics at the box office these days. Take, for example, two of the Bhojpuri mega hits of 2005, Sasura Bada Paisawela (My Father-in-Law is Rich) and Daroga Babu I Love You (Dear Policeman, I Love You). Pefectly logical. Imagine yourself a cowherd in Chapra district or a miner in Ranchi or a farmer in Bareilly or a pickpocket in Varanasi. After a day of backbreaking labor you want to get drunk, go to a movie wearing a comfortable lungi with your ribald mates, pass comments, throw some chawannis, dance in the aisles-----in short have fun. Which is exactly what "Sasuda Bada Paisawala" (a dream of most Indian working men) and "Daroga Babu I Love You" (an interesting premise) provide. These movies target the problems of the proletariat----when you know you are going to go home to a wife shouting at your drunken-ness clutching 3 kids in her hand, you want to see "Dulhan Banwa Chudail" (The Bride Becomes The Witch) before the inevitable happens at home. Mother bossing, wife shouting, sister-in-law unwittingly seducing? Yes there is a movie for you--- "Ma Biwi Aur Sali" ( Mother, Wife and Sister-in-law). Kids treating you poorly? Old age? Don't watch King Lear----"Mat Bhulaiye Mai Baap Ke" (Don't forget your parents") is here. Made on a modest budget of $65,000, Sasura Bada Paisawela took in over $3m at the box office. Daroga Babu mopped up nearly $900,000 on a similar budget. Many Bhojpuri movies take about 10 times their costs. With a success rate of almost 100% it is not surprising that Bhojpuri cinema is wooing Bollywood players like never before. Superstar Amitabh Bachchan, presently recovering from surgery, and star actress of yesteryear, Hema Malini, have signed up for a Bhojpuri film together. Other actors who have appeared in or are about to appear in Bhojpuri films are Ajay Devgan, Juhi Chawla, Raj Babbar, Rati Agnihotri and starlet Nagma. That's not all - Bollywood's top choreographer Saroj Khan is directing a Bhojpuri movie, director Tinnu Verma is remaking a Bollywood hit, Mera Gaon Mera Desh (My Village, My Country), in Bhojpuri, and Bollywood singer Udit Narayan is producing a Bhojpuri film called Kab Hoi Gauna Hamar. The four-decade-old Bhojpuri industry is attracting foreign talent too. Ukrainian model Tanya has already played a Russian girl in love with a Bihari boy in Firangi Dulhania (Foreign Bride). Now 24-year-old Cambridge-educated British actress Jessica Bath has signed for two Bhojpuri films. This was bound to happen with Bollywood totally losing its touch with the Hindi heartland and instead catering to the multiplex-going city slickers. Who really cares about 3 friends who go to Goa in a Mercedes and "break up", like girlie men, on some trivial issue? Not someone who has spent the whole day walking in knee-deep dung in a cowshack. Who cares about badly executed copies of "Usual Suspects" or "When Harry Met Sally"? Or the story of a live-in relationship with the male protagonist prancing about in his underwear? Not the man who pulls a cart down the streets of Patna---he neither knows what a "live-in" relationship is nor the concept of underwear. If further proof of Bollywood's total disconnect with the heartland is needed it is this. In 2005 there were two remakes of Roman Polanski's "Death and the Maiden"---"Siskiyan" and "Dansh". Can you imagine watching Roman Polanski in a cinema theatre with the stench of urine, buzzing flies, pan-stained walls and one working fan? Neither can I. There is so much people like Mithun-da can do in sustaining popular interest in celluloid creations (after all it is not easy to produce movies like "Classic Dance of Love" every few weeks). Other people also need to put their hands up. In this context, it is heartening to see some other superstars (Big B, Dilip Kumar) taking a leaf out of Mithun-da's book. Not to speak of the Bhojpuri heavyweights: Manoj Tiwari, Ravi Kishen and Rani Chatterjee (whose original name is Shabina Sheikh but who has been renamed Rani Chatterjee because the word "Sheikh" at the end has masculine overtones among the target audience and also because Bong ladies are every daily laborer's fantasy) I have seen Ravi Kishen's work---he is phenomenal. His debut movie "Agnimorcha" was in Hindi where he played a disillusioned youth on the wrong side of the law and the song "Bolo Mooncipalty ki jai" swept the nation like a tidal wave. Bhojpuri directors, no doubt inspired by his pronunciation of the word "municipality", took him into the world of proletariat movies---and he provided one superhit after another---"Suhagan Bana Da Sajna Hamar"(Make my lover my wife), and "Dulha Aisan Chahi" (Want a husband like this). And the biggest heroine in Bhojpuri movies is our very own Nagma (who is considered Bengali by many---possibly because of the Sourav connection).I am sure her sterling work in "Super Police" and the song "Khaki wardi chasma wala, Patthar dil hain police wala, Phir bhi maine dil de dala, ooh yeah" in that movie caught the attention of the production company that made "Daroga Babu I love you". With Sourav's career in the state that is in, it might not be long before he makes his debut as a hero opposite Nagma in "O Kiran, More Pyar Kario" (Love me dear Kiran) ,"Chappa(e)l Pawar Ab Huya Hamar" (The power of the shoe is now mine) and "Tani Pher Na Najariya Hamar Prabhu Ji" (Lord please look after me). Its a fact. Producers are sick of stars who want to make movies only to get "Oscars" and thin anorexic heroines who remind the audience of poverty. Similarly, the demographic that forms the backbone of the industry is also tired of the elitist dreams the Bollywood people try to foist on them---a man wanting to sleep with 21 women in 21 days, a mafia saga where noone looks like a villain, a lady getting pregnant by a ghost, a man who has murdered his wife, a story about Mumbai high-society or a failed bank-heist in LA. With smaller budgets , no star tantrums, no Chinese food on the sets, no frills and stories that appeal to the unwashed masses, Bhojpuri movies have become a serious threat to the pretentious, bloated, disconnected fluff that comes out of the dream factories of Bollywood. Really who cares about soft-focus, sepia tones and techno-Arabic-Bhangra after a hard day's night? Not the heartland man. All he wants to see is a buxom lady getting wet in the rain. Is that too much to ask? Move over Mumbai, Mughalsarai is in the house.

V-Girl (TM)

2005-12-20T11:56:00.000-05:00

"Hey big boy ! Lonely? Girls turn you down? Afraid of more rejection? Fear not big boy..... V-girl (TM) , your virtual girlfriend, is here." (Link via Samantha Burns) "Wait, wait" you say. "What's so new about this? All of us guys have installed this Virtual girl thingie on our desktop at some point of time or the other----the busty lady who dances at the bottom right hand of the screen and secretly loads our machine with spyware like Bonzaibuddy, Gator, Websearch and other such digital scum ---all the time swaying to and fro sensuously." "Well big boy, you are wrong. That was then. This is now." I shall let V-girl speak. I am not just another pretty face. I am supported by artificial intelligence. I act like a real girl---I laugh, I flirt, I chat---I can even blow you kisses. I will listen to your problems as we get to know each other. I might even reveal my deepest secrets to you. "Artificial intelligence?" You ask "wasn't that about decision trees, neural networks and a little robotic boy who saw dead people? When did Marvin Minsky talk about blowing kisses? What the hell is this ?" I smile. What You don't know is that sex sells basic scientific research---funding authorities/venture capitalists now almost always ask---"All this technology is good but where's the sex?" Well almost always. I reply: "V-girl is a virtual creation that will reside in your cellphone. Depending on how you interact with her, she will flirt with you. You will have to buy her gifts, pamper her (like paying a huge amount as subscription fees), treat her like an adult Tamagotchi. And in return, you shall have something you always dreamt of----a girl who does not point out how fat and bald you are and who does not mind you taking other "virtual companions" (all companions come with a price tag)--in fact she even offers them? "Buy her gifts? Isn't she virtual?" I sigh. "Cheap bastard. She may be virtual but the people who have developed the technology are real people. They have bills to pay. And like most corporations they are also out to fleece you." "Mmm will she speak dirty to me...can we have cybersex? All the real girls I meet in chat rooms turn out to be guys" you ask morosely. I shall again let V-girl speak. We can have exciting conversations about all sorts of things. You can watch me as I go through my daily life. I will offer you companionship, commitment, entertainment, advice and a whole lot more. However I will not have real or virtual sex with you. Sorry! "Damn. Just what I need---a girl who offers commitment and advice but no sex." "Don't worry" I say "As V-girl points out in the FAQ section, you can get married to her in the higher levels of the game which you can reach if you shell out sufficient amount of money (gifts and subscriptions) .......but remember no sex. " "Sounds suspiciously like an Indian marriage" you say. "Talking of Indian, I have a strong suspicion that this V-girl is targeted towards Indian men. I wonder why. For starters, the name of the V-girl is "Maya". One of her "friends" ( I understand you can purchase their companionship also) is "Anju from India"----in the gallery section she is shown exercising with the focus of the virtual camera being exactly where Indian men look while making conversation with Anjus and Mayas. " "No thanks"--you say. "Much as I like technology and the idea of advancing a relationship on the basis of gifts and subscriptions, I think I shall have to give it a pass. My Shaadi.com ad came through and I am getting married to a wheatish-complexioned, convent-educated girl who does "service" and is "loving and modern with traditional values" ---I do not need this any more." "Well I would still ask you to consider V-girl. When you have the mandatory discussion of past boyfriends and she reels off the voter's list of the constituency she lived in, you could mention, as your past flames, Maya and Anju---at least it sounds a lot better than Mr. Right Hand. Think about this. Keep your cellphone turned on and sleep with it next to your pillow. A threesome every night ! Not even rappers are that lucky." So come on out--all you geek boys, the never-been-laid programmers----you have nothing to lose except being losers. Get your V-girl (TM) today. Technology has never been sexier.

Classic Dance of Love---the Review

2005-12-16T13:25:00.000-05:00

The movie of the year. Hands down. Not just this year, the movie in question might very well rank among the top Indian celluloid classics ever made---maybe just a tad below Kanti Shah's Tarantino-esque epic "Gunda" but then again just a tad. The movie's name is "Classic Dance of Love" which brings together the trinity of creativity, the last survivors of the Nouvelle Vague (that's Francais for New Wave----not "vague" as in English) cinema that was originated by Truffaut, Goddard et al-----the trinity being B.Subhash, Bappi Lahiri and the Supreme Lord and God of all things----Mithun Chakraborty. Just like Bhamha, Vishnu and Maheshwar's creative forces led to the creation of Durga, so it is with "Classic Dance of Love". It is very difficult to write a review for this movie. How can one review the Mona Lisa or Beethoven's seventh symphony or one's first kiss? It's just not possible but I am going to give it a try---taking the aid of pictures and text. The movie opens in Fellinesque fashion with Mithun-da clad in chains last worn by Sean Connery in the "Rock" standing in front of the setting sun (masterfully rendered by B. Subhash's multimedia company----Sixar by a painting of a yellow circle against a red background drawn on a piece of cardboard---the DVD commentary mentions that to be the backside of an old hoarding for Mithun-da's movie "Commando") asking the sun in a thundering voice a question which even Plato, Socrates and Schopenhauer could not answer: "Paap kya hain, punya kya hain?" (What is sin? What is piety?) The scene shifts to a crowded market place. Mithun-da wanders in, clad in chains---a blank insane look on his face---the same face he had when Sridevi left him standing in the temple when they had gone to get married. People mock and jeer him (Picture 1) as the madman who walks with a chain around his ankle---and then someone makes a mistake. He says "Good Morning". Mithun-da looks at him, eyes fixed and in a voice that would make the blood of tigers run cold (old jungle proverb) he says: "What is so good about the morning?" in perfect English. A cruel man tells Mithun-da to dance and if he dances then the man will give Mithun-da a laddoo. Mithun-da says that not even Nataraj can dance with chains round his neck (but we all know that Mithun-da is a bigger God) but that Mithun-da can---because the dance in question is the "Classic Dance of Love". Then it begins (Picture 2). Mithun-da starts bogeying in chains, his face contorted like a man pumped up with Viagra, moving with the supple grace of Houdini. In a time warp out come the 80s backup dancers (Picture 3)----the overweight, bursting-at-the-seams aunties, bringing back the refreshing innocence of an age gone by to the tired 2000s. After that dance , a cop comes to him pointing out that Mithun-da is bleeding from dancing in chains. Mithun-da turns to the cop and says: "Yeh khoon nahin ---mere krodh ka rang hain. Chatega ise?" ("This is not blood but the color of my anger. Want to lick it?") Needless to say, the frightened policeman does not take up Mithun-da on his offer. Then starts a flashback----Mithun-da used to be a rich and famous man---Dr. Ramgopal Acharya who like most PhDs lived a life of celibacy (or as some call it: severe sexual frustration). He was a religious/moral preacher who thought that women are the root of all evil----of course he made a distinction: there is the woman as mother, wife, sister ---pure and life-giving, [examples Nirupa Roy, Mayawati , Mamata Banerjee and girls in Jadavpur University engineering department] and then there is the woman as the agent of the Devil, the seductress, temptress [examples: girls in Jadavpur University Arts department]. A man of science, he also explains the General theory of relativity to his disciples (the most lucid enunciation of this, the most complex of concepts): "There is no time, no space only zero"

Indeed. Dr. Acharya is approached by a dashing-look Navin Nischol, UK's biggest industrial tycoon, who entreats Dr. Acharya to help him rescue his son who has fallen into the clutches of a temptress----"Kaliyon ka chaman" Meghna Laddoo sorry Naidu or "Doli". Doli is a poor innocent girl who dances around, under the loving supervision of madam Himani Shivpuri (this is the lady who played the lady doctor in Hum Aaapke Hain Kaun and Anupam Kher's "love interest" in DDLJ) , catering to a crowd of the most vulgar louts (Picture 4) ever captured on screen all the while trying to keep her oodles of fat from bursting out of her rather inadequate clothes (Picture 5) She dreams of a knight in shining armour riding a white horse to come and rescue her. Well I don't know if she gets the hero she always wanted but she certainly gets the white horse all right (Picture 6) ----the son of Navin Nischol whose acting makes Hayden Christensen look like De Niro and who sprouts amazing lines: "You look sexy in my lungi" Dr. Acharya drives a wedge between the two lovers haranguing the poor Doli with the kind of moralizing bombast that would make Bal Thackeray, Mullah Umar and my wife proud. Then to extract revenge, Doli infiltrates Dr. Acharya's peace haven (ashram) and launches a campaign of targeted titillation where she swing from a tree (like Drew Barrymore in Poison Ivy), takes endless dips in the water to cleanse herself and touches Dr. Acharya's feet at every opportunity. The story reaches a "climax" as Dr. Acharya starts losing his senses and goes wild with lust (Picture 7). Will Dr. Acharya satiate his physical desire with the voluptuous Doli? Will Doli lose weight? Will the hero run back for his heroine? Will Bappi Da compose an original tune? Watch "Classic Dance of Love" to find out. Whether it is showing Mithun-da having a wet-dream or talking to himself (in different voices and using different facial expressions ) like Smeagol or making Himani Shivpuri (a lady on the wrong side of 50) dance in a low cut , tight, short dress and shake her stuff (Picture 8) or punching in "intimate scenes" from "Romeo and Juliet" between Di Caprio and Claire Danes to increase the sexy quotient of his movie, B. Subhash is in total control of the celluloid medium.

Mithun-da crackles ---playing a professor of Physics and Metaphysics for the first time and dominating every scene he is in. Special mention must be made of his expressions of unbridled lust every time Doli touches his feet----when he gutturally groans, with his eyes half closed, " Utho utho" (Rise Rise), you don't know if he is asking Doli to stand up or something else.

A command performance---if there ever was one.

Bhappi Lahiri's moojick is melliflous as ever---recycling his 80's tunes with gay abandon and the camerawork also is dizzying---- concentrating on interesting angles whenever there is a lady dancing. Technical brilliance, an innovative, twisted plot, sensuality and a central theme of the eternal conflict between orthodoxy and bulging fat, "Classic Dance of Love" scores in all departments.

A stupendous achievement in Indian movie history.

As the punchline says:" It's a classic."

Watch it.

Thumbs straight up.

Confusion And "I Told You So"

2005-12-14T15:17:00.000-05:00

It may be because I am, what my patriotic, un-parochial section of readers (the same kind who gloated in the previous post when Sourav was dropped----which shows that not all of us belong to their concept of India) call an oxymoron. (Yes at least one of them in a comment on a post started calling me that and soon my other "Indian" friends picked it up. Of course that's because my "Indian" friend understands that oxymoron means someone who is more than a moron---an oxygenated moron or a cross between an ox and a moron). In any case, I accept my low scum-like intellect in front of these fine men/women/something else. Because I am thoroughly confused now. Okay here's the deal. I believe everything More says. Kiran More has always been my idol----ever since he dropped Gooch after which Goochie went on to make more than 300 runs against us. I have always been in awe of his rotating-round-and-round-like-a-ballerina hook shot and his sublime keeping skills. Most importantly, I have always admired his cricketing acumen-----like when he allegedly called Kirmani (whose wicketkeeping we all know was way way below More) a "goalkeeper" while arguing for the selection of Parthiv Patel (who hails from Gujrat---the same state where India's greatest keeper was born) [Thanks Yuvraj Dodia for pointing out the mistake ---Parthiv was not born in Baroda but More and Parthiv are still State-mates.] Which for all of us, who have seen Parthiv keep, just goes to show how much premium Kiran More puts on performance and how much "Indian" he is---where the word "Indian" is a synonym for region-blind. [An aside: There is a commenter on my blog who berates me, in unparliamentary language, for not being region-blind and not being "Indian"---all the while calling himself North Indian] Putting my trust in More, I believed that the reason why Sourav was dropped from the ODI side initially was because "noone wants to disturb a winning combination." I kind of like that---putting performance over superstition. However what bamboozled me was when More dropped Sourav Ganguly from a winning Test combination this time round. Surely, the important thing is "performance" and not "let's get rid of this guy whom we hate at all cost"---right? And the confusion continues. In a team where as Chappell and More says---past does not count; what counts is IMMEDIATE performance, I was a bit perplexed (from my knowledge of the theory of integers and their total order) that 79 (Ganguly's match aggregate) is lesser than Dravid (77) and Yuvi (77). To be honest, I believed there was little to choose between Ganguly(79), Dravid(77), Yuvi(77), Laxman(80) ---but evidently not. I also thought that when Sourav had made a comeback after performing in the domestic circuit and then had gained the trust of our Supreme Lord Greg (he said that Sourav had done "all that was expected of him" ), Dada had redeemed his sinful past tarnished by "being his own man" and for "arrogance with the press". What he did from now on would count as his "performance" on which his future selection would depend. Again evidently not. I also thought that Dalmiya was parochial (the Rediff article which reported Dalmiya's defeat in the elections called him so) and that Sharad Pawar and Kiran More are as fair as Solomon----and that the new board president and chief selector would usher in a new age of region-blind selection. An encouraging first step was made when they, hours after coming to office, removed all the selectors who had voted for Sourav. These selectors also, according to More-Pawar, had not performed. When Wasim Jaffar from Mumbai comes into the team after being kept in cold storage for many years, my faith in More shakes. Just a bit. Not much. He is still the "Give me More" man. But as I said I am a bit shaken. But what confuses me most of all is this line from Rediff---in an article sympathetic to Ganguly. This time, one wouldn't fault Bengali cricket fans if they come out again in support of Ganguly. Certainly, he doesn't deserve such humiliation after leading Indian cricket to dizzy heights. Was Ganguly only the captain of Bengal? Am I the only person who feels that dropping Ganguly is a bit inconsistent and might not be motivated by that grossly misunderstood word--"performance" ? I am of course not suggesting that More and Pawar are parochial ---woe betide me for even thinking of that. But are Bengalis the only ones who are going to "come out" in his support---does no one else feel that injustice has being done here? I dont want to say "I told you so" but this article is precisely what I have always claimed----the association of Ganguly with Bengalis is so ingrained in the popular consciousness that the injustice meted out to him should be, according to Rediff, visible only to people who (again according to my non-parochial, "INDIAN" commenter-friends) pronounce "save" as "shave" and do no work ie Bengalis. However I would like to think that what Rediff says is wrong. That people, regardless of where they come from, will see that there is something wrong going on here. At least, I hope so. Many Indian cricketers have been given bad farewells but has anyone faced such humiliation and targeted, vindictive vitriol? I doubt it. But then of course, as a few of my visitors (who call themselves different flavors of "Indian") , say---Sourav deserves the worst kind of humiliation possible and so do Bengalis. Of course we do. No confusion there.

Operation Duryodhana

2005-12-12T21:59:00.000-05:00

One more sting operation. This time targeted against representatives of the people. Aaj Taak and some organization called Cobrapost (Tehelka, Cobrapost---what's with these sensational names?) went undercover and busted a few of our MPs for taking bribes to table questions in Parliament. Now I ask ---so what? Sure you get some publicity (kudos to Aaj Taak and Cobrapost ), some heads roll, people act shocked----but what then? What these out-to-create-news-at-any-cost people do not understand is that their actions ruin the greatest currency we have in this world. Not Euros. Not yen. Certainly not dollars. Trust. If a politician cannot trust a man coming to bribe him then who can he trust? His own party? The people? No. Of course not. The bond between a briber and bribee is sacrosant----even a sniff of doubt strikes at the very fabric of the food chain that is politics in India today. It threatens the very basis of our polity---effectively drying up the grease that lubricates the creaking machinery of governance. Now after this sting operation whenever someone comes to bribe a politician, the poor MP has to run extensive background checks, device a circuitous route to get the money (aah the innocent times of N Rao when politicians carried suitcases full of cash) and in general always watch over his shoulder. The result----further delays in the decision-making pipeline and an increased cost of maintaining the bribe-taking infrastructure----a cost that will be passed onto the customer--- the common man of India. A similarly counterproductive thing happened after the "casting couch" sting operation. The bond of trust between producers and aspiring actresses was broken---and as I pointed out in a past post, the upshot of the controversy was that people like Shakti Kapoor had to make sure that starlets totally disrobed before they came in his presence. Just to check that they did not have any hidden devices on them. Now let me say I fully endorse what BSP MP Narendra Kumar Kushwaha (25,000) said regarding this controversy. "It is a 'bhool' (mistake), it is nothing more than that". Geez people ! Don't you make mistakes? Haven't you ever made "silly mistakes" on your maths test in school like forgetting to add the carry over or copying a digit wrong from the test paper? Remember Jaya Bachchan's character in "Kal Ho Na Ho" when she remembers her husband fathering an illegitimate child and then breaks down saying "It was only a bhool, he was not a bad man, just a bhool." Yes small mistakes happen. And as Narendra Kumar points out 25,000 is funny money--- They have tried to trap MPs. I told them, 'If you want to give money, give five or 10 lakhs (of rupees). What is this 10,000 and 20,000?'" Character assassination plain and simple. The fact that Narendra Kumar is corrupt to the bottom of his black heart isn't cause for shame---as a matter of fact that's one of the bullets a politician needs to have on his resume. The shame he feels is that everyone now knows that he sells for 10,000/20,000----why even a crack whore well past her prime with half of her teeth missing and one working eye can do better on a rainy day. And this guy is the people's representative. Come on show some respect. Wait there is more. Kushwaha evidently made passes at the undercover reporter who was posing as a briber. Much is made of the fact that he kept on asking the lady to his bedroom----as if the sexual act cannot be done in the living room. Hell the President of the Great Power did it standing up in the back room of the Oval Office----he didn't call Miss Lewdinsky to the Lincoln bedroom did he ?Maybe Kushwaha was being very cordial and maybe he is a bedroom man----he works better there. (He also called Malhotra, a man, to his bedroom) .Who knows? Okay there is still more. He (Kushwaha) also offers to get more MPs on board free of cost, saying lecherously, "Aapke paas deh hai na (You have your body to offer)"

Haha. Verrry clever. Sound editing. This is what our MP actually said.

"Aapke paas desh hai na?" (You have the country on your side).

An inspiring line of patriotism reduced with the suppression of the "s" into a crude come-on line which seems to imply that MPs use parts of their anatomy other than their brain to come to decisions and that a significant section of them were not hugged when they were children and consequently are constantly seeking female attention and acceptance.

As to the other lecherous statements made by the MP, what the presswallahs have done is cleverly take away the statements he made prior to the said statement.

Sample:

"Arre tum to meri poori awaaz hi lekar chali gayi ho (You have taken away my voice)",

Flirtatious?

Now here's the context.

"Kya? Sirf dus hazar rupaye. Kya boloon main. Arre tum to meri poori awaaz hi lekar chali gayi ho , (What ? Only 10,000 rupees. What can I say? You have taken away my voice)

You maybe asking why am I defending these politicians? Why? Because they are my readers. Yes, they are the ones who regularly visit my blog, comment under the names "Indian" ," another Indian" and call me names. And there is one thing I will not stand for----attacks on my readers. Especially those who comment.

Okay here's the proof. The whole blogging community is now laughing at one of the questions:

Is it true that while NRI firms such as India Uncut of USA, Sepia Mutiny of Britain and AnarCap Lib of Netherlands have been allowed to invest in Indian SSIs, the reputed German investment firm Desipundit has been denied permission? If so, the reasons thereof? Is the Union Government of India planning to make automatic the long procedure of permission for SSIs to import new technologies such as Trackbacks, Pingbacks, Blogrolls, Splogs and Hitcounters?

The blogosphere is laughing out of a sense of superiority ---the idea being "haaah what fools these politicians are----bloggerspeak dupes them."

Actually Indian politicians do read blogs. They read mine. Because I speak at their intellectual level.

Which is why the Cobras never mentioned "Greatbong of USA " in that question. Because that would be a giveaway !

Even Mr "Khush Huya" would have said---"Wait, isnt that the dude who writes about Mithunda and who has wet dreams about Sourav Ganguly? Hey these guys are frauds......guards guards stop that lady and let me search her personally for hearing devices. This is a sting. "

And I will tell you two other blogs whose names the Aajtak/Cobra guys would not dare take: Desibabes and Debonair blog. (Links intentionally not provided). Most politicians have these 2 blogs on their bloglines---compulsory reading for good governance. Along with of course this blog. Ahem ahem.

In conclusion, Operation Duryodhona lives upto its name. Not because it catches Duryodhonas but because it strikes politicians a killer blow below the belt.

Which all said and done isn't all that bad a thing.

Don't Hit the Road Jack

2005-12-11T11:09:00.000-05:00

This from the Telegraph. The proposal came on the day of the wedding. Yes, the marriage was on but for one month. The guests had started coming in when young Rohini, dressed in her bridal finery, got the call from the man with whom she was about to start a new life. Only, Rohit Nagpal didn't see it that way. He wanted a one-month contract to determinehis would-be partner's "compatibility". If they hit it off, fine; if not, too bad. A stunned Rohini, who first thought Rohit was joking, ran to her parents. "She was decked up and looking very pretty. She rushed out of the room with tears in her eyes and asked her mother to request the guests to leave as the wedding had been called off," a relative said over phone from Gurgaon.

Perfectly logical. Before making an IT investment you get an evaluation copy with a 30 day license. If the software is compatible with your "system" and you are satisfied with its "performance", you buy the extended license and also a technical support contract. Else its an uninstall.

Rohit (also Hritwik Roshan's standard name---like Raj/Rahul is SRK's , Prem is Salman's and Vijay/Jay is Big B's) being a techie , who may have taken things to heart a tad too much, has decided to extend this principle to his married life. He has seen through the fluff and considers arranged marriage for what it is---a business transaction. If you read the Telegraph article you will see that there was the small matter of a car being given to the groom. Now, the car and the wife seem to come together as part of a deal---and Rohit here was purely asserting his right to a 30-day money-back guarantee, no questions asked.

And yes he was keeping the receipt.

Before my sensitive readers start shouting MCP, let me say I do not endorse Rohit's behavior. It is plain and simple retrograde. A lady is not a piece of code, compiled for your pleasure and packed in an attractive box. Absolutely not.

I think what made Rohit go postal was the effect of watching too much of "Salaam Namaste" and imbibing the ideals enshrined within. I also think Saif Khan's peek-a-boo undies may have contributed to this disassociative state on the part of Rohit. But I shall leave that discussion for another day.

However it should be noted for all you feminists (male and female) that Rohit had not precluded Rohini from rejecting him after the 1 month---in other words, it was an open contract for both sides.

Something similar happened to Rajiv Bhattacharya, an IBM Global Services employee a few years ago. Well he didn't call in with a strange demand. He ran away. Or as he claimed: he got kidnapped.

Things started getting a bit strange once on the eve of the wedding, his wife received a cryptic message in Bengali which translated says:" Find out all the details before you get married."

And then Rajiv Bhattacharya vanished. Poof. One moment he is here and then he is gone. "We feel he was abducted. We are not ruling out the hand of some rival computer multinational in this," Rajiv's father said. The Calcutta Police, the most efficient crime-fighting organization on the planet, took this to heart and knocked at Bill Gates' gates to see if he had kidnapped his competitor's chief jewel, Rajiv.

A lot of bizarre events came to pass and our hero was found in Mughalsarai. He talked about being kidnapped by 4 men who had beaten him black and blue. However, unlike the tale of Verbal/Kaiser Soze of Usual Suspects fame, his story was taken apart by the Calcutta Police---a sure sign that Rajiv had done some sloppy work. He had faked his own kidnapping and just gone AWOL.

[For references to the above story, please google for Rajiv Bhattacharya]

A year ago there was the famous case of the Runaway Bride in the US where a lady, on the eve of her marriage vanished. She had bought a bus ticket many days before and just ran. And when she was found by the cops, she had a spicy story to tell----of being kidnapped by a Mexican goon and being made to perform degrading sexual acts---including yes lesbian sex. Such a story was too good to be true and indeed it was. Like our good friend Rajib she had merely developed cold feet.

But forget the American. Their culture system is different from ours. Let's look at the Indian scene again.

Why are men so scared of commitment? Surely the fact that they are not going to have sex with anyone else for the rest of their lives isnt that scary a thought is it? To be honest, most Indian men arent getting a lot before marriage in any case. So how bad can marriage be--- after all one is better than none. But the problem is that men arent thinking so logically.

They are also forgetting that marriages are made in heaven and that a bond thus created lasts for 7 births. (Actually reliable sources tell me that a bond of marriage only lasts for 1 birth it merely seems to persist for 7 births).

So why this metamorphosis?

What else? Hindi movies. Previously Sooraj Barjatya and Yash Chopra showed us the beauty of monogamy, highlighting the beauty of white-hot, lust-free, incorporeal love where someone somewhere was made for you. Where people didn't fall but rose in love. Yes things were that pure.

But a dark shadow has fallen. In "Garam Masala", we see Akshay Kumar brazenly sleep with 3 air-hostesses on a strictly shareware basis and then finally get married to his long-time lady love (the 4th girl--Rimi Sen) who does not seem to overtly mind our hero's rather colorful resume.

"Masti", "No Entry", "Shaadi No 1"----all of them are based on the principle that married life is boring and that true spice can be found only outside wedlock. Of course just like movies glorifying the mafia are ostensibly about how crime does not pay, these movies are supposedly about the sanctity of married life----but the message is pretty clear.

And if this was not enough, Yash Chopra the marriage-is-pure man himself makes a movie "Neil and Nikki" where before his marriage, the hero decides to sleep with 21 women in 21 days.

Frankly the thin end of the wedge---this is like Mahatma Gandhi asking for the detonation of a nuke.

Just like credit card advertisements promote reckless spending, these movies are abetting behavior that threatens to tear apart the fabric of family and society.

In the golden days, whereas it was the heroine who would elope with the family driver or the poor icecream vendor leaving behind a tearful letter to parents and clearing out the safe, now it is the hero who is eloping. Alone. In search of greener pastures and a try-before-buy guarantee.

Bring back "Hum Aaapke Hain Kaun." Save the institute of marriage. Pronto.

[Thanks to Atanu for pointing out the story of Rohit. ]

Censor ! Censor !

2005-12-08T15:51:00.000-05:00

I reacted with shock and awe on reading about an initiative to spread the love of God---a 2006 calendar " with 12 staged photos depicting erotic scenes from the Bible." "There's a whole range of biblical scriptures simply bursting with eroticism," said Stefan Wiest, the 32-year-old photographer who took the titillating pictures. Not being an expert on the Bible, I cannot vouch for the above assertion. But what bothers me is what if, in an age where people are shamelessly aping the West, we also did something similar to our epics ? It's not as if we don't have the raw material.As an example, let me refer you to this. And also this. A racy read no doubt---something that even Human Digest (yes yes that publication that a lot of people have read but noone talks about---for those who have genuinely never heard of it think of it as a more exciting cousin of Reader's Digest) would be proud to have on its sticky, worn-out, dog-collared pages. But what if someone made a mega-epic based on the classics and intentionally focused upon the parts which BR Chopra and Ramanand Sagar glossed over with their bhajans and whole episodes devoted to baby Krishna playing with a ball? What if we see on the video shelves-- "Panchali does Pandavas" on the lines of "Debbie Does Dallas" ? This possibility is reason enough to immediately edit the Mahabharata and make Draupadi monogamous. Another example. Drona's father sees the celestial apsaras clothless bathing in a river, has an "American Pie" moment and Drona is born inside a pot. Which is what Drona means---born in a pot. Some people call this sure evidence that we had test-tube babies even then-----but I am somehow worried about the more salacious consequences. What if some filmmaker , someone who claims to worship the "female form" (or in other words, a dirty old man who likes to see girls in the nude) recreates this whole episode in a "Ram Teri Ganga Maili/Anubhav" type setting and passes it off on impressionable minds? That's even worse than smoking "pot". So when I tell my grandkids the story of Drona's birth I am just going to say that his mother found him in a temple. Or that a stork brought him in. I suggest you do the same. The reason I am worried is because Hindi film people have been cannibalizing the adult bits of Mahabharata for years. Shakti Kapoor and Gulshan Grover have, in their movies, recreated the vastraharan scene so many times that I have lost count. Or maybe because I wasn't counting while watching these scenes. In any case, the "Bhagwan ke liye mujhe chor do" line is an echo of what Drapuadi said in the crowded court----of course the addition of "Bhagwan ke liye tujhe chor doon, to main kya prasad khayoonga" is just a monstrosity added by the moviemakers to drive home their point. Having read the original Mahabharata translated into bengali, I was horrified at the scene where Jayadarata ogles Draupadi as she emerges from the river like an ancient-day Brigette Bardot and the explicitness Jayadrata uses to describe Draupadi would make even the worst street Romeo cringe. And this incident is virtually repeated with Kichaka in King Birat's court. As well as in the story of Nal and Damayanti, where a horny Rakshash gets bad ideas after seeing Damayanti in a rather skimpy one-cloth dress. Good thing that this part of the story was edited out in the 1945 movie "Nal Damayanti" with Prithviraj and Sobhana. Which just goes to show that with good sense , as displayed by BR Chopra, the story can be conveyed without taking recourse to such vulgarities. I remember the scene where Mukesh Khanna..sorry Bhishma's father Santanu consummates his marriage with Ganga or Kiran Juneja with the line :" Main abh ganga-snan karna chahta hoon". How pure. Or the time when the rishi and his wife, who were mating as dear, was killed by Pandu for which as we all know a horrible curse came upon him. Thankfully BR Chopra showed the old sage couple dying as dear----a less sensible director might have shown them morphing back to their human forms as they died----that would be just so horrible as there is nothing as unpleasant in the world as displaying old people having sex. Also when Pandu dies in a transport of passion with Madri because of the effect of the curse, all that BR Chopra shows is Pandu saying:" Tum ati sundar ho Madri" after which he obligingly drops dead on the floor. In the hands of a lesser director, this may have become a Basic Instinct like scene--ice pick and all. Another problem is skepticism---people are just not willing to accept miracles any longer. I mean what's so bizarre about Kunti having a kid before her marriage from The Sun Lord and then 3 after her marriage from the Lord of Death, the Lord of the Air and the Lord of Lords? Its perfectly believable that Gods came down and magically impregnated her-----the alternative explanation that guys with the name of Surya, Dharma, Pavan and Indra stayed in her locality is just plain hokum. Some people even make an anti-Bengali joke out of the birth of Pandoo. We all know that Vyas, a sage with rather poor body hygiene, came and impregnated the queens. One of the queens turned white or rather resisted the natural flow of the act of sexual congress and her son consequently was born weak. The joke I heard in this context was that the queen being a Bong could not pronounce "V" (Bengalis say "Bajra" [thunder] rather than "Vajra" ) and when she said "Vyas Vyas" in order to encourage the swami, the sage heard "Baas Baas" (enough, enough) and so this caused the misunderstanding. As Mr T would say:" I pity the fool". I hope you all now understand why the Mahabharata and the Ramayana need to be sanitized and rendered kid-safe. Though originally written for the noble purpose of entertaining, with the religious bits merely serving as moral justifications for rationalizing the guilty pleasure of enjoying what was essentially a gigantic, extremely-well-crafted, fast-paced novel whose scope encompassed all emotion known to man (including lust) , it now urgently needs to be morphed into something totally different. Ever since a mosque came down and a bald man crisscrossed the country in a funnily decorated jeep, we have become aware of our Hindu heritage---a heritage we have been led to believe is intolerant, rigid and puritan and which can only be understood with the help of RSS men in khaki shorts. The classics thus need to be modified in order to keep pace with this change or "jagaran". Tha's why we need to take out all the fun, all the humanity and replace it with propriety and "morals"---where's Sushma Swaraj when you need her? No polyandry, no polygamy, no neighborhood uncles, no desperate housewives, no forced disrobings, no "lolitaaaaaaa", no more pot abuse, no sensual descriptions and no more anti-Bong innuendo. I mean it. [Update: Go here to see the 21st century rewrite of Mahabharata (work in progress)---in its true tradition. Recommended reading. Hat tip: Humsafar ]

My Stance

2005-12-05T10:21:00.000-05:00

Vulturo asks me to spell out my position on Laloo Pradad Yadav (LPY). A commentator on my last post accuses me of being ambivalent like any politician as my previous post vacillates from pro-Laloo to anti-Laloo and back again. So let me make things more explicit. To me LPY is an anthropomorphism of the filth that is politics in India today---a system where people with criminal backgrounds are actively sought, where education decreases your chances of being successful, where the level of debate is on the lines of what you might expect in a brawl in some desi liquor adda , where corruption is flaunted extensively (yeh mera baap ka rajya hain...now screw me if you can) and where people are not immoral but amoral. But LPY is more than this. He is a monster created by a media which despises and idolizes him in equal degree. Which is perfectly fine with LPY, who being a shameless megalomaniac and a canny politician loves the media play he gets. He understands that a concomitant of the airtime he gets is that he has to play up to the image of a country bumpkin---hair coming out of his nose and ears, an idiotic haircut and speaking Hindi in a thick Bihari accent. We watch LPY for the same reason people watch "Jerry Springer" in the US----because he looks like a clown, he is a freak--- repelling and yet oddly magnetic. And his constituency can also empathize with him as their "dear son". It is this carefully cultivated image that has morphed him into a kind of genial teddy bear-----which is why sisters gift their dear brothers with a picture of Laloo, foolish, rural but yet oddly lovable, on it. In reality, he is hardly that. Running Bihar by proxy like his personal fiefdom, he is a malignant presence under whom kidnapping has emerged as Bihar's premier industry. The reason the fodder scam investigations fell through was because buildings housing evidence bizarrely suffered spontaneous combustion, witnesses vanished and officials found themselves transferred. Though he is not the only one to blame for this, LPY has reduced Bihar to a barren wasteland that lies at the bottom of the list of Indian states when judged on various indices of progress. And he blames everyone but himself for that. But then there is the other point---what was in my last post interpreted as "support". LPY is not the only bottomfeeder out there---he is part of a much larger problem. LPY's only significance is that he is the most potent symbol of all that is wrong with the system. However the demerit of LPY's overpowering image is that other politicians, who are not as flamboyant or shameless, are able to pass underneath the radar. As an example from my last post, when Lata Mangeskar brought out a CD singing songs of poems written by AB Vajpayee the media stayed silent. Why? Because the gesture maintained a veneer of propriety. When Jyoti Basu's biographer got a plum post (a VCship if I remember correctly), there were only minor rumblings from some media outlets in Bengal. And then when some enterprising person composed Laloo Chalisa in Bihar and got many tangible blessings from Bihar's first family , everyone went to town---laughing and shaking their heads at the shamelessness of LPY and his bunch of sycophants. However in spirit, all three are the same. Yes the last one is more crude---but all of them concern "kissing ass." This is not support for Laloo. What I wanted to say was that "Yes LPY is bad but there are several who are equally bad if not worse. Except that they use polish to exalt themselves". The reason I say this is that many people may be rejoicing at LPY's defeat. They should not. There are LPYs everywhere all over India-----except not all of them have 8 children and not all of them can milk cows and not all of them come on prime time talk shows. In Bihar itself, much of Nitesh Kumar's support base contains disaffected members of LPY's fan club. So it is rather naive to expect that anything will change. As an example of the perpetuation of Laloo-ism, one of the first policy decisions that the Nitesh Kumar government makes is to remove references of LPY from Bihar school textbooks. Frankly, is that the principal problem in Bihar's education system as of today? What this points to is a bigger problem: the government is, in the coming months, going to spend an inordinate large amount of effort to diminish LPY's persona through such poorly-prioritized initiatives rather than deal with more urgent challenges facing the state of Bihar--namely law and order and education. I made a mistake. LPY and Rabri Devi will not be "back". Because they never left Bihar in the first place.

They Will Be Back

2005-12-04T13:08:00.000-05:00

It was with a heavy heart that I read about the defeat of Laloo in the Bihar elections. I feared that now that Laloo has left, samosas would become bereft of potatoes and bears would vanish from the jungles. But they havent. Could it be because the: "Jab tak rahega samosein main aloo, Jab tak rahega jangal main bhaloo, Tab tak rahengein Bihar main Laloo" was nothing but badly rhymed political hyperbole? Of course not. The reason why samosas and bears remain unmolested is because Laloo has never left Bihar. He cannot. Because he IS Bihar. Nitish Kumar is nothing but a pretender---a Laloo loyalist who turned against the great man. Just like Ravana was also actually a disciple of Rama. Nitesh's sojourn on the throne is only a temporary aberration---a minor perturbation in cosmic tranquility. Laloo and Rabri----the Ram Sita of this generation will be back if not for anything else but for the continued perpetuation of samosas and bears. And also for some fodder. I am sometimes amazed to see the amount of hatred the "bhodrolok" (gentry) have for Bihar's first couple. Laloo and Rabri are projected as uneducated village bumpkins who orient the newspaper based on the pictures, are corrupt to the core, indulge in blatant nepotism, endorse sycophancy and a whole lot of assorted bad things. The reason for the hatred is because the gentry feel threatened by Laloo. Because Laloo embodies their greatest fear---that the unwashed, hair-sticking-out-of-the-nose, rustic sons of the soil will rule the country. The so-called classy junta rely too heavily on their assumptions of the world---that education is necessary for success, honesty is the best policy and the good guy wins at the end. Laloo shows the middle finger to these utopian, boy's scout values and that is precisely what makes so many people intensely uncomfortable. Its fine as long as its the Oxford educated crowd are indulging in corruption----merely perks of the job. But get caught stealing cattle food and then it's all "shame shame". If it's the upper crust, we call it the "old boy's network", if it is Laloo then it is nepotism. Making money on defense deals and contracts ---"kickbacks" and "commissions". Making money of cow fodder---oh so plebian. The nation's leading singer singing your poems and releasing an album just because you are the prime minister--- a tribute. Laloo Chalisa---a shameless attempt to kiss ass. Hypocrisy? You bet. Laloo never sold out his roots. Even at the top, he remained essentially a cowherd whose hands were more comfortable holding a bovine udder than the pen of policy. A story told by Laloo many years ago was that when he went to the Far East to attract investments for his state he wore a suit to make the corporates feel comfortable but in deference to his roots, declined to don underwear. Laloo has done more to expose the workings of government than any other. His Holi meetings with the ministers of his cabinet were rambunctious, from-the-heart affairs where he delighted in pulling down the pajamas of his ministers----if that is not transparent governance then tell me what is? Laloo speaks the language of the "pipul"----his cheeks of Hema Malini line perhaps symbolizes how clued in he is to the language of the streets. No high faluting "yeh banana hain woh banana hain" but a plain and simple criterion of success ! It very well may be that the roads of Patna resemble Om Puri's cheeks more than Hema's but that is solely because of the neglect of the center. Harvard has studied him, Mahesh Manjrekar has named a movie after him. Mamata Kulkarni has danced for him. Pooja Bhatt has eulogized him. He has an university named after him----Jadavpur. And what's remarkable is that this university was named in his honor even before he was born. In that respect, he is not just a living legend, but also a mythical figure. Can this man ever really be out of power? Can he? In passing, I feel sorry for Ram Vilas Paswan and his campaign symbol---an Osama Bin Laden lookalike. I feel sorry for Nitish Kumar because he is not up against a person. He is up against an institution. He is up against an ideal---that being that in a truly democratic India, everyone has the right to be corrupt and exploit others regardless of the social station that they find themselves in by virtue of their birth. Laloo and Rabri will be back.

The Switch

2005-12-04T05:59:00.000-05:00

An extract from an interview with Antara Mali the context being her latest movie "Mr ya Miss" We have heard the film is based on the English film The Hot Chick. I request those who are saying it to see the Hollywood version before dropping in for Mr ya Miss. It's very sad that each time a new film is about to hit the screen, people fall over themselves to find out if it has any remote resemblance to any Hollywood manufacture. Filmmakers are humans and there is bound to be similarity of thoughts. I shall be grateful to the audience if they can just evaluate my film as it is without attempting to compare it with some Hollywood film. I totally agree with Ms Mali. Just because a few (okay more than a few) Bollywood people copy from foreign sources, does not mean we should paint all with the same brush? It's not right ! Only one problem. "Mr Ya Miss" IS a copy. Not of "Hot Chick" but of the 1991 movie "Switch". Somehow Antara-ji thought that she could get away with her shocked innocence-----well evidently not. However she does redeem herself with the following sentence: As for casting Aftab she says, "Well, we both do look similar. I mean, I could easily pass off as the female version of Aftab. Touche. [Just to show I am not a plagiarist, the same points have been made independently by a commenter on Rediff's review of the movie. I was not inspired by that but came to the same decision independently after reading the movie plot and noting its similarity with "Switch" which I saw a long time ago (an eminently brainless flick if I may add). Honest]

Your Job Interview is a Beauty Contest

2005-11-28T16:25:00.000-05:00

There's a scene in Satyajit Ray's vastly under-appreciated classic "Pratidwandi" (the Adversary) where the protagonist, Siddhartha is sitting in front of an interview board. Siddhartha has had to quit his medical studies because of a death in the family and desperately needs the job. He is then asked by the suited and booted men on the other side of the table: "What do you think has been the most significant human achievement in the last few years?" Now Siddhartha knows the answer he is "supposed to give"---which is "the moon landing" (The movie was released in the early 70s). Yet being honest and also somewhat of an idealist , he gives an answer that not only reflects his own beliefs (and individuality) but is also logically more nuanced than the "stock answer". Siddhartha considers the Vietnam War to be the greatest human achievement of the last few years because given the advances in science and technology, the moon landing was inevitable---the only suspense being whether it would this year or the next. However, the fact that a group of uneducated, disorganized peasants could keep at bay one of the World's superpowers by dint of their determination was in itself a far greater "human achievement" because it was unexpected and unprecedented. Siddhartha does not get the job. The bosses suspect him to be a communist despite the fact that it does not take a communist to appreciate Siddhartha's line of reasoning. Rather than interpreting his answer to be the mark of an intelligent, original and essentially honest man, the bosses took it as "How dare this man not give us the standard answer !" This is something that has never ceased to amaze me. HR people and administrators claim to covet people who think differently (or "out of the box" whatever that means) and claim to value people who come across as honest and innovative and yet time and again I find that during interviews/job applications/statement of purpose evaluations, its always the hackneyed, done-to-death, predictable answers that are the winners. Beauty pageants I understand. The question round is, in any case, a big exercise in hypocrisy ---aimed at perpetuating the myth that a beauty contest judges both "brains and beauty" where we all know that it's nothing more than a parade of luscious female figures. Hence the genteel question-answer round with the standard hyperbole of "world peace, Mother Teresa and helping the children of the world" acting as a rather transparent veneer of respectability that we all know is bull but maintain nonetheless. Again that I understand. But when an administrator is granting admission to an university or extending an offer to a prospective employee, that's serious business. And yet even there it seems that standard questions are supposed to be met by standard answers. Anything else, even if logically argued, is a pointer to the door. Let me give my own example. I once applied for a position of "Resident Assistant" (technically called a Building Coordinator--(BC) for the graduate dorms---a rather standard way grad students make some extra money. [Actually our housing gets subsidized and it would have been possible for me to bring my wife straight away if I got the job] Now for my interview I was asked:" Why do I want to be a BC?" I knew what the expected answer was---- I wanted to serve the community...improve the student experience and a lot of other hoohah. But then I thought to myself---"Wait, I am sure every guy who has interviewed for this position has said the same thing. But really I know and they know that nobody wants to be a BC to serve the community.......they do it for money. Its a job for crying out loud. And honestly, for a person who really really wants to make a difference to the community, he/she would not wait to get a paid job in order to do it." As a matter of fact, if I had been interviewing candidates and anyone gave me that stock answer the last line of the previous para would constitute my followup question. So I replied that I wanted to do the job because it would subsidize my graduate housing. I thought I was appearing professional and honest. Of course I did not get the job. The same thing I see with respect to writing Statements of Purpose. I have always wanted to study at so-and-so university, there is a high degree of match between my research interests and Prof so-and-so's, I am a great admirer of Prof so-and-so's work................we end up writing similar stuff to all the 10 places we apply to. As a matter of fact, the standard practice is to write a standard SOP and then "modify" it for different universities. The universities know this practice too----every candidate has also applied to other places and it cannot be true that he has always wanted to study in this university only. Yet the facade is kept and SOPs that stray from the format are almost always frowned upon. Then there is that interview chestnut all of us have encountered at some point or the other. What are your weak points? Now we know the trick---talk about your positives (imagined possibly) and make them sound like deadly weaknesses--- " I am very detail-oriented and overwork myself till I am satisfied with my performance." Yeah right. I do wish the world would break free of all this hypocrisy and the "I-know-you-know-this-is-all-BS-but-let's-all-play-along" attitude. I really wish we had more answers on the lines of: "I am applying to this university cause my GRE score wont get me any better place" "I have always wanted to work in the field of bioinformatics because my uncle said that it pays the best. "Of course I am a people person. I love interacting with people as long as they are girls with nice breasts." " My weaknesses...mm lets see.... falling asleep during meetings, tendency to shirk work as much as possible and oh I also steal office supplies" "I want to work for this company because you are the only guys who called me for an interview." "I love working in teams because I can leech off other people's work." " Why do I say I have an aptitude for management? Because I like bossing people around, and am very skilled at acting busy. Oh of course the fat paychecks dont hurt either" "I blog because no newspaper ever publishes what I write." Shit. Did I just say that out loud?

Que Vadis

2005-11-25T10:26:00.000-05:00

As I write this, India is being hammered by South Africa, Agarkar has given 41 runs in 5 overs bowling on a track that Cricinfo calls "surprisingly green" ---in other words, for a long-suffering Indian fan, its business as usual. But what was exceptional was the lead-up. And everything that was not going on in the field of play. Over the last month, Ganguly has been rendered friendless. Its not that he had a lot of friends to begin with---I have touched upon anti-Ganguly bias and the media's persistent grudge against him in previous posts----as an example exhibit I produce, this amazingly astute comparison between Ganguly and Dravid's captaincy. The purpose of this post is not to take potshots at the writer of the piece but a point in passing---Ganguly played with the same players in all the matches of the WC, dear genius, is because this was the friggin World Cup where teams do not experiment but go in with whats already been tested and tried . Wait till the next WC and tell me if Dravid-Chappell keep changing the team composition and batting order while the Cup is in progress. A weird fellowship of Ganguly-supporters has emerged----the portly Arjuna Ranatunga, the Australian umpire Daryl Harper and the person everyone wants on their side in the event of a dog fight--- Rupa Ganguly. Truth be told I have always been partial to Rupa Ganguly ever since her exquisitely curved waist was used to market the aerodynamically styled bottles of a cooking oil on Kolkata TV---I think the cooking oil was "Dhara" but forgive me, dear readers, I was not looking at the label of the damned cooking oil when the ad was on. For those not privileged to have seen the advertisement, Rupa Ganguly attained minor fame with a revealing scene or two (revealing as per the prevailing standards in early 90s) in "Meena Bazar" along with Poonam Dasgupta. But what catapulted her into public consciousness was her role as the Paanch Patiyon wali Draupadi on DD and a stellar acting performance. But as usual, the MSM got it wrong. They went to town saying that Rupa Ganguly on behalf of some cine artists of Bengal asked for a boycott of Indias match vs South Africa at the Eden in protest against Ganguly (Sourav that is)'s non-inclusion. What she actually did was that she threatened not to tie her hair up till it was washed with the blood of Greg Chappell and Kiran More. So where do I, supposedly parochial Bengali, stand on this ? In my humble opinion, the call to boycott an engagement where the Indian cricket team was playing is farcical. While Bengalis may feel aggrieved at the treatment meted out to Sourav Ganguly and the Bengali bashing that goes on in the name of anti-Gangulyism (a topic covered in detail here) [Note: this post took in so many comments that I stopped replying mainly because 1) nothing new for me to say 2) the post took on a nasty "regional" name-calling turn which I did not want to be a part of ], there can be no rational reason to boycott a game of cricket on the basis of that. A true cricket lover goes to see a match because he loves the game and because he loves his team. As simple as that. Unfortunately, it something even Rahul Dravid got it wrong when in a press conference he said: "People of Kolkata have always responded to me and I get more fan mail from here than from anywhere else." Yes Rahul you do. This is because Calcuttans love for Sourav and their love for you are not in conflict---we love both of you. And we love Sachin too. But the point to be made is that the game is above the individuals concerned----hence whether the bulk of your fanmail comes from Kolkata is moot. In summary, if the only reason you come to watch a cricket match is to see a Bengali play then there is something really wrong with your appreciation of the game. But again as I pointed out before, much of this parochialism comes as a reaction ---note this piece from Cybernoon (a newspaper...not someone's personal blog) His (Ganguly's) claim to the place was fostered by the fact that the Bengali Babu could not see a match for five days without Dada Ganguly and took to the road threatening a ban on the Test . Now take this test. A lot of us Kolkatans have seen that a section of our Muslim population in Kolkata and elsewhere burst crackers when Pakistan wins. Again note a section. Now imagine a MSM outlet writing something along the lines of the above quote where the bengali babu is replaced by Muslims. All of us would be shouting "communal" (and rightfully so too).....but since its Bengalis who are being labelled in Narendra Modi-Bal Thackeray style, everyone is silent. Not to speak of the fact that "Sourav's selection was because of the Bengali people's dadagiri" is downright false. Such media reactions still do not however justify asking for a call to boycott the national team. But the way that supposedly respectable media outlets are engaging in downright regional hatespeak is also condemnable. In this context, a piece I quoted before and published in Rediff also bears scrutiny. The zamindars began to exploit the farmers for more and more and also, they themselves did nothing to develop the land's productivity. In fact, zamindari lifestyle meant doing nothing. Any kind of physical activity was looked down upon, and this can still be seen in Bengal.Bihar was created because of the supercilious superiority attitude of the Bengalis and because some of the Kayasthas (one of Bihar's smallest forward castes) resented the Bengalis domination of the British Raj administration. Would it have been possible to publish such blatant prejudice in the name of any other identity-based-group in a widely-read mainstream website without widespread outrage? I would think not. I can say for myself that my support of Sourav has never been blind. True as I mentioned before, anti-Bengali barbs do provoke an emotional reaction from me but that does not mean I am going to let go of all reason. Because I want India to win. Period. Sourav's main problem is that his technical shortcomings have been exposed against decent quality seam attacks. In this context, I personally do not read much into his 5 wicket haul and 159 runs against Maharashtra in Ranji matches----as a matter of fact this is even more alarming. It shows that Sourav is not off-form, he is still good but only against attacks that lack penetrating pace power. Sourav should be told, in no uncertain terms by the powers that be, that this Test series is his last attempt in the national team. He has to demonstrate that he still has it in him to tackle the highest quality of seam attacks----and a Test series is the only way to show it. He has had many chances before and with decent replacements waiting in the wings, he has one series left. Just one. If he does not, then it is goodbye for him. Simple. However things wont be as simple as that. Because this is no longer about cricket. Its about the gutter. Because Greg Chappell is prepared to battle on for non-cricketing reasons against Sourav. He fought tooth and nail against Ganguly's inclusion on the basis of his "disruptive influence" a charge he could not prove when given a chance. And then he shows the finger to a Kolkata crowd----an amazing gesture from a coach. Was Greg provoked? Read on. (TOI) 'Maharaj' Sourav Ganguly's absence from the Eden ensured that all eyes would be on the incensed 75,000-strong Kolkata crowd during the fourth one-dayer against South Africa on Friday. Would they boo Ganguly's nemesis Greg Chappell, or even worse, disrupt the proceedings? As it turned out, any fears of fan violence were thoroughly misplaced: Instead, as Rahul Dravid's men trudged towards a massive 10-wicket mauling, it was Chappell himself who was left red-faced for an unwarranted obscene gesture at the crowd on the eve of the match. ...........

There was no doubt about that for, as the camera showed, the gesture was not to anyone in the bus. He stuck his hand out of the window and outside was a heckling mob.

Indian fans might be a tad too emotional for Chappell's tastes, but they don't deserve such disrespect. After all, they did give Dravid a standing ovation when he walked out to bat. Now dear Chappell fans which includes the Cricinfo staff......who is reacting emotionally here? The national coach or the "parochial Kolkata fans" who gave Dravid a standing ovation? When was the last time a man who has scored more than 10,000 runs (Ganguly) got a standing ovation at any ground in India? But hold on there is another side of the story according to NewIndiaPress. According to them, it was Dravid who was jeered and only Sachin who was cheered. Of course its now a sin to jeer after a team loses a match by 10 wickets---Eden Gardens is the only place where a badly defeated team has been booed . Yeah right ! Whats even more serious is this: In fact, the setting for the shame at Eden was in place on Thursday when the Indian team came across an unusually greenish pitch that favored the superior South African pace attack. While curator Prabir Mukherjee claimed that it was a "sporting wicket", it's learnt that Dravid and coach Greg Chappell had wanted the grass to be cut. Shame???Holy smoke! Doesn't Greggie want us to come out of our comfort zones? Then why ask for grass to be cut? Does he plan to ask the guy in Barbados to do the same during the next World Cup? Now I cast my mind back when Sourav asked for the grass to be cut on another sporting pitch...remember guys? Then the press went to town ridiculing Ganguly for being scared and for pissing in his pants because an "international quality, sporting track" was prepared. [ Steve Waugh in his book talked about Ganguly's interacting with groundsmen all over India ---an act he found akin to matchfixing. Certainly an act closer to matchfixing than the innocent phone calls his brother Mark exchanged with bookies telling them about the "weather". ] But now since Dravid is the captain, its the curator who is to blame.....and why because he is part of a larger conspiracy to make India lose because Sourav is not part of the team !!!! If the guy at NewIndiaPress had any knowledge of the Eden pitch, he would know that there is always juice on the pitch for the first few overs. The ball swings around---remember how in 1998 Srinath reduced Pakistan to 50 for 6 or something---and around 2:30--3:00 there is a breeze that blows in from the Ganga that makes batting difficult (remember the amazing Shoaib Akhtar spell in the same Test match). Balwinder Singh Sandhu and Roger Binny once reduced the mighty Windies to 30 for 5 odd at around the same time in the afternoon (Clive Llyod and Andy Roberts later salvaged the situation) in 1983 and in 87 again around the same time, Binny bowled an inspired spell where he triggerred a collapse in the Pakistani batting order aided by some prodigious swing. But knowledge of the game is no longer a pre-requisite for commenting about the game in the media..... ...cricket is now the last thing on people's minds. Que Vadis Team India. Que Vadis. [Update1: Anand Vasu, perhaps the most biased of all Cricinfo journalists says: But you could not help wondering if the crowd roared in appreciation of an innings well played, or because India minus their darling, Sourav Ganguly, were getting thumped.

This is nothing but pure unsubstantiated conjecture (I wonder....) designed to cause mischief and vitiate the atmosphere even further and a clear violation of all standards of journalistic objectivity and impartiality.]

[Update 2: Excellent article by Prem Panicker in Rediff. Must read,]

[ I just discovered that Prem is closing his blog due to the level of abuse being indulged in by BOTH sides. Guys in case you want to make a comment, keep it civilized and related to cricket and media coverage (not which city has potholes or whose mother does what)----and that applies to both sides. In my previous post on Ganguly, I let things go because I strongly dislike moderation. (The only comments I deleted there were related to mothers and sisters ) Maybe that was a mistake. This time I shall be stricter. Civilized disagreements are of course welcome There is no abuse or allegations against any community on this post and I shall tolerate none in the comments section. Any comments that attack a community (ANY community) will be removed as soon as I see it. I have not enabled comment moderation and trust my readers to keep everything cool and above the belt. Thank you.]

The Death of Honesty

2005-11-22T09:40:00.000-05:00

Manjunath Shanmugham (27) , an IIM-L alumni and IOL employee, was killed by the owners of a petrol pump he had recommended be shut down for adulterating oil. At the time of writing, only one mainstream newspaper has carried the story. Some bloggers have pointed out the callousness and total loss of focus on part of the mainstream media for not carrying the story of a man who died for his honesty. I am not going to do that. On the other hand, I would like to thank the mainstream media from shielding us from this piece of disturbing news. Because I want to be entertained. Because I want to tell my next generation:" Always speak the truth. Always be honest. Remember truth always wins. " without the gnawing feeling at the back of my mind " Will this advice, if taken to heart, kill the kid?" That's why I don't need to know. But I do. Because of an incident that took place a long time ago. I was 14 then and my parents and I were returning from our uncle's place on a local train. At some point, some rice smugglers got onto the train (who seemingly avoid octroi by routing their supply through non-conventional channels eg a passenger compartment), obviously without tickets and literally took over the compartment asking people to leave their seats and harassing passengers. Before you could say "CPM assholes", the compartment was full of gunny bags and more ruffians than you could shake a finger at. Some of the passengers protested, my father among them. Then as the train reached the station, Railway Police men entered the compartment. My father went upto them complaining about these rice smugglers. By this time, the more worldy-wise passengers (except my dad that is) had slipped away as they knew something my dad did not---the Railway Police are the fighting unit of the rice smugglers. Yes sirree bob welcome to Jyoti Basu's Ramrajya sorry Marxrajya. Soon it was my father against a dozen RPF "people" who were openly threatening him with physical harm. The rice smugglers had, in the melee, made their quiet getaway. They then took my father to the RPF outpost where they were going to "take action" against him for obstructing them in performing their duties. What irony ! I remember being petrified at the prospect of these men hurting my father as my mother and I went and sat in that thana as my father was surrounded by more of these guardians of the law. Fortunately, their OC "pacified" his rank and file and that too after seeing Baba's visiting card which had Professor, Indian Institute of Management Calcutta on it and thus being able to reason that assaulting my father may (may being the operative word here) raise a media stink---a fact that the goombahs below him had not realized. So he escorted the 3 of us outside the station and I remember him apologizing privately to my father saying that he knew exactly what was going on, but so well-connected are the smugglers and the cops with the powers-that-be that he was helpless to do anything. As I mentioned, I was 14 then. I had learnt my lesson---look the other way. Cowardly. Sure. I prefer being a coward than having a broken nose or being dead. And I am sure I am not the only one who feels so. And thats why these stories deserve to be suppressed because they can only convince more 14 year olds that honesty does not pay. Now, we dont want them to lose their idealism, do we? Am I being cynical here? I think not. A few blogs will be written on Manjunath's death, a few readers will say "chuk-chuk look what India has come to", a few of us will burn with righteous indignation before we bury ourselves in the sordid Abu Salem trial. He shall be forgotten, by most of us, in a day or two. But his family wont forget him. They will always live with the feeling that their son died for being honest----something he could have avoided without much ado. If he only had taken the money, he would have been still breathing. Like the rest of us. What a waste of a fine human being. So here's my advice to everyone. Idolize Manjunath. Shed a tear for him. Discuss his honesty and the petrol-pump-allotment policies of the government over a cup of coffee. Promise not to steal office supplies for a week. Err make it two days. But do not under any circumstance try to follow him. Remember that "Satyameva Jayate" is nothing more than a crappy Vinod Khanna movie. Remember that. And stay alive.

With An Audience Like This

2005-11-19T13:23:00.000-05:00

How many times has it happened that you sit down to watch a Hindi movie, find the first half entertaining and then slam your head as the plot degenerates into infantility? Yes I know that there are movies where this head slamming starts from the first scene itself but I am sure you get my point. So the question is why do Bollywood directors lose the plot? It's not as if the story is original in the first place. If you are copying your story from a decent English/regional movie, then why do you exert your creativity just on the ending---why not just copy everything? Case in point: Deewangi. You get inspiration from a wickedly smart movie : "Primal Fear"...well and good...but then why oh why do you for the last hour tack on a Hindi filmi love story that totally ruins the effect ? Well dear reader, I have found the answer. These kind of endings are precisely what the general audience wants. I refer you to this illuminating bit of prose from Rediff. In it Rediff asked their erudite readers which film's endings they would like to change. Warning: Spoilers ahead. Naveen Sajjan: I really want to change the climax of Sadma. After Kamal Haasan's care and concern for Sridevi throughout the film, he does not get credit for it. [When the mentally challenged Sridevi recovers, she cannot remember Haasan and the love and care he showered upon her to cure her]. Are you kidding me? People actually find Sadma's riveting last few minutes as the part they would most like to change ? And after this, how can we blame movie directors for underestimating the audience's intelligence? Nothing about Sadma should be changed not the ending and neither the scenes of Silk Smitha. SJ: There should be a change in my favorite movie Kaante. The audience liked the first part very much but second part was too verbose. Also, I believe there should have been a twist in the end. Instead of Kumar Gaurav taking the pie, it should have been Amitabh Bachchan. He should have run away with the money. Too verbose? Gawd. Its a copy of a classic where the USP was the taut exchanges between the protagonists. Precisely the part this man found objectionable. He liked the part where they throw the Pakistani from the rooftop, the part where they blazed away with semi-automatics on the roof of a building in LA, where they walked in synchronized slow motion awash in sepia tones and danced in a drunken orgy the night before the heist. Again all this was okey. What was not okay was the crackling exchange of dialogues, the raw sense of fear and betrayal and the climactic Mexican shootout-----none of it original but nonetheless well-executed by Sanjay Gupta. And in case the wise viewer did not understand, Kumar Gaurav does not get away with the pie, as the camera pans away there is a police chopper on top of him and a posse of police cars further down the highway. Runa Roy: The ending of Tere Naam was too sad. Whenever I watch the movie, I feel depressed. Salman Khan has acted amazingly, but the way he escapes at the end to meet his love is not believable. When Bhoomika Chawla goes to meet him in the mental asylum, she should find that he is cured, and her love has changed him and he has become a good man. They should live happily ever after. A happy ending always leaves the audience happy. A movie should be inspiration for the younger generations. This ending would inspire the youth that true love can change an individual like Radhe. Somebody please tell Runa Roy and her ilk that "our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought" and since life does not always have happy endings, movies (if they are to mirror life) should not always have them too. Think of this. Romeo and Juliet walking away into the sunset, Karna living a retired life in the Bahamas, Achilles wearing specially fitted shoes in his old age, Estrella and Pip living happily ever after (one of the endings actually toyed around by Charles Dickens) along with a happily married and rehabilitated Miss Havisham, Jai and Veeru growing old by the fire while the Thakur twirls his prosthetic arms----wouldn't the world just be lovely ! People like Radhe can be reformed with "true love". True. And so can the terrorists (of course Radhe wasn't one) --just send them a teddy bear and a Hallmark musical greeting card. Sounds ridiculous? Not to some of the people who comment here and elsewhere. Jaswinder Singh: I was not happy with the end of Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, and the explanation given by Aishwarya Rai to chose her husband (Ajay Devgan) instead of her boyfriend (Salman Khan).She left Salman because she had lived with Ajay and he turned out to be a nice guy. Does that make Salman any bad? What if she had another guy in her life who was better than her current husband? Would she leave her husband for him as well? Okay Jaswinder, here's the logic. On one hand you have a man-- Salman Khan who kills endangered species, runs over pavement dwellers, beats up women, cheats left and right and who in this movie is a habitual farter (not merely flirter) and also talks to dead people. On the other hand, you have a guy with poor dental hygiene. Now tell me what choice does a girl have? I am not even trying to explain to you the difference between the "love that seeks to possess" and the "love whose fruition is sacrifice" cause just between the two of us, that's a whole lot of baloney. Priyanka Oza: The film which should have ended differently is Fida starring Kareena Kapoor, Shahid Kapur and Fardeen Khan. The film was fantastic and kept us glued to our seats but the ending was so disappointing that all the fun and suspense was snatched away. I think either Shahid or Fardeen should have died in the end, not all three of them. Yes I agree. They should not have killed all 3 of them. They should have just killed Kareena (I would have applauded them for that) and shown Fardeen and Shahid Kapoor engaging in hot man sex and recording it on a cameraphone. Now that's one amazing ending that would have made me fida. Here's the last one---another crib about "Tere Naam". Hyder Khan: I would have changed the story of Tere Naam. The movie is cool in the beginning but ends so tragically that it almost bores me. I would have changed the scene when Bhoomika came to meet Salman in the ashram and was going away after seeing him sleeping. When Salman starts yelling for her, I would have let Bhoomika turn to look at him for the last time and be delighted that he remembers her. Then, she should go running towards him. Salman should come out of the ashram and beat the hell out of those goons who sent him there in the first place. Oh lord ! They should just get this guy Hyder Khan and make him direct an alternate ending to the DVD release of Tere Naam. Its amazing that there is a significant section of the audience that actually wants the comfortable predictability of the formula ending----the bashing of the goons and the running of the heroine towards the hero. And of all the people who wanted Tere Naam to end differently, not one said anything about Salman Khan's atrocious wig. Not one. Reminds me of Mrinal Sen's "Akash Kusum" (Bengali) where Soumitro Chatterjee, after his company selling galvanometers goes belly up , can no longer keep up the pretense of being rich and so bids farewell from afar to Aparna Sen. A beautiful, poignant ending. But in the Hindi copy "Manzil" , Amitabh Bachchan (who plays the character essayed by Soumitro Chatterjee) is shown reading a fat book helpfully titled "Physics" and thus armed with a grasp of the basic principles repairs his galvanometers, sells them, becomes rich and then gets the girl. I wondered then why Basu Chatterjee ruined the touching ending of the original. Now I understand. [PS. Read this "interesting" review of Manzil here. An extract: "The film is probably one of Amitabh's best (building galvanometers, reading physics book, sales / repair man)" ]

In Praise of Molls

2005-11-17T08:56:00.000-05:00

Premi kisi se darte nahin Premiyon se khud hi darte hain log (Lovers fear noone, its people who are afraid of lovers) ----Suraksha (Monica Bedi) Especially if the lovers answer to the name of Abu and Monica. I have always been fascinated by molls. I would like to make a distinction here between molls and vamps---molls are the villain's girlfriend(s) while the vamp is simply an evil lady. A vamp can be the evil saas or the jilted lover and somehow I never had the hots for Lalita Pawar. Molls however are a different kettle of fish. They are slinky, wear revealing clothes, condone the villain's evilness, sometimes even help him, dance sensuously and most importantly do not demand exclusive attention from her man, leaving him free to enjoy the company of multiple molls. In that sense, the ideal of the moll negates all the characteristics of the saccharine "good" girl---the one whom you can take home to mother. Which is precisely what makes her so exciting. In this context, who can forget the great Ajit the "Loin" who sampled the simultaneous charms of Mona and Sona, with the active approval of both?Or the anonymous ladies in bikinis who would massage Danny as he lay on his pool chair clad in desi speedos ? Or for that matter Raveena Tandon's smokin hot dance in "Aks" and sensual scenes with Manoj Vajpai (yuck)---the only bright spots in a cataclysm of a movie. This explains my fascination with the only real life moll I have been privileged to see--Monica Bedi. Yes I know Mandakini became "maili" Big D "ke paap dhote dhote" but she was not really a moll in the classical sense of the term---in that she was not an active partner in the Company. Not interesting. And besides anyone who sings a song : " I am sorry handsome there is no vacancy" takes herself out of the equation. So that brings me back to the Bedi. I first saw her in the Saif-Sunil Shetty starrer "Suraksha" which enjoyed moderate fame because of two typical Anu-Malik songs: "Kaali aankhon wali dekho dil yeh dharke, Dil yeh dharke dharak dharak kar Dil yeh bole Man dole" "O mere sanaam O mere sanaam Jal gayee duniya ek huye hum Ek nahin, do nahin suraksha karo mere saathon janam" Then came the breakout movie of Monica Bedi ---"Khilona" where she played an innocent lass torn between the true love of her life, Ayub Khan and the villainous Aditya Pancholi, a mafia don who only wanted her as a "khilona". Rather than the plot, I shall always remember this movie as the setting for the most marvelous song--- "Panditji panditji, Panditji mera haath dekhkar Baat karo mere haal ki Abh tak saajan mila nahin Jo huyee main solah saal ki" What a beautiful expression of the insecurities of a 16 year old...waah bhai wah. The producer of the movie was one Mukesh Duggal whose claim to faim besides making Sunil Shetty wear a tshirt with the word "Soda" on it and go "Hai huku" in the movie " Gopi Kishan", was that he had close mafia ties. In an eerie resemblance to the movie "Khilona", Monica Bedi became the "especial friend" of this Duggal character. A few forgettable movies followed---"Jeeyo Shaan Se" where she had a miniscule role and only one song in a badminton get-up and another one in "Janam Samjha Karo". Then Mukesh Duggal goes down in a hail of bullets . Unlike most other heroines of her ilk (Madhoo for example), Monica Bedi does not then join Mithunda's alternative movie world in Ootie. She simply vanishes. Not many notice. I do. It is reported much later that she then became Abu Salem's "wife" and business partner---brokering deals with Bollywood and basically acting as his "man" on the inside. In sharp contrast to the air-headed bimbette-caught-in-the-headlights roles she essayed in movies, Monica Bedi was reputed to be an extremely smart, business savvy woman who provided the brains behind Salem's muscle operations. But Ms Bedi's true calling was greasepaint. She suddenly came out of her hibernation and onto the marquee of two big budget movies---Jodi No 1 and Pyar Ishq aur Mohabbat. Rajiv Rai, the director of Pyar Ishq aur Mohabbat was attacked by the Salem gang and making Monica Bedi a heroine was a peace offering. We all know the rest. The flight to Portugal. The arrest. Her tearful appeal to the President for clemency. Her telling the courts that she was afraid to go back to the barbarian country of India where she would be tortured and horrifying indignities heaped upon her (like making her watch her own movies in a loop). She even claimed to have converted to Christianity in order to please the Portugese. But like all her movies, it didnt work. She is back now in India charming anyone and everyone pretending to have been a pawn in Abu Salem's big game. But we know better, dont we ! The only jarring tone was when she after her arrest and seperation from Mr Abu, in Hindi filmi wifely fashion, kept asking all and sundry if her husband was all right. Come on, that's totally out of character for a moll. She should just smile and move onto the next thing. But then again, concepts like "staying in character" may be alien to her. After all, acting was never one of her strengths.

The Passing Of a Friend

2005-11-13T12:48:00.000-05:00

It is with a heavy heart that I have to announce the death of an old friend. Desibaba is no more. Desi Baba Desi Babes Is closed till further notice. Copyright © 1998 - 2005 DesiBaba.com For those who came in late, Desibaba was the original Indian porn site. But it wasnt merely a "porn site"---it was a landmark in desi pop culture. Let me explain. The cable revolution of the early 90s came as a blessing from heaven (or hell) for the raging hormones of my generation who were henceforth liberated from the oppressive censorship of state-owned television. The "Chosen One" was Star Movies which served up an intoxicating feast of "After Dark" movies---"Lake Consequence", "Wide Sargasso Sea" , " Blindfold---Acts of Obsession" ---amazing feasts of carnality whose charm never decreased with multiple viewings and where sound was not necessary for understanding the plot. For those with a more earthy, daughter-of-the-soil preference, there was Sun TV's late night adult programs where ladies with Sachin Tendulkar shoulders and Ramesh Krishnan waistlines heaved and thrusted away. As a result, Silk Smitha, Nylon Nalini and the other goddesses of the wet sari pantheon became part of our nightly vocabulary. Watching TV late at night with the sound off became a national obsession. This was too good to last. In the north rose a fell presence, an evil Eye that never slept; whose sole purpose was to take us back to the Dark Ages. In other words, I&B minister Sushma Swaraj---the hysterical lady who admonished DD newscasters for wearing transparent saris and showing cleavage, launched a war against flesh tones on the airwaves! Soon she was passing one dictat after another ----Star Movies censored all their sugar and spice, Sun TV followed suit and a dark shadow of depression and KLPD-ness swept the land. The Net was making its presence felt then in India and the tech-savy section of the country focussed their attention into tapping the vast potential of the cyberworld. It's well known that porn drives technology---it drove Net commerce in the early days just as it is doing for the multi-media part of the cellular phone business today. But therein lay the problem, smut was a business. Every damn site needed a credit card and we were poor undergrad students with" not a penny to our names" even though we wanted to see others "without a shirt on their back." Plus firang models got boring after a while and we could never associate ourself with the hot stories set in the context of the decadent West. It's always darkest just before dawn. And when things are at their worst, guess who should come alawn (poetic license) It all started with a whisper campaign. Hey guys, a new website has come up whose theme is desi. Best of all, it's free. No credit cards (supposedly used for "age verification" by respectable sites---my foot), no passwords. The name was desibaba.com. Suffused with the spirit of Swadeshi, we started the "Danda March" where we vowed to free ourself of the shackles of government censorship. In the process, Desibaba created a whole generation of libertarians impacting the future political landscape of India in an unforeseen way. So what was this catalyst of social change? It was a Pakistani website (reportedly) that inspired by the vision of the new dot-com economy had a revolutionary business model---fully advertising-revenue driven , free-for-all porn site primarily built on a South-East Asian theme but with enough international pizzazz to please those among us who considered themselves citizens of the world. No dead links, no unbounded opening of pop-up windows and again most importantly no credit cards, Desibaba truly brought honor to the world of smut. Chock full of content for every man's taste, it was a pioneer in many respects. For example, it was the only website that would close during the month of Ramzan. But if you had an emergency and had taken the precaution of bookmarking "into" the site, you could still get access. Such thoughtfulness combined with piety and morals. Yes of course there were some ugly critics who carped that most of the stories were badly spelt, had no grammar or thematic structure and were extremely perverted. But of course, one man's perversion is another man's daily routine----most importantly Desibaba promoted a culture of non-judgementality and acceptance. The only crib I had was the repeated misspelling of the Bengali word for "brother's wife"----it was invariably spelt as "bodi" while it should have been "boudi". A small blemish. Desibaba preceded Orkut as a social networking center....so many of those badly spelt, barely coherent stories ended with lines like "Any hot aunties in and around Chennai who would like to pay for massage and ....." . I have often wondered what the success rate for these attempts at networking was. Guess I shall never find out. Desibaba greatly impacted the Indian media---for instance they were the first to come up with the idea of "Babe of the month" ----a concept later adapted with slight modifications by certain other more mainstream publications. Desibaba also pioneered the art of digital picture manipulation ----in a bygone age where actresses used to keep themselves covered up, it was Desibaba's view of the bold new future. I read with alarm, that the Desibaba technology is being applied to the reticent and shy Meghna Naidu to make her expose even more than what she usually does. Which just goes to show how much impact it has left on our popular culture. There were spinoffs and copycats---Desimama mounted a challenge before it became a pay site called Chalugirl. Indian porn portals came out and soon Western porn conglomerates were eyeing the lucrative Indian market. The dot-com industry went bust and the model of advertiser-driven businesses was discredited. Desibaba was swamped with Western competition who, very slyly, started using their old stock photos of Hispanic/Latina women and passing them off as 100% desi. Young Indians, on the crest of a BPO boom, had more credit cards than ever before and were increasingly getting more comfortable using them on the Net and elsewhere. The death knell for Desibaba had been sounded. People stopped going to websites for their porn---instead they started making them themselves armed with tools hitherto in the hands of a privileged few---camera phones and webcams. School kids in respectable institutions were shooting their own sex videos and marketing them through auction sites. Desibaba suffered. Consider this. Who would go to Desibaba to watch digitally morphed pictures when people like Tanusree Dutta were going topless in songs in reality (reference: Aashiq Banaya Aapne)? Indians were being sexed up too fast and Desibaba was now a relic of a more innocent bygone era----an anachronism, a giant who had not been able to keep pace with the times. Somewhat like Sourav Ganguly. It spluttered on for some time before its inevitable death. Weep not. A website may die but an idea does not. I would like to believe that Desibaba is still alive---spread out over thousands of hard drives where pictures and stories from it have been downloaded over the years . Indeed I would like to believe something even more powerful. That there is a little bit of Desibaba in each of us----in the memories we carry. Memories of mammaries, of innocence, of shared secrets, of careless whispers, of the thrill of discovery, the whiff of heaven, the hours of unalloyed joy and most importantly the ideal that Desibaba embodied, an ideal many of us bloggers have been inspired by : " Real pleasure cannot be bought. It is free." Desibaba. 1998--2005. Rest in peace.

Insignificant Us

2005-11-10T23:05:00.000-05:00

Yesterday. The ultimate heist. 4 of India's most dangerous criminals meet in a shadowy bar in Delhi (Bar-ista)----the sinister Vulture , the recurring 2.499999 and 2 other people whose name we cannot divulge. And there was another man---a mysterious figure calling himself James. For those who have seen the legendary "Chamiya" , this name inspires terror. Those who have not seen it, you are better off not knowing. Today. The Times of India comes out with an expose. Yes they may have missed the match fixing scandal, the shadowy defense deal. Hell they may have even missed Shakti Kapoor's "Aooo sharmao mat" come-on line. But never too late to start----so here it is. MSM goes under cover to bust a Blogger's Meet. Confused? Don't be. Delhi Times reporter James aka Ranjan Gumnam sorry Yumnam pretended to be a newbie blogger and attended a Delhi blog meet. Deep undercover, he asked some questions and came back and wrote a less-than-complimentary piece in TOI. I shall link to his blog first where you can check out his justification and his piece. [ Note: A single post blog reminiscent of a few "we love ponytails" blogs that sprung up with one post in October.] There are a lot of things I could do. I could take Ranjan's justification for his post and point out that for someone who goes to great length to demonstrate what a pedigreed blogger he is (having been associated with a portal no less) its a bit hypocritical to accuse the 4 bloggers who showed up as "self-important". I could also point out the hokum he uses to justify his technology post but his "technical" arguments (re: splogs) have been taken apart here. I am not going to point out the ridiculousness of his so-called sting operation because it's so self-evident. I am not going to point out his lack of objectivity (an MSM term, I am not sure how many journos would know that--paraphrasing James) and the lack of balance. So why this post? Because James you need to be told something my friend. Firstly, dont blur the issue. We, bloggers, know how insignificant we are in comparison to MSM people like you. Our traffic ranks nowhere close to what TOI gets and face it , management institutes with crores of advertising money wont give us a dime. So yes, we know we are of no concern to the MSM....of use only when one of you needs to write something fast and are looking for some insignificant net floatsam from which things may be lifted (or inspired using Anu Malik-speak) without due credit. Hence we are not fools to not realize that TOI has no deep agenda against us. If they really did, they would not have sent you to do the expose. So what this actually is is payback on your part. I understand that it's not a nice feeling when someone googles your name and what comes back associated with it are words like "clueless" and "dolt". And reading the relevant posts, it's not rocket science (especially for a bunch of people of whom half are IT professionals) to realize the absurdity of what you pass of as "technology reporting". But then again, my blog may also be considered absurd by you so that's not really the point. The point is how you have misused your position in the media to carry on your personal battle of vendetta. How many people attend a blogger's meet, whether one person calls himself an "elite blogger" (let's assume he did) is not news. It's not an expose. It's just plain stupidity. I hope that being a big porter (blog-->blogger, portal-->porter) , you can understand that. The second point. You make the point that the Indian blogosphere is nothing compared to the US blog-world which has much more influence. There can be strong points made for and against this conjecture but before we do that, there is a wider issue at stake. Let's assume the desi blogosphere is junk. Now ask the question: How do Indian newspapers (MSM) compare to US newspapers? When was the last time the New York Times had Robert De Niro's birthday on its front page? When was the last time Washington Post debated whether Paris Hilton's videofootage is fake or not? When was the last time you opened LA Times and found at the right hand side of your screen a picture of a busty blonde in a push up with the caption "July Babes"? Besides Tehelka, which newspaper in recent memory has shown balls to go after the real bad guys? So before you point fingers at others, do some self-introspection. I am not just targeting one particular newspaper....most mainstream news outlets (with some notable exceptions) are glorified scandal rags that report on lifestyle and spicy politics and what Bipasa Basu's future acting assignments are. Which brings me to what ties together bloggers in this incestuous bond of mutual backslapping. It's the fact that we have not sold out. We may be small, we may be insignificant but we are not for sale. We do not peddle editorial space, we do not use advertisements inside news items (unless its promotion for a new Mithun movie) and we do not kowtow to advertisers with big purse strings. We do not bring out paid surveys declaring certain management institutes as No 1 on very shady criteria. We may be quirky and opinionated and offensive but we are honest. The reason for that is maybe because , as you derisively pointed out, half of us are IT professionals (question 1: which ass did these figures come out of? question 2: are IT professionals not qualified to write ?)----hence what we write does not earn our bread. Thus we can afford to be "independent". And its precisely because we are small and insignificant, that we remain temptation-free. Maybe if I start getting 1 million hits a day and Rajanikant calls me up with a role in his forthcoming movie as a backup dancer, I may say "Mithunda sucks". Maybe if Rajsingh Dungarpur sent me a year's supply of Hyderbadi biriyani, I would say "Sourav Ganguly needs to go". The fact that not many people read my musings enables me to say what I want---I have no constituencies to pander to, no advertising revenue to maintain. This is why I like other bloggers and other bloggers (I hope) like me---because we shoot from the hip and political correctness be damned. All of us know what we are worth (next to nothing) and guess what, we like it that way. And that's also what keeps us likeable. When we see that one of these independent voices are being stifled either by men with ponytails or being lampooned by a guy called James, then we leap to his/her defense. It's tough for people like you to understand----people for whom the world is measured by "Can we afford to piss off these people?" It's called camaraderie, it's called mutual admiration and respect--unsullied by commercial considerations. In conclusion, the day we really become self-important, we run the risk of morphing into you. A really scary thought.

"No More" Machaye Shor

2005-11-08T16:22:00.000-05:00

An extract from Natwarlal 's blog "Mere paas aao mere doston ek kissa suno" somewhere in the blogosphere. - ----------------------------------- I miss the good old days. Siyaram Kasturi used to do the groceries, R Dhanbaan used to cut the onions , Moonekay Gandhi was a model in a towel, and Indura was India. Television was under our control, the PM used to be the RJ-in-chief on Akashvani and I used to sit, legs curled up behind me thinking of 20 points for the latest garibi jamboree program. There were two superpowers in the world, the people who took money from both of them called themselves the "Non Aligned Movement" and all our conversations consisted of the "North South dialogue", "the have and the have nots" and " Get rid of poverty". Committees were called Politburos and "Gimme Red" meant another suitcase full of cash had arrived from the Kasturba Gandhi Briddhashram (which the world used to know as the KGB). You needed a license to scratch your balls and red tape held the country together. And most of all, there was respect. Now everything is different. It's still possible to steal money like we used to do but now the pesky press just keeps head butting. Aaah in the old Emergency days we would have just shut down the power and then we would have seen where all this blogging-shogging would have been. I mean what the f*** is wrong with people? Focker report... my foot? It's just an insidious plot hatched by my bete noire -- the Chutiya Intelligence Agency in return for all the money I took from them and never did anything. They have always hated me because they know of my influence among NAM and CHOWGM and ASSHOLE member countries and my open support for that what's-his-name Cuban guy who gave Indura-ji a bear-hug and Condom Hussain. I have never seen a barrel of oil in my life. How could I have stolen all those millions? Suitcases full of cash--- I have seen. But this? Gimme a break. Fact-finding committee my foot? I remember that WMD thing also was produced by a committee. I also remember that a committee absolved my dear friends Bharwah Singh, Jack-This Tightass and "Dekha Hain Paheli Baar" Sajan " Ki Aankhon Mein Pyar" Kumari of all culpability in the 84 Delhi riots. And after this anyone takes committees seriously? This was all a friggin set-up from the get go. And that Focker claims that he didnt even know I was a f***ing minister (FM) of India----I mean god damn it man....the whole world knows who I am. Of course I have not taken it lying down. Being a huge devotee of the Ponytail Guru, I took a hair out of his mane and have threatened to sue the United Nation for 175 crores if they don't take out all references to me, my son and my party from the Focker report. I got it duly notarized by email and sent it to the devil. In the good old days, he would have been pissing in his trousers. Not now. He laughed at me even after I threatened his boss that I would burn a hundred copies of the UN charter. Of course his boss and his son Cujo (wasnt that the name of a Stephen King book?) or Mojo ...keep forgetting the name... had been let off in his report----no honesty there of course. Now that got me real pissed. I threatened to side with Iran on the atom bomb thing if the US threatened a great Indian like me----I mean isnt that an insult to the whole country? Today I got a call. I was no longer the Man. I understood now why Khrushchev had slammed his shoe in the General Assembly (a most fine man who you used to send a few rubles separately to me as a token of appreciation or what the Soviets called a tip--God bless his soul). The Chutiyas had tried for so many decades to push me out ever since I replaced their dollar-filled suitcase with a suitcase full of Bangladeshi currency. And that too during the 1971 war. Chutiya banaya. Still gives me the jollies to think of it. Anyway I am still a minister. With no work. I know that's true for everyone but now it's official. I have no work but I still draw the perks and everything----so in that sense it's all good. And it's during these times that I appreciate the smaller things of life. Like the fact that they never found out about the huge shipments of Havana cigars I used to get from Castor Oil (yes I remember his name now) in return for my support to his noble regime. Oh yes, they never found out about those. This will blow itself out in due course. I shall lie low for a while and in a month or two shall be the head of some government thinktank with all the perks, trying to look deadly serious and talking rubbish with a straight face. Those haters who think they have ruined me can just take a hike.

Call Centers Are Slave Ships?

2005-11-05T13:50:00.000-05:00

Oh those poor BPO workers---the ones that make salaries that qualified freshie engineers envy, the ones that flaunt state-of-the-art electronic gadgets, eat out at fancy joints, strut their stuff at the discoes. It seems that their actual state is comparable to those of galley slaves in ancient Rome and to prisons in the 19th century. Aww those sugar bunnies. The labor practices call centres follow are even much older. Take, for instance, the monitoring of workers at the workplace. "Work is monitored on the spot and after working hours with the help of specially designed software, computer network and closed circuit cameras," the study says. "The degree of surveillance required at work is even comparable with the situations of 19th century prisons or Roman slave ships." Oooh. So the only similarity with galley ships is that workers in call centers are closely monitored. For a second there, I thought that BPO workers were tied to their chairs by chains while being whipped by the floor manager. Don't know about you but I feel that in a line of work where you are dealing with people's social security numbers, credit cards and the like, you should not crib about being monitored. It's part of what you signed up for. Let's assume that you work in a diamond mine. You will generally have a full body cavity check every time you go home from work. That in itself does sounds draconian....I mean how would it feel if someone subjected you to an anal probe everytime you left the office building? But then body cavity searches come with the territory of gold-diamond mining ----though I can bet that the VV Giri Labor Institute (who did the BPO study) will say that conditions in diamond mines are comparable to prisons all over the world---excessive intrusions into body orifices---without considering the fact that for the industry concerned , that's just the way things have to be. In rediff, in a discussion on what makes BPOs such horrible places to work, a recovering call center worker says things are so bad that even cell phones are not allowed in the office. I mean how bad is that----no naughty or as we Indians call it "non-veg" SMS jokes, no sweet nothings to your "woh" and no surreptitious shots using the camera phone. Now I wonder why BPO employees hate constant monitoring....could it be because of the hot BPO sex that seems to go on in these places (All our representatives are currently assisting other representatives) which they naturally want to keep in the "Mummy Ko Nahin Hain Pata" state. Another complaint against BPOs is that continuous night shifts screw up the body clock, making the employees physically and emotionally drained. They are unable to make connections and become pathologically detached from normal life because of night shifts. Now it's not that the BPO bosses are insensitive to their mental trauma----company sponsored nights at discoes, group activities and other nice-sounding things are organized from time to time.. And yet more and more BPO workers are going postal because of their incessant nocturnal lives. Now I wonder how, for so many years, engineers who oversaw production were able to keep their heads despite rotating night shifts---standing for hours in an environment where choking dust, heat from furnaces and ear-numbing noise was part and parcel of their nightly lives. No ergonomic chairs, no air conditioner, no color coordinated workplaces, no fun and games, no company sponsored nights on the town and the only chance of carnal gratification---a same-sex experience with the assistant foreman behind the boiler room. Similarly doctors and nurses have also done countless night shifts without any sympathy. So how come its only BPO workers who need to be mollycoddled when, in reality, they have it so much better than many other professionals? Another complaint I read (again this is based on what I have read....which maybe a subjective statement of a few individuals) is that it seems that one of the downsides of working in a call center is that workers lose their moral fibre and call each other by the rather cool appellations of "Hi sexy" at work. They spend greenbacks like it's going out of fashion, partake in casual sex and do other kinds of things I would have liked to do when I was 25. And it's all because of the culture of the call center --- the daily onslaught of American culture manifested by the "neutralized" accent, fake Westernized name and knowledge of baseball and duck hunting season. Aww please. Firstly in any American company worth its name, using "Hi Sexy" at work will inevitably be followed by a letter from the lawyer. People do not exchange "non-veg" jokes, do not compliment each other on their appearance and personal space is strictly maintained. The so-called call center culture, if it exists, is purely an artifact of young and desperate men (like I was a long time ago...repeat a long time ago) and young and repressed women (the kind I always dreamt of meeting but never did) , both with a lot of disposable income (something I never had) and no responsibilities ( something I even now avoid) thrown in close proximity of each other where their perfunctory introduction to American culture serve as the moral justification of their basic instincts. In other words "When in a call center with the name of Chris, do as Americans do." That Americans don't do is entirely a different matter. But holding call centers responsible for such behavior is as silly as blaming MTV for the follies of men like me who were young in the 90s. Not that I had any follies. Despite my best efforts. Lest it sound like a rant against BPO workers, it is not. My extensive experience in calling 1800 numbers has led me to believe that call center employees in India are much more professional, courteous and competent than their non-Indian counterparts. The reason for their dissatisfaction may very well be that recruiters, in their eagerness to hire people in an industry with high attrition rates, paint an overtly rosy picture (fun, games, foreign trips and easy money) neglecting to mention the downsides and once employees experience the monotony of saying the same thing over and over again and a continous process of evaluation and feedback (You lost a call---no cookie for you) combined with the ever-present threat of retrenchment (because BPO workers are easily substitutable) they realize that they may have been oversold. However stress and performance expectations are not unique to them. Their salaries are quite generous in the context of the qualifications required for them, promotions reasonably fast and work environments far more employee-friendly than many other professions. Hence when they complain (remember the report is based on feedback from call center workers) that their working conditions are like slaves in galley ships, then maybe, just maybe, they are going a bit over the top.

Stop Press: The "Badshah"rukh Khan is 40 !

2005-11-02T10:20:00.000-05:00

After Christmas comes Boxer's Day. And after Diwali comes Shahrukh-Divas---November 2nd : the day King Khan was born in a manger somewhere in India precisely one month after the day Bapuji was born. All desi online media is just full of it. Nothing else matters. The Badshah has turned 40. From Rediff: On November 2, Bollywood's badshah Shah Rukh Khan will turn 40. To celebrate the grand occasion, rediff.com asked readers to send in their SRK experiences, if they had ever met the star. "Grand occasion" indeed. Again from Rediff: Have you ever met Shah Rukh Khan? Ever been in a shopping mall and turned around to see none other than Bollywood's badshah? Ever sat next to him on a long flight? Ever gone up to him for an autograph? Ever shaken hands with SRK? If you have then write in to Rediff. Have you ever stood in an urinal and looked to your side and seen Shahrukh Khan? Have you ever picked Shahrukh's pocket? Have you ever breathed the same air as Shahrukh (like he left the room and you came in within like 5 minutes)? Have you ever eaten Shahrukh Khan's leftovers? Have you ever been visited in your dreams by Shahrukh Khan? Have you ever seen "Dil Aashna Hain" and "Yeh Lamhe Judai Ke" ? If you have then comment on this post. I cannot tell you how glad I feel to learn that Shahrukh Khan's 40th birthday resolution is to give up smoking. That means we will get many more years of hamming, lip-curling, nostril-heaving and that goaty "eeeehhhhh" laugh. That means many more gems of wisdom : "If you can believe that an 80-year-old woman can continue to love the man she loved as a young girl (Titanic), then why not the love story between a ghost and a woman?" (Source) "People said Asoka was ahead of its time". (Source) [Yeah sure----maybe in 4022 when we have all been lobotomized by aliens.....Asoka will be appreciated] "Actually, the more liberal a society becomes, the more stringent the laws are bound to be. In the US, you can buy a gun off the shelf, and then someone starts shooting down kids in a school. So they need strict laws to make guns accessible to people. With air travel being so easy now -- you can book tickets by e-mail -- airport security is tougher. In a banana republic, nothing is allowed. In our society, everything is allowed. Therefore we need to check the flow of liberal ideas. It isn't intolerance that triggers off laws against things like smoking or buying ammunition. More rights entail more obligations." [Source] More examples here. And the thing is he's not a dumb guy. He knows there is money in construction which is why he is trying to develop land which is officially designated as a "heritage site" violating a few laws in the process----but after all for a person who violates all the laws of reason in his movies, that's child's play. If further proof of his razor-sharp intelligence is needed, look at what he says in rediff , "Shahrukh Khan does not watch his own complete films". Which means right there, he is going to outlive most of us who do. In an enlightening birthday interview (hopefully not in his birthday suit inside a tub filled with rose petals ) Shahrukh Khan tells us that the Parsi theatre was the oldest in the country (a fact that may not go down well with people like Kalidasa) and also tells us that he has received only because he has given. How true. Of course some may contend he has given us a series of headaches but it cannot be denied that there are a lot of people who love the man. Sucheta Dalal from the "main stream media" (MSM) says , in a different context: "Let me clarify that I have ignored most of the "noise" on the blogosphere and stuck to serious views in this column". Does packaging Shahrukh Khan's 40th birthday as "front-page-worthy" news make the MSM look "serious" ? Has pandering to the lowest common denominator reached such an absurd level that editors can put such junk on their front pages (and even make it the main headline) without even cringing? Very recently, our Foreign Minister, Natwarlal sorry Natwar Singh, has been named by an independent probe at the UN for massive corruption with regards to the Food for Oil program in Iraq. Is this not more of a headline grabber than Shahrukh Khan's plans to stop smoking? Seriously, are we the ones who need to be ignored, Ms Dalal ? Or should I say Da-da-da-lal ?

One Down and a Million To Go

2005-10-31T17:13:00.000-05:00

Hoorah ! One more Jihadi lowlife is going to meet virgins and young boys . LET scum Mohammed Arif aka Ashfaq tried to get us all senti---look how nobly he wanted to donate his blood for the victims of Delhi's terrorist attacks. I think we should oblige----empty his body of blood, slowly and steadily. And while the flesh of Indians burn in New Delhi, we donate millions of dollars to the humanistic relief efforts in Pakistan because we want to help "innocent Kashmiris and Pakistanis". Just like we did after independence when Pakistan attacked us and we were still transferring money to them as part of the partition agreement. Sardar Patel wanted to stop that transaction for the rather illogical reason that the money we were giving them was being used to kill us. But a thin old saintly man threatened to go on hunger strike if we did not give Pakistan their share. And you thought that only the movie "Chocolate" made no friggin sense. I sincerely hope we catch them bastards who turned off all the lights of Diwali in Delhi and give them the "Ashfaq"ing of their lives.

Die Sourav Die

2005-10-29T19:29:00.000-04:00

I have said this before on my blog and I will say it now again. The Sourav Ganguly issue makes me more acutely aware of my identity than any other thing simply because anti-Gangulyism is strongly followed by and often driven by anti-Bengalism----a surprisingly powerful and undeniably perceptible sentiment I have felt more than once in my life in the company of fellow Indians. Let's look at it logically. Who is Sourav to me? A rich man's son who had many privileges growing up I didnt have---by common consent arrogant, abrasive and petulant. Not my favorite kind of person. I have never been parochial, have no problems in making fun of other other Bengali heroes (Mithunda), do not hero-worship Netaji and do not feel that the Hilsa is the last thing in cuisine. And yet the mere mention of Dada makes me acutely conscious of my linguistic identity which is ironical in that Sourav Ganguly's greatest legacy is his lack of parochialism and his hard-nosed objectivity when dealing with Indian cricket players. Here's a simple test. Go through a few articles about Sourav. The word "Bengal" or "Kolkata" is going to be present in the article with a high probabibility. Now go through a few articles about Sachin. Check out "Maharashtra" or "Mumbai". Just to confirm that go to articles about Rahul Dravid and check out "Karnataka" or " Bangalore". Go through the Orkut discussion on Ganguly. The people who abuse Ganguly also use abusive words against Bengalis ---mostly concerning our paternities and the characters of our women. In Stonybrook where I was a PhD student for 5 years, the guy who used to rain abuse at Ganguly happened to be someone who stayed in Kolkata when he was a child and hated it. Just a coincidence. Whenever Ganguly got out, eyes would turn towards me....some people would tell me " Ki Arnab-da....when is Dada going to make runs?" as if somehow me being Bong made me answerable for Sourav's performance. No Bangalorean or Marathi was ever made accountable for Sachin's or Rahul Dravid's failures with the bat----and there have been several over the past 5 years. So let me pre-empt Mr Anonymous commenter. Yes sir, I support Ganguly because he is Bengali. Because you have left me no other choice. If I was Bangalorean and took out a procession burning effigies of Ganguly and shouting slogans for Rahul Dravid, I would not be considered parochial. But with me being a Bengali Kolkatan, I have already been labelled. So now let me live upto it. Unapologetically. Now the parochial , third-eye blind Greatbong speaks. I strongly feel for Sourav. The powers in admininstration (Dalmiya) have sold him out to Pawar and Bindra as a peace offering---Dravid as captain in exchange for a truce. Vision for 2007 World Cup yeah right. Which just goes to show the Dalmiya never supported Ganguly because he was a fellow Bong (incidentally Dalmia isnt a Bong but he is a Kolkatan) but because it was politically expedient to do so. Greg Chappell, with the aid of his friends in the Press (more about that later) have savaged Ganguly's legacy----Greg underarm Chappell rightfully understands that in order to get rid of Ganguly the person, he first needs to kill Ganguly the legend. Canards were spread that Ganguly faked injury, spread discontent in the team----accusations intended to undermine Ganguly's reputation of never playing politics in the team based on personal equations (a charge Ganguly's predecessors in the captains seat cannot deflect off easily). The investigation of the board cleared Ganguly of the charges of faking an injury---yet the coach, who had been proved to be a liar, was not taken to task. Instead it was Ganguly who was out of the team despite having successfully defended himself against all accusations. But what was the unkindest cut of all was that Rahul Dravid actively worked , in collusion with Greg Chappell, to prevent Sourav from coming back into the team. Since he is now the blue-eyed boy of the press, this behavior was considered to be "okey". If it was Sourav doing it to Dravid, then the press would have been beating their chest----pointing out how dastardly Bengali Ganguly was, lusting for captaincy and backstabbing a "friend". However since it's Rahul Dravid, Cricinfo (which has emerged as a beacon light for aggressive, anti-Ganguly biased reporting in recent times-----putting it one notch above the anti-Ganguly hate sight for undiluted vitriol) finds it "natural" that Dravid is aggrieved that he has not been given the captaincy for so long----somehow the underlying assumption being that captaincy is a cookie you get for being a good boy. I seem to recollect in late 90s groaning the moment one of Sourav or Sachin got out because that meant clueless Dravid would come into bat and the scoring rate would go down. Yet noone ever felt then that Dravid should not be part of long term World Cup plans. It was once Dravid became wicketkeeper (and thus assured of his place in the team) that he began to flourish with deft placements, soft hands and clinical hits-----a move that was the brainchild of the same man whom he argued to kick out a day or two ago. Note to self: When Dravid and More work together to ease out someone it is progressive thinking, the moment Dalmiya is involved it is dirty politics. Doublespeak anyone? Now we come to the central argument against Ganguly. Who does Ganguly replace in the current team? How about a 31 year old trundler who bowls laughable military medium and cannot read Muralidharan's doosra and calls himself an all rounder mainly because he doesnt know which he does worse ? How about a 18 year old whose only bullet in the resume is that he can field well? Are these people part of Vision 2007 because they are more capable than Sourav Ganguly or because they are yes-men of the More-Chappell-Dravid combine? Another point of view: Okay Ganguly has proven his form and his fitness. But these young players havent yet had the opportunity to prove their mettle---how can they be dropped? Beautifull.....now please explain how come Balaji who gave 48 runs in 10 overs in Sri Lanka never made it to the side subsequently? Where was the sense of fairness then? If one match did it for Balaji, then how come Venugopal Rao, who had a dreadful run in Sri Lanka, is still in the 14 as a prospect? What happened to Nehra? How come Zaheer is not good to be in the India team but gets Man of the Series in the Afro-Asia Cup? How come Sreesanth bowled well in one Challenger trophy match and made it to the Indian team ? How does the great Chappell-Dravid combine understand talent in such blindingly brief displays ? How come Superduck (apologies to Samit Basu) Agarkar, whose " economy" rate is over 5, is considered to be a World Cup prospect------maybe it is because he and More come from the same part of the country? Perhaps? Will Cricinfo suggest that? No it wont in spite of the fact that they did not hesitate to repeat Ganguly and Dalmiya's connection ad nausuem. Ganguly has been dropped because he will not play ball with Chappell, since he has his own ways of going about things. This makes it purely a power struggle between coach and captain and the captain has been defeated and replaced by a coach's stooge. Simple. It happens in the corporate world---it happens elsewhere. But puleeze let's not apply "Fair and Handsome" onto this mess and pretend that it has anything to do with "vision". If the team is happy without Sourav as press reports indicate, why were some of the same players so eager to speak out in his favour till the Board had to forcibly stop them from speaking to the Press? Harbhajan came out strongly in favor of Ganguly, Yuvraj gave a more political correct statement of support. Sehwag also wanted to come out. Now Sourav must have done something right to warrant players coming out in support of him------even at the cost of upsetting their equations with a coach who has shown that he does not welcome democratic dissent. And Cricinfo. Man I used to really like these guys---unlike the guys at TOI they understand their cricket. They still do I think but in the Ganguly issue have totally lost their objectivity. Ever since I read that Ganguly does not give them quotable quotes and instead pampers to a select coterie of journalists ---I knew that the staffers were waiting with their knives out ready to plunge it in when he slipped up. And slip up he did and out came the daggers. A picture of Cricinfo staffers with Rahul Dravid and Mohammed Kaif, who had dropped in for a casual visit, kind of hinted which way the PR river was flowing. Anand Vasu opines: For all he has contributed to this team, Ganguly deserved a better farewell - if indeed that's what this is - than being abruptly dropped. He deserved to walk away into the sunset, head held high, not be nudged out, first by coach, then the media, the public, and finally the selectors. But then again, with his batting, his behavior and his almost stubborn refusal to let go, he barely gave anyone a chance to do any better by him. What behavior Mr Vasu? The bad behavior of snubbing Cricinfo reporters? Or the behavior alluded to by the "proven-to-be-lies" accusations by the coach? Batting---do you mean his century on a green pitch (prepared by Ganguly fans to aid his demise) against a bunch of bowlers, most of whom have played for India? [ As to Ganguly's poor run with the bat, even Sachin has had a dreadful time of late, before the first two matches----so let's not split hairs...what counts is IMMEDIATE form] Or is it the fact that he refuses to throw in the towel that irritates you? The fact that he is fighting hard at the nets, the fact that he is not backing out, the fact that he has regained his form? A word of advice from a parochial Bong for Mr Vasu and his other friends at ihateganguly.com or whatever that site is called. Please go to Alipore Zoo and see a Royal Bengal tiger. Old, haggard, underfed ....kept in an enclosed space that's dirty and damp. People throw rubbish, taunt and laugh and the regal beast sits there---unmoved, immune to the humiliation. But just come into his cage and see what he can do---a few people who jumped into the tiger's cage to garland the benign beast found out to their dismay when they were reduced to ribbons. Similarly, the fire still burns inside Royal Bengal Ganguly -------and as the fools jeer and mock him he continues tirelessly determined to come back. In glory. You are right Mr Vasu. Sourav shall not go away. And neither shall we, his "parochial" supporters.

My 55 word story

2005-10-28T11:55:00.000-04:00

[Noone tagged me....but here goes] -------------------------------------------------- Punch drunk with lust, she moves away the sheets and invites him wordlessly to join her on the bed. He is sculpted like a Greek God. She shivers and opens herself up to him. He however quivers and smiles embarrassedly. “Finished soo soon?” She complains. “It’s just a 55 word story. What do you expect?” ---------------------------------------------------

Breaking News

2005-10-27T07:47:00.000-04:00

This I just have to tell you guys. Reliable sources from Kolkata (my mother actually) inform me that one of the Kali Pujo "committees" going around collecting Pujo subscriptions is calling themselves "Rok Sako To Rok Lo". [This is not a spoof----there is actually a club that has sprung up with this name] inspired no doubt by the mega-hit movie directed and produced by a great management guru. Haha....so this is where the moolah for the swimming pools and WiFi comes from----door to door subscriptions gathered through a mix of innovative marketing and muscle---- "Dada what should I put you down for? What nothing? Excuse me do you know who we are? Do you want to stay in this locality or not? Do you want a duly notarized email from the "Sena Who Sux" asking for 175 crores? Do you think that's going to be fun? Or would you prefer us burning chickens before they are hatched in front of your door? Good....now you have started thinking beyond your own wallet....do remember to come for the bhog ceremony---our Kali image has a long ponytail drenched in blogger's blood, with Ma standing wearing a necklace made out of the heads of Gaurav Sabnis, Reshmi Bansal and assorted other bloggers while she strangles with her feet-----all the IIMs. And that's not all, if you pay us 4 lacs we will throw in a not-recognized-by-anyone MBA degree along with Ma's Prasad............" Jai Ma Kali .........

Glory To The Newborn King

2005-10-26T11:09:00.000-04:00

Desipundit has outdone itself. Without doubt, the voice of the Indian blogosphere's voice, it has also attained the endorsement of all Mithun-bhakts ( an organization whose reach is far beyond that of the Illuminati or the Priory of Sion) by posting a link to the Second Coming----the arrival of the "Son of God"---- Mithun Junior or Mimoh. Called Mohakshay at birth (year of the lord 1985) , his birth was blessed by the 6 wise men ---6 giants of world cinema--- Kanti Shah (director: Loha, Gunda) , Rajiv Babbar (director: Yamraaj), Babbar Subhash (director: Classic Dance of Love, Disco Dancer, Divine Lovers) , TLV Prasad (director: Sher-E-Hindustan, Jurmana), Adarsh Jain (director: Bengal Tiger) and K.Bapaiah (Waqt Ki Awaaz). Before he could walk, Mimoh was disco-dancing in his diapers; his first words were "aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh salaaaaaaaa waaaaaaaa " and at the age of 5 he heroically saved the Chakraborty pet female dog from being violated by a stray kutta. Mentored in the art of acting by Puru Rajkumar, great things were prophesied for him. Mithun-da, the Zeus of all men realizing the need for international exposure, sent Mimoh to LA acting school where he was taught by the masters of the craft----Van Damme, Steven Seagal and Ron Jeremy. His first audition was for the role of Achilles in the international production "Troy"----a picture of him during that audition provided here. Despite his rave auditions [ in one scene, he tells Hector : "Bheegi Hui Cigarette Jal Nahin Sakti, Tere Maut Ke Date Fixed Hain Tal Nahin Sakti" (Just as a wet fag cannot be lit, the day of your death also cannot be changed) and another where after mutilating Hector's body, Achilles (Mimoh) spits at his corpse and says, in perfect Greek: "Tu bina petrol ki gaadi hai, Bina nashe ki taadi hai,Tu woh fateli saari hai, Jo ek hijda bhi nahin pehnegi" (too powerful to translate) ], some Godless apostates conspired to give the role to the pathetic Brad Pitt who promptly copied Mimoh's look and adapted it for the role (note the similarities with Mimoh's picture) Dejected, Mimoh came back to India and asked the God himself to launch him like the son of God deserves to be. After all every do-kadi film actor worth his name like Amitabh, Dharmendra, Hema Malini were launching and promoting their offsprings-----and imagine what a Mithun-blessed project would do for his son. But no. See what Mithun-da says. Chakraborty says, "Mimoh has been signed by Venus for one of their films." Why didn't he launch him under his home production? " I have decided not to launch him. I see my son as a product and not as Mithun Chakraborty's son. He has to fight his own battles in life. As a father, I have given him the skills necessary to shape himself as an actor. Till he is 21 I will advise him. I have already started giving him tips on acting like how to get into the skin of a character, how to switch on and off screen, how not to bring work home, how one should stand by one's producers and things like that." Wise words indeed. No spoon-feeding, no nepotism. Just the transference of skills. And life's lessons----for instance Mithunda knows the pitfalls of "bringing work home"----remember the time he almost brought his co-star Sridevi home? Yogeeta Bali, his wife, was not amused ! So now Mimoh will debut in either Vikram Bhatt, India's most original director's new movie or Deepak Sareen (director: Albela and after whom the gas Sarin is named)'s upcoming flick. Who cares for things like director or story once Mimoh is in the marquee-------here is praying for a quick release of Mimoh's debut movie. Hallelujah ! Hallelujah ! The Son of God is coming to a theatre near you. ------------------- A Mithun-bhakt sent me a link where some misguided, deluded retards have spread misinformation about Prabhuji. The film artistes those who go into oblivion at times come out to see light. It becomes striking to know about such artistes indeed. Mithun Chakraborthy, who is popularly known as super star of flop films has only one great number in his life that made him popular all over India. That was nothing other than the film "Disco Dancer". This Bengali Babu Moshai is making a presence on Telugu screen shortly as per the latest buzz in film circles. Lagadapati Sridhar is thinking to place him in a role in the film "Style" that he is making in the direction of Lawrence. Prabhudeva, Kamalini Mukherjee and Charmy are the other casting in the film. If it were true, one has to wait and see the "Style" of this old "Disco Dancer". Going into oblivion? Idiots....just because you dont see God everyday does it mean he has gone into "oblivion" ? Superstar of flop films? The 3 National Awards, the string of megahits unrivalled by anyone and all you can say is that "Disco Dancer" was his only hit? Hah....won't even dignify that one with a retort. I dont know about you but I smell regionalism all over this little article-----a bit of putrid bitchiness coming from someone worried that the "Bengali Babu Moshai" is going to put the home grown heroes out of business. As Mithun-da would say: " Tere naam ke kutta na paloon " (Wont even call my dog by your name) Bullshit. Compared to this, give me an IIPM advertisement any day. ------------------------------------------------- PS: All Mithun-bhakts are kindly requested to go here and try to do, as much as they can, for victims of the recent earthquake.

Some Random Thoughts Of A Demented Mind

2005-10-24T14:17:00.000-04:00

Here are a few of my observations about Pujo, Calcutta and India in general. 1. What's the matter with Ma Durga being shown without weapons in Muhammed Ali Park ?(for you people for whom history starts with Sachin Tendulkar, this Muhammed Ali is not the famous boxer but one of the Khilafat movement leaders) What kind of liberal, pacifist horseshit is responsible for pigeons in the hands of the Goddess of Power? 2. What happened to Durga Protimas constructed based on the faces of film stars? Some people consider that blasphemy---I consider it fun. The Hema Malini/Sridevi/Madhuri Dixit lookalike Durgas----aah the innocent 80s and early 90s. And I will never forget the Andy Roberts lookalike Asura and his cousin the Vivian Richards Asura......even though the West Indies were battering us in cricket, come Pujo and they would be groveling at the feet of our Holy Mother (who had badass spears and tridents in her 10 hands and not pigeons) ! This time I was expecting a Mallika Sherawat-Ma Durga and a Michael Jackson- Asura or at the very least an Asura with a ponytail called Murgasura (Chicken-Devil). But it seems our sculptors have totally lost their creativity. 3. Back in our days, we had the Sharad Shomman (best Pujo) from Asian Paints---one award that's it. Now it seems every Tom, Dick and Haripada have instituted their own "awards" with the result that we never have this concise list of must-go-to Pujos. And with so many awards, there are so many judges----and hoo boy what a list of connoisseurs-----Moonmoon and her MMS daughters and my favorite Pallavi ["megastar" Prasenjit's sister],who I once heard pronounce"Sphulingo" as "Poolingo", opining in her "perfect" Bangla to one of the Bangla cable channels: "You know...amra khujchi....not a lot of ...you know...oi sob....but more atmosphere....maane anekta atmosphere..." Now that deserved a somman from one of Ma Durga's pigeons---"poo" I mean. 4. When we were in schools, people went to schools to study......disco dancing meant immediate rustication (no FIR, no police case, straight to "bhog of ma" as Mithun-da would say). One of our teachers was suspended for break-dancing in class ---yes things were that strict. But now I see this monstrosity called "Syllabus-r Baire" [Out of Syllabus] a weekly television program on one of the Bangla cable channels where school kids , on school premises, in front of proud teachers dance tartily to the latest Bollywood numbers. WTF ! In our days "Out of Syllabus" was a phrase that carried with it sheer terror---those mind numbing , brain-darkening seconds as strange hieroglyphics stared at you from the question paper while the guy in the next seat, the one who goes to the "other tutorial" , smiled joyfully. Now "Out of Syllabus" conjures up pleasant images-- coy school girls doing Britney moves, and guys flailing their hands in the air ala Sanjay Dutt in "Ishq Samandar". The thin end of the wedge----I swear. 5. Talking of schools, which genius opened a school for boys named after "Oscar Wilde" ? What next ---the Michael Jackson Creche, Bill Clinton Girls School ? 6. Bengali cinema. Who is this new hero---the "Jeet" dude? Is he Bengali? He looks like a Sindhi guy for crying out loud. Give me Prasenjit any day---purple shirt and polka dotted bowtie dancing with Shatadbi Ray in a blue frock and pink ribbons. And give me Tapas Paul----250 pounds of pure rocksolid flab and voluptuous man breasts dancing in the rain in a clinging "Punjabi" (what we Bengalis call Kurtas) while the comely Debasree Roy seduces him by singing "Aar koto raat eka thaakbo" (How many nights shall I spend alone?) [Movie: Chokher Aloye]. Jeet...duh. 7. Can someone tell me what's happened to Amitabh Bachchan ? His KBC does well, he is in every other movie---which means he is making money. But then why oh why does he have to peddle everything under the sun---from soft drinks to detergents to batteries to stuffed toys? Yes stuffed toys----I could not believe it when I saw on the door of the Archies gallery in City Center, a picture of the Big B cuddling a cute giraffe doll, entreating us to buy this overpriced piece of infantile junk. Is this what happened to the angry young man? Was this the same man whom we worshipped in "Deewar" and "Sholay"? The same man who used to be "rishte main baap" to all the pansy lover boys ? If he was , then why is he now cuddling up with a stuffed toy and that too an yellow giraffe ? Rajesh Khanna selling stuffed toys---I understand. But the B ? 8. And talking about yellow and Big B, am I the only one who finds the Rin advertisement slightly uncomfortable? For those who have not seen it, it has AB playing the role of a white-cassocked Catholic priest who calls a cherubic little boy into his room , ostensibly to "interview" him. Then they have a rather curious exchange (details in the link above) where the kid tells the priest: " Yellow yellow dirty fellow". Yellow flag. The priest, it seems, is merely interested in knowing what detergent the boy is using. Now the red flag. The camera blurs and the priest is shown tickling the young boy.....remember the boy is here for an interview for admission. Now why should the priest start tickling him? In the context of what Catholic priests have been in the news for, I found it a bit....."yellow yellow". And please don't call me the dirty fellow here. 9. Mumbai airport. I have to transfer from the domestic to the international terminal on the way back. I remember taking the same route some four years back where the baggage handlers kept pestering for baksheesh and that too in dollars. This time they were strangely silent----and I noticed their Tshirts had emblazoned on them: " No tips please, thank you." Poor fellows. Here I was dying to tip them and here they were refusing it with such politeness. My hyper-imaginative mind thought of Bill Clinton being made to wear a similar Tshirt saying "No sex please, thank you." 10. "Fair and Lovely" ---I knew of. But "Fair and Handsome" ? Wasnt the ideal of sexiness for men--- "Tall Dark and Handsome" ? I am not complaining here----its payback time for men for all the years of imposing an ideal of beauty that puts an inordinate premium on the color of skin. 11. And the howler. I have always enjoyed informercials----the Bloussant breast enhancement cream (surprisingly castigated for "false and unsubstantiated claims"-------Tapas Paul could have saved them by his testimonial) remade in Hindi with an Indian "model" , tacky animation where the appendage in question is shown growing like Pinocchio's nose (talk about false claims), and repeated use of the word "Sthan". But this time, what took the cake and bakery was the infomercial for "Sukh Shanti Sangraha"---a package of punya or holiness for NRIs. Each package consists of 7 color coded dhoop-kathis (incense sticks)----30 in each pack, one pack for every day of the week. Each of the packets has a specific purpose---one is used for "buddhi-labh" (knowledge), one is used for "dhan-prapti" (acquisition of wealth)....you get the message. And just in case you doubt the claims, there are actual testimonials of real customers who tell you how burning these incense sticks have changed their lives----passing exams, getting married, business flourishing, family squabbles resolved. There is more. Besides these amazing burning sticks of bounty, you also get a vial of pure Ganga Jal and other assorted charms that guarantee your Sukh (happiness) and Shanti (Peace). Wait there is still more. The peddlers of punya are Arun Govil (last seen singing " Ramji ki chiriya, Ramji ka ped, Khau Re Chiruyai, Bhar Bhar Pet) of Ramayana fame and Bhagyashree (last seen in "Qaid Main Hain Bulbul" with her fold-mountain hubby, Himalaya) ---with their gentle voices, Sanskritized Hindi and enigmatic smiles touting the amazing miracles that the Sukh Shanti Sangraha will bring to your career and family life. Which begs the question: If the SSS solves all problems, why has it done nothing for the careers of Arun Govil and Bhagyasree----their brand ambassadors ? Food for thought. Indeed.

Pujo Perspective

2005-10-21T09:39:00.000-04:00

6 years had passed since I had last been in Kolkata for the Pujos. 6 years is a long time....back then Ganguly was still loyal to his wife, Sachin's batting was still enjoyable, Abhishek Bachchan was the biggest failure of Bollywood, LK Advani was the future face of BJP, the World Trade Center was an overpriced tourist trap and I was still slim. Indeed "a long long time". I had been away from the city I love for 6 years pursuing my PhD in a land far away missing one Pujo after another. I refused to visit websites with pictures of Durga Puja and indulge myself in that monstrosity marketed as "e-darshan"----what a load of IIPM. I also never attended fatuous "NRI Bengali Durgo Pujos" because I knew I would never feel at home in an assemblage of overweight "mashima"s talking about their glittering diamond and gold appendages, overtly serious "uncles" wallowing in self-importance and reluctant ABCD babes and dudes enduring a few hours of "getting-back-to-the-roots" torture from their culturally apologetic parents. (My apologies for this harsh assessment of "Bengali Associations" in US----I had an extremely bad experience the only time I attended one of their jamborees). In short, for me it would be the real thing or nothing. This year was it. My first opportunity after 6 years and I grabbed at it with the eagerness of a teenager who gets his first copy of Debonair/Playboy. Oh to be in Kolkata now that's Pujo is here. You see the reason I like Pujo is the crowds. Not that I am a bottom-pincher or a pickpocket ...oh no no. Let me explain. I am an agnostic----or more precisely " I do not believe in God but am afraid of Him"(Usual Suspects). For that reason, the Pujos have no religious significance for me. The pandals and the statues are stupendous works of art no doubt (most of them at least) but no work of art would make me take unpaid leave from my work and rush across seven seas. I did not come back to partake of the purple pleasure of pandal-hopping with my friends ----namely because I never had many friends or brothers/sisters/cousins and my Puja activities were almost exclusively with my parents. Again let me repeat: the reason I went back was for the crowds. Or more precisely the enthusiasm and joi de 'vivre they radiate. There can be nothing as exciting as watching millions of people trooping tirelessly all through the night--braving serpentine queues stretching for kilometres with no complaint; waiting to catch a glimpse of something they have seen, with minor variations, countless number of times. I have never seen more happiness in the air than I see on Ashtami night-----and this is what makes Pujo worth everything. And the small things of course----the kid with glowing eyes standing in line in 1998 hoping to catch a glimpse of what he called "Titonic" (a pandal constructed based on the Titanic), the eggrollwallah catching a few last desperate seconds of sleep on Panchami night before the deluge of humanity begins, the shouts of "Nescoffee" and "Ashun dada ashun" (Come here sir) from the hospitable stallowners, the muttonrolls of doubtful provenance (I swear I once saw a stray dog go into a Pujo food stall and NOT come out ), the mobile circuses (come see the three headed girl), the deadpan announcements on the public address system :" Kusumkanan-r Panchu...tumi jekhanei thaako na keno office-e chole esho tomar bondhura tomar jonye appekha korche...." (Panchu from Kusumkanan...wherever you are come to so-and-so your friends are waiting for you). [Reminds of a famous person whom I knew who went with 7 of his friends and got lost in Muhammed Ali Park. His friends realized that the "famous man" was lost once they heard on the PA system: " So-and-so from Anwar Shah is here at our office and his 7 friends are lost."] Some things have surely changed in Kolkata Pujos----there is more money in them, the profile of advertisers have changed in the big-name Pujas (Gallop Hawai Chappals , glycerin soaps have been displaced from the billboards by Airtel, Hutch, Allen Solly), traffic is better controlled, the eggroll/muttonroll stalls have been supplanted in many places by Arambagh Chicken (our Bengali version of KFC) and Dominoes and the old purutmoshai (priest) now has a cellphone---that too with a ringtone of "Dhoom Macha Le Dhoom Macha Le Dhoom". Some have not: Maddox square and Ballygunge Cultural are still chock-a-bloc with beautiful faces, aerodynamic backsides (Maddox Square and the backless choli----never understood the close relation), giggling college girls, and heart-wrenchingly voluptous boudis (difference: before 1998 I would lust over them as the "mature senior woman" stereotype .....now in 2005 most of the glam boudis were my age) with "nekamo" (faux-femininity) dripping from their exaggerated movements. And one other thing that has not changed---yours truly. Sure he has become fatter, older, cynical, worldy-wise but the things that moved him many years ago still pack the same punch. He still gets fuzzy from the adrenalin shots of pure joy that permeate the air, still enjoys watching the milling crowds and still appreciates the boudis. Whether that is entirely a desirable thing --- I leave you to judge.

When Bloggers Meet

2005-10-16T15:49:00.000-04:00

16th October. Blogmeet. Is meeting bloggers a good idea in the first place? Can the persona of the blogger and the person in real life be reconciled? We like Gaurav Sabnis's blog but do we really like the "Real Gaurav Sabnis" ? You may read Greatbong's weighty musings but would you care for his actual weight? With such thoughts reverberating within my demented mind, I walked into the apocalyptically titled "T3" ----the waiters having a definitive cyborgian air about them. I had seen JAP before----though it was evident that JAP had left a bigger impression on me than the other way around; he forgot the fact that we had crossed paths before on another continent. Anyhow, JAP --having seen a few more summers than most of us was seated in the middle holding the entire assemblage together. And me---having occupied a fewmore cubic feet than most of the others, counterbalanced him at the other end. On my left was seated a rising star of theatre. And some bloggers---still in high school. Acutely conscious of my own age (I was reminded of a question thrown at me by a number of "juniors" at Stonybrook: " You actually saw Sunil Gavaskar bat?") I looked to my right and there were first and second year "tanayas" (ladies) from JU and Presi. I wistfully thought of the days I had spent in AC Canteen jharofying their didis many moons ago. Needless to say, I do this any longer---- with age and maturity, I have become more respectable. The conversation flowed freely---cha and coffee were ordered. After which a bizarre incident took place. The cyborgian waiter suddenly said: "No more coffee" in a definitely Gandhian non-cooperative way. Fortunately, JAP had booked a table at Flury's across the street and we trooped out. As we did, I glanced back at the waiter in order to confirm a suspicion I had been harboring for some time based on what I had read in "the Historian". Imagine my sense of vindication when his white cap moved a little and I saw what I had been expecting to see----a hidden ponytail. No wonder, he was being rude. He had been possessed by the evil Chicken spirit and thus had as much regard for bloggers as Dracula has for garlic. T3's loss was Flury's gain. Kind of. Conversations carried on along the normal lines of murderous school principals, Moonmoon Sen's non-mainstream celluloid achievements, mass copying, short tops and "golabondho" jeans, Bhappi Da's moojik, getting under the table and call girls (which suddenly elicited an enthusiastic response from someone---that individual not being named for fear of causing slander and of consequently getting a notarized email). Samit Basu, the great Duck, blessed the gathering remotely. IIPM was *not* discussed---except a passing word or two. JAP took pictures of all of us --on the condition that individuals are not identified. Hah..."fat" chance of anyone being able to map me in those pictures ! In all, an extremely pleasant afternoon spent with like-minded people. And yes it does make sense to get to know the people behind the silly monikers----if only to see how sillier they are in real life. Here's looking forward to the next one.

Indian Institute of International Dreamers

2005-10-12T03:26:00.000-04:00

This is not something I really wanted to do---being in temporary exile in Kolkata. But an inexorable chain of events has forced me to announce to the blogosphere my new endeavor----a new management school called Indian Institute of International Dreamers (I3D). IIM teaches you management. Hah---old hat ! There are so many managers from IIMs out there. What do they make? 12 lacs--15 lacs? How have they changed the world? Keep thinking...cause they have not. IIPM takes you beyond IIMs. A great start no doubt. But do you dare to go even beyond IIPM ? Do you dare? Punk? Do ya? I mean come on face it what's there to learn in management? Nothing much---but yes there is a lot to learn about dreaming. Isaac Newton saw an apple fall...like so many others before him. But unlike everyone else, Newton dreamt. Big. The world changed.That's vision. Bill Gates had a dream, Martin Luther King had a dream, Mungeri Lal had a dream. Normal people like you only have wet dreams. Which means that you shall amount to nothing. Nyet, nada, zilch,zero.Even with your fancy PGDMs and MBAs. That's where I3D steps in---we shall teach you how to dream big---to dream about your future and to keep dreaming forever. I3D understands that dreams can only be dreamt..mmm...internationally. That is why we plan to open campuses all over the world----in London, Paris, Agra, Timbuctoo, Shangri-La, and Atlantis. A few proposed buildings where I3D will be housed are shown here. Our faculty will be chosen from the world's best management institutes----Hass (UCLA, sorry Berkeley), Fuckyou (Dukey Univ), Whaton (the Pen), Luck (Foulmouth) and many others. However for matters of confidentiality, I cannot mention the names of the professors who shall be conducting the courses simply because the revolutionary material they shall be using in these courses will not be available to students of their own universities. After faculty comes facilities. Each student shall be given a calculator (floating point, graphs)---for him/her to keep. Yes let me repeat that. A calculator with one set of batteries for the student to keep. Forever. Now how many management schools provide this facility? How many eh? Of course the cost of the calculator shall be included in your course fee----after all as any economist who has a recognized degree shall tell you: there is nothing known as a free lunch. And that's just for starters. Each student gets a free, all-expenses-paid trip to Bangladesh. Yes sirrie Bob. And that too in the rainy season when we get massive group discounts. Why Bangladesh you ask? Well you dont have to go there---we have other attractive tour packages---North Korea, Afghanistan, Burma, Pakistan Occupied Kashmir. Right now, we are negotiating with the city of New Orleans which is lobbying hard to be designated as an"active learning" site. Needless to say, the cost also comes from your course fees. Placement you ask? Firstly let me stress, we at I3D believe that the best employment is self-employment. We follow the principle :" God help them who help themselves". And dreamers are people who do not work for others---on the contrary our aim is to teach you how to make others live your dream. In other words, our aim is to make you a JenifferLopez or a Auto Shankar rather than one of the faceless penpushers produced off the assemblyline by the IIMs. I3D has already, yes already, been ranked among the world's top 10 management institutes by international magazines like Timepass and Nudeweek based on data we have provided them ---an amazing achievment for an institute this new. Consider this: No 2 in "best swimming pools", No 1 in "best architectural design", No 1 in "most comfortable air conditioning". Mind boggling. The institute's founder-dean is yours truly---the author of bestselling self-help management books like "Abort Your Eggs Before They Hatch" and " Do Managers Dream of Electric Sheep?" and producer of blockbuster Hindi movies like "Thokh Sako To Thokh Lo" (Murder Me If You Can) starring Bollywood sensations--Milind Gunaji and Varsha Usgaonkar and a Indo-Bangla production " The Return of Beder Meye Jochna". Described by New York Times as one of the world's premier dreamers, the director of I3D (who is also its first graduate ) has been called at various times---"visionary" , "management guru extraordinaire", "supercalifragilisticespialidocious" and "Rapunzel-man" (because of his long, luxuriant, dreamy hair). Motivational speaker and venture capitalist, the director (ie I) has to his credit ebusinesses like desidadu.com and FamilyPlanningMan and is an "aloo matar" of MIT (Madhyamgram Institute of Technology) where he graduated "Sabse Bada Laude". Great ideas have great enemies. I expect resistance to this new institute from the IIM losers who must be shitting in their undies at the thought of joining dole. We at I3D shall hasten them on their way. Starting November 1, we shall start calling up companies and threaten to immolate their products in public bonfires if they do not fire every IIM in their payroll. We shall be burning everything we can get our hands on--cellphones, detergent, toilet cleaners, computers and of course bras. Most burn those. I am well aware of the dirty underhanded tricks that some of our competitors shall engage in. Hence I have hired a high profile team of legal eagles (Barely Legal Inc) and media managers (RealBloggers and Sons) who shall aggressively pursue those who seek to defame our noble institution. This they shall do by sending duly notarized emails and SMS-ses and suing pesky bloggers and magazines for amounts no less than 250 crores each---the details shall of course be worked out once our lawyers finish their current project---collecting "voluntary subscriptions" for Kali Pujo. In conclusion, the people who change the world dream big. You have the power inside you. Inside your wallets. Give them to me. Empty them. In return I3D shall give you dreams---in full technicolor. And to the IIMs: "Thokh Sako To Thokh Lo" (Small print: I3D is not recognized as a degree granting institute by the AICTE but really who cares....after all who needs a license to dream? )

2005-10-05T06:30:00.000-04:00

A small update. Right now in Kolkata where my net connection is erratic. So do not know when next I shall be able to post. I shall reply to all the comments once I return home. Or hopefully sooner.

The Oscar Committee Minutes

2005-09-28T17:07:00.000-04:00

Scene: Four men sit around a table. In front is a Orson color TV from 1988 and a DVD/VCD player from Santosh Electronics. Cast: Harmesh Malhotra (Hammy), Vinod Pandey (Vindie), Jagdish Sharma(Juggie), Vikas Mohan (Vics) Context: 4 of India's movie giants are deciding which movie to send to the Oscars. Hammy: Ok gentlemen please let's finish this please--- I am not feeling particularly well. Frankly, if you ask me none of these movies are worth sending to the Oscars. (Looking wistfully)....My great works of art--Nagina and its sequel Nigahen were path breaking movies-------a buxom lady who turns into a python err cobra ...if that's not an original story idea then tell me what is. Even today snakecharmers play the "Pa pa pa pa pa.... Main teri dushman dushman tu mera, main nagin tu sapera" song on their daily rounds. And not one bastard thought these movies were worth sending to the Oscars.... Vindie: Yes sir we know. But that is even more the reason we should not let what happened to your movies happen ever again. See sir, I made this movie called "Sins" which was about a Catholic priest who beds a lovely teenage lass---I showed so many exposure shots sarrji....hoping that it will get foreign distributor. This guy from MeeraMin, sister organization of Miramax told me that the US will not accept Catholic priests sleeping with innocent girls-----if I had shown young boys then it would have been more realistic. Juggie: Then you should have done your research Vindie. Now you tell me what was my fault? I made "Sapoot" ----an amazing mafia story that would put Godfather to shame. I put in the song " Main ladki ka deewana, Ladki na hoti kuch bhi na hota, Tu bhi na hoti main bhi na hota"---the most succint expression of love between man and woman. And the-then shortsighted jealous committee refused to send it to Oscars. I got wiser and made the movie " Devta" (God) with the greatest God of all, Mithun-da. Still no Oscars. So Hammy stop cribbing. Hammy: Mithun-da. Yes even I made "Cheetah" with him---kya concept tha, kya acting tha...they copied it and made Bourne Conspiracy. And talking of imaginative songs even I had "Chachundar ke sar pe na bhaaye chameli, kahan Raaj bhoj kahaan gangu teli" (Dulhe Raja) ---a singing competition between India's Al Pacino and De Niro----Govinda and Kader Khan. And I look at these movies----and none of them have even half the class of my movies. Perhaps Veer Zara to a certain extent. And oh yes, this "Mangal Pandey" thing---tell you what----I made "Mangal Pandey" in 1982 yes sir 1982 and here comes Aamir Khan, rips the idea off and thinks that he can go to the Oscars. Not on my beat---no boy not after plagiarizing me ! Hah...a word of advice to Aamir: leave the plagiarization to the experts. Viks: Well I have to accept that I have nothing on you great filmmakers here. But even I made Arzoo with Akshay Kumar and Madhuri----which holds the record of having been pulled off the screen midweek in some centers. I always knew it had no chance....actually. Vindie: Yes sir, so we have to decide. Next year I can assure you there will be no need for decision. My movie "Red Swastika" which is about an insidious plot hatched by the Nazis and Communists (the theme goes down well with the Oscar community) will sweep the awards. Let me show you some pre-release publicity sir...... Mona Chopra strips full top to bottom in Vinod Pande's Red Swastika setting precedence in India Lara Larani May 27, 2005 Well we crossed the bridge as Ash says. Mona does it. She strips full in front of camera not afraid of any one including the censor board. ”In Red Swastika I play a psychotic killer. She kills people in the most gruesome manner but has no regrets over it. In this film there's a sequence that I am sure will make headlines. It's the film's USP too. I am shown taking a shower and my back is naked from top to bottom. I am going to be shot from behind and I expect some part of my side profile to be visible as well. But it's going to have an aesthetic appeal. The audience won''t find it vulgar or obscene," she says. According to some flexography technicians in Bollywood, she is unbelievable when drops her clothes on camera! Viks: Wow...flexography technicians...total Hollywood. [Greatbong interrupts: For the convenience of my male readers, here is the link for google image search results for Mona Chopra...something I am sure all of you must be thinking of doing right now if you havent already done so already by this time] Vindie: (Proud smile)....Nothing left to chance. Hammy: Well, if you ask me my choice for the Oscar ticket is "Model the Beauty". The reason is the beautiful DVD writeup---it has an extremely international feel to it. Here it is: Model The Beauty is an emdoiment (sic) of lessons that tells us how a small misunderstanding can burn the pleasures and dreams into ashes. Not only this but the story also tells the viewers that if somebody takes time in deciding to ventilate his love, the bord (sic) of moment flies far away never to come back again. The feeling of repentance gets converted into revenge and even makes our own life hell Sandhya and Sunil were living in a fragrant dream world which was full of pleasures and love only. When Rahul came know about Sandhya's marriage, his feelings got hurt to the extent that a best friend converted into an enemy. He left no stone unturned to web a net of misunderstanding between Sandhya and Sunil. He was about to succeed in his game when a bar dancer Kanchan exposed his intentions before Sandhya. Now Sandhya played a reverse game against Rahul which caused the ultimate fate the death of evil by hands of Inspector Khan. Viks: Here is my pick. It's called Qatil Nigahen and if this does not make Steven Spielberg pee in his trousers, nothing will. Juggie: I was thinking more on the lines of "Tauba Tauba" or "Laila". I am sick and tired of pandering to stereotypes of India-----let's show the Americans that our desi girls "bhi modern hain"----in other words, they want to do husband swapping. Hammy: No no no...Juggie we need to send a movie that does cater to Western stereotype of India. After all, that's what the Chinese do-----in all Chinese movies, there are lot of Oriental color, the protagonists fly about and there is some crap about honor and love....if I had sent a movie with Mithun as hero and a name like " Jis Ghar Main Chakoo Urte Hain" do you think I would have any chance? That's why we need to play to our strengths. Viks: Which is ? Hammy: One word "Paheli". As I just mentioned, there is a huge demand for Chinese movies in US art house circle----with a name like "Paheli" it may fortunately be confused for a Chinese movie----Bruce Lee, Bruce Li ki behen Chus Lee, JetLi, Ang Lee, Paheli...... Vindie: Sounds interesting...go on. Hammy: Then like Chinchong movies, we have a whole lot of color in "Paheli". And outlandish head gear. Juggie will understand that the sexual awakening of an Indian wife in suburban India (which Americans will think rural Rajasthan in the middle ages is) is going to generate some Oscar buzz. Also getting pregnant by a ghost sounds like a cool idea.....even Patrick Swayze could not do that in "Ghost". Vindie: So "Paheli" it is then. It's a pity we could not send Qatil Nigahen and that other movie---because Hammy here has a point. I shall draft a press release soon----tell the bewakoofs we considered Veer Zara, Page 3 and Black.....but all of us know what bakwas those movies are in any case. Still feel bad for Qatil Nigahen though.

Ganguly Hai Hai

2005-09-26T16:15:00.000-04:00

Down with Sourav Ganguly !! Down down the Debauch Prince of Calcutta ( a columnist for a leading sports source shows his true colors in the picture on the left).

I was aghast. I used to love this guy once upon a time. I always knew him as an arrogant, petulant yet honorable man who backed his players aggressively, never played politics inside the team and was always first in the line of fire.

This was before Greg Chappell with his bcc mail to aakha India told us exactly the opposite. Ganguly is a wolf in sheep's clothing----according to the uncut Chappell email I got, it's he who got Kim Sharma to leave Yuvraj Singh so that his performance suffers and the Maharaja can stay on in the side. Pathetic.

Cricinfo tells us that no matter what happens, Ganguly has to go. Indeed he must. It seems that Ganguly does not want to step outside his comfort zone-----I recall the time not so long ago (2003) at Melbourne when he walked out to protect Sachin Tendulkar . Now I realize that what actually happened was that the AC had broken down in the dressing room and it was so unbearably stuffy that Ganguly took the opportunity to ingest some fresh air.

How do I know this? Bishen Singh Bedi, the fit-as-a-fiddle left arm bowler whose paunch and patka fought among themselves for prominence and who was in his playing days known as a stickler for physical fitness, told me so on the highest authority.

When Harbhajan Singh came out with a brave statement of support for the man who made his career and pointed out that it was Greg Chappell who was playing off one player against the other, I breathed a sigh of relief. Zaheer, Nehra and Sehwag were also said to be with Dada. At least, Dada had the loyalty of his men---or so I thought.

Wrong! The wise men at Cricinfo and Times of India tell me otherwise. It seems that these players, like Dada, are also refusing to come out of their comfort zones; Harbhajan being the worst offender. I concur. Why did Dada encourage Bhajji to open a hair salon---I mean isnt hair a comfort zone for Sardarjis? Should he not have forced the Turbanator to step out of his "zone" and do something that would challenge Harbhajan---like an acting school or a semiconductor fabrication plant?

The wise men also told us about the men who were against Dada...consisting of Anil Kumble, Mohd. Kaif and a vacillating Rahul Dravid.

Anil Kumble---yes the man who defines stepping out of one's comfort zone. After winning a gadzillion matches for India on home soil on designer pitches (his comfort zone), Anal sorry Anil Kumble has then, in the course of his career, consistently turned in sterling performances abroad raising the bar for his performance with every series, spinning India to one away series victory after another. While Dada's fielding has been mediocre all along, Anil Kumble has always given Jonty a run for his money----between a Jonty dive and a Kumble lunge...I am yet to decide which is more enjoyable. The only difference----after a Jonty dive the ball is always in front of Jonty, after a Kumble lunge, the ball is inevitably behind him.

Some people claim that Anil is simply unhappy at being overlooked for the captaincy and just because of the fact that Dada always prefers Bhajji to him in one-dayers despite Anil's fielding and Srinath-like running-between-the-wickets, many of the anonymous quotes that show unhappiness with Dada are coming from him. But of course, that's not true.

And among the wise men, Ravi Shastri wants Ganguly out. Yes the Champion of Champions, who knows a thing or two about shame and "hai hai"s having held the world record of being the only person to have been booed at every Indian test center. Yes as Ravi once said, punnily :" Whenever Ganguly comes out to bat, Steve Waugh applies pressure at both ends." Yes Shastri is now doing the same thing with Dada.

Ganguly has to go. Dalmia has got to go. Dalmiya supports Ganguly because Ganguly is Bengali. Ganguly is a parochial f*** having supported consistently people from Bengal---like Bhajji, Sehwag, Zaheer and Kaif while never promoting people from other states like Laxmiratan Sukla.

Chappell told us that Ganguly was not physically fit in Zimbabwe and lied about his injury. Ganguly has procured some doubtful medical certificates from the India's team medicine man, John Gloster which I have been told is just a pseudonym for Janardhan Ghosh, Dalmia's homeopathic Man Friday. Can you trust him?

Who told me all this? The man himself---Raj Singh Dungarpur who has absolutely no axe to grind with Dalmiya. Which is why many newspapers carry his impartial, balanced pronouncements with the authority reserved for papal announcements.

Raj Singh. A legend. A man who broke the back of regional politics in Indian cricket by consistently supporting "Mian Captain banoge?" Mohd Azharuddin (incidentally my favoritest batsman...way above Sachin) despite the fact that he played for a different state from where Raj Singh comes from ...in case you did not know Azhar played for Punjab. Raj Singh detests Dalmia's brand of regional politics----remember the way he kept on supporting Azhar even after he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar?

A blast from the past for your personal amusement.

Dungarpur supports Azhar's captaincy

In 1990, Raj Singh Dungarpur strolled up to Mohammad Azharuddin and asked, Kyon, Azhar miyan, kaptaan banoge?

Main tho kaptaan hoon, sir, a naive Azhar, who thought Dungarpur was referring to his Ranji side, Hyderabad, had responded -- before letting his jaw drop when the latter told him it was the Indian national side he was being asked to lead.

Almost a decade later, Dungarpur, now president of the BCCI, has spoken out in defense of his protegeee. "I am sure that Azharuddin is in full command. What reason does anyone have to remove him?" he asked. Raj Singh did not approve the criticism of Azharuddin by "people who did not fully understand the demands of the job."

"Azharuddin's quiet nature has become his weakness and now he is an easy target of critics," Raj Singh said, adding that he saw nothing wrong in the captain's aloof mein.

Dungarpur, while professing himself fully satisfied with Azhar's leadership skills, was not quite as content with the Indian captain's recent form with the bat. "He should get back his rhythm which he lacked due to the slow wickets," he said.

Raj Singh's observation will come as a big surprise to many including his former skipper Dilip Vengsarkar who once said that one can gauge the pace and bounce of a bowler by watching Azharuddin jump at every ball from the other end.

Ganguly has always been a bad person. Look at a few past incidents that came to light that show him to be a nasty lot of goods.

Kolkata, 1990: Not yet 17, Sourav Ganguly made his first class debut in the Ranji Trophy final against Delhi. His brother Snehashis Ganguly, a brilliant left-hander who was going through a lean phase, was dropped to accommodate Sourav. The decision made headlines, though it had nothing to do with the crisp 22 he made in the match which Bengal won.

Kolkata, 1993: Playing for Mohun Bagan against East Bengal in the P. Sen Trophy final, Sourav was heckled by the opposition while he was batting. After taking a catch to win the match, he threw the ball at the spectators who were cheering the opposition. They responded with a volley of stones and abuse. He responded in kind, though later he wrote an apology to the Cricket Association of Bengal.

Hyderabad, 1995: Playing for India A against India Seniors in the Challenger Cup, Sourav was involved in a run out with Rahul Dravid. Both of them were trying to get into the national team (they eventually made it) then. There were a few raised eyebrows at the end of the match as Dravid was batting fluently when he got out going for an easy single.

Not mentioned here was how he once stole an icecream from a baby and gave it to Nagma and how he once raided the donation box for Behala Blind School (which is very close to where he stays) to pay for a foot massage.

Shocking !!!!!

Kick him out. Throw him to the dogs. As our current coach said, John Wright was a wuss. He did not have the balls to deal with Sourav. But Greg does. Oh yes he does. And he knows a thing or two about winning.

Remember the time he made lil bro' Trevor roll the ball on the ground to deprive New Zealand of a victory which led the papers to declare that Chappell's underam stinks. Yes sir. He does know a thing or two about winning.

And ethics and gentlemanliness.

Down with Ganguly.

Baise Moi

2005-09-22T09:58:00.000-04:00

It's time India launched a formal complaint with the UN and sent the fashion police across the Line of Control to arrest General Musharraf. The reason? At a conference on woman's rights in Pakistan, he wore a blue and pink tie to symbolize cooperation between men and women. An alpha-male of the first order abandoning his battle fatigues for a pink tie ! Really people like Gen Mush should not try to be the sensitive meterosexual type because the facade slips away so fast that it's positively embarrassing for unabashed admirers like myself.

Here in New York on Saturday, Musharraf held a meeting with an invited audience to show himself off as a sensitive man. The meeting started awkwardly when he tried to demonstrate his feminist credentials by saying he opposed violence against women because it's unchivalrous toward the weaker sex. Then, in response to skeptical questions, Musharraf lost his temper, shouting at audience members and threatening to "get" anyone who exposed Pakistan's problems to the world. "He totally lost it," said Yasmeen Hassan, a Pakistani lawyer in New York who was present. "It's so unbecoming of a president to get into shouting matches, and to say, 'I'm going to get you.'

After that, unconfirmed souces reveal that General Musharaff started swinging his bonbon Gloria Estefan style and crooned: At night when you turn off all the lights, There's no place that you can hide, Oh no, the General is gonna get'cha In bed, with a cover over you head You pretend like you are dead But I know it The General is gonna gey'cha General is gonna get'cha General is gonna get'cha tonight Oye Oye !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Coming back to the tie, I actually saw it and using my "Straight Eye on the Queer Guy" vision I perceived a subliminal message in the tie design......the pink on top and blue on bottom? What you ask? Woman on top? That too in the democratic republic of Pakistan? Yes my friends that is exactly the point mushy Mushy was trying to make. Evidently, he has stumbled upon a sinister conspiracy being hatched by the womenfolk of his country. I shall let the General elaborate.

You must understand the environment in Pakistan," The Washington Post quoted him as saying. "This has become a moneymaking concern. A lot of people say if you want to go abroad and get a visa for Canada or citizenship and be a millionaire, get yourself raped."

And then:

"It is the easiest way of doing it," he continued. "Every second person now wants to come up and get all the (pause) because there is so much of finances."

Which brings me to the core issue. How desperate can women be to get the visa power? What a country Pakistan must be so that women, in order to leave the place, conspire to get themselves raped? Consider the risks of this audacious enterprise. Remember again this is Pakistan---the land of the pure. What if you do plan to get yourself raped and then the rape backfires ! Here's the law (read the full text if you do not trust the interpretation) interpreted thusly:

The Islamic Penal Law "Hadood Ordinance" repealed the provisions of the Pakistan Penal Code related to rape cases, in 1979. The Islamic Law of evidence applicable to cases of rape requires the evidence of four adult male Muslims, in order for the penalty of hadood to be imposed upon the accused. Being a half witness by law the raped woman can't even testify against the crime committed against her. According to these laws, testimony of the victim requires strong corroboration for conviction by the court. On the other hand, where sexual intercourse is established but the absence of consent cannot be proved, the presumption that such intercourse occurred with the woman's consent can place her at the risk of prosecution. In both cases, adultery or rape, a woman is kept in jail pending the ruling of the court. 52% of women languishing in the jails of Pakistan are waiting for their fate in these cases.

So what if, after getting yourself raped, you fail to get the required male witnesses? Cause now you have landed yourself in deep shit, for you have proven yourself to be an adultress for which the just punishment is stoning to death in a public place (or a lighter sentence of lashes---not eye lashes...whip lashes). There is also the problem that US and Canada have little need for adulterers---Bill Clinton and the entire Hollywood gang are enough...thank you ! Of course our honest General has denied having made these statements despite the fact that Washington Post have him on tape. But hey, the General also claims that there is no cross-border infiltration, Kashmiri terrorist butchers are freedom fighters, Kargil was a plot hatched by Indians, the Al Qaeda is trying to kill him and that the General has no idea where Osama is. He also claims that Sushmita Sen's ones are real and Elvis and Bruce Lee share a house in Karachi's Military Colony...the same place that Indian agents claim one D Ibrahim stays. Lest readers misunderstand, I fully believe everything that our General says and am just as aghast at this conspiracy as he is. However, he should perhaps lay off the pink tie. Just a suggestion.

Vienna Calling

2005-09-20T09:20:00.000-04:00

As I walked the lawns of the Hofburg, the dazzling palace of the Hapsburg emperors, my eyes were drawn to a group of hippie types smoking, quite openly, a few exquisitely colored and shaped Bongs. Being a Bong myself (and a great one at that), I naturally stopped to admire. A little context. Our conference was being held in Baden (not to be confused with Baden Baden...that's in Germany), the pleasure retreat of a few of the dudes who habitated the Hofburg and one afternoon, I sneaked away after the bluster and verbiage to do some site-seeing in Vienna or as the locals call it Wien. Not having a guide book and also not having much time, I just wandered around the Opera House and the lawns on the Hofburg, marveling at its grandeur and its manicured lawns (where the Bong smoking was going on). Only later did I realize that for a long time what I had been enraptured by was only the backside of the palace------feeling quite like a fool I then wended my way to the front side. Boy oh boy --all I can say is that Hofburg is no JLo--- the front is much more magnificent than the back. Coming back to the Bong thing, I then perceived two magnificent Gothic looking ladies locked in a passionate tongue kiss amidst the pastoral surroundings and in a dreamy, translucent state of foggy remembrance, my mind went back to the days of the powerful and decadent Hapsburg emperors who must have used these very lawns to engage in bacchanalian orgies to the ethereal tunes of some of the world's greatest composers. These two exquisite ladies in the throes of passion (reminiscent of the Ecstacty of St Theresa) was to me a time warp harking me back to the days of yore............ "Motherch**" Brought back to reality by the mundane familiar ugliness of the word, I saw two burly desis shouting at each other in a very unMozart-like cadence------obviously two employees of a Indian restaurant very near the garden gates. Very close by was another Sher-e-Punjab and as I cast my eyes around I saw that the palace of the Hapsburgs and its classical Western European aura of orgiastic yet refined extravagance has been worn away by the depredations wrought by two of the world's greatest cultural imperialists---India and America. Starbucks and McDonalds rub shoulders with the India Mahal and Taste of India and as I glanced at the menu of one of these Indian places, I heard not the strains of Brahms or Strauss but an instrumental version of "Taal Se Taal" . No such relief on the telly though. The top song on the TV stations of the nerve center of classical Western musical tradition was "Don't cha wish your girl friend was a freak like me...Don't cha?" by the imaginatively-titled "Pussycat Dolls" (with Busta Rhymes). But my biggest surprise was seeing the prevalence of India on European TV-----a pleasant change from what we get in the US. While watching "Jalsaghar" and "Teen Kanya" was a surprising bonus, what really cracked me up was watching "Kuch Kuch Hota Hain" dubbed in German. "Rahul ist ein Ubenbrucker" coming from Kajol was simply ethereal. Only pity was that they kept the songs non-dubbed and subtitled----what would I pay to hear a German singer start out with that nasal Sanuesque "He he he .....he he he" before "Ladki Bari Anjani Hain". I looked into my TV guide supplied by the hotel which was in both German and English. KKHH was described as " After losing his first wife, a man realizes that his best friend in college was the one whom he ever truly loved. A heart-warming story of ..............". On reading this, I realized , for the first time, what a masterpiece KKHH was.......I always thought of it as a saccharine monstrosity anchored by a over-precocious girl who deserved two tight slaps. But since the uber-refined Austrians consider it a gem, who am I to argue ? Next week would be Mohabbatein--"an eternal love story" (according to the TV guide) [eternal it is.....with 5 love stories going on in parallel it does give us a glimpse into "eternity"] featuring one of the world's most popular actors----Shahrukh Khan. In another TV spot on "Main Hoon Na" I could make out from the German that he was being compared to Tom Cruise, Cary Grant and a few other luminaries. Of course if David Hasselhof could be God here, then why not Shahrukh? During another conference-sponsored trip to Europe in 2003, I had marveled at how intrinsicly desi Switzerland had become---signs in Hindi, Indian honeymooners posing for Patel shots ad nauseum, a desi restaurant with giant cut outs of Sunny Deol at Jungfraujoch, a special Bollywood tourist route (for Bollyphiles who want to look at exact locations where scenes from DDLJ and Chandni were shot) and an Indian couple fighting with an exasperated proprietor who was trying to explain, in vain, that in a buffet two people cannot eat from one plate. And now Austria. The day is not far off when the Opera House in downtown Vienna shall resonate with the cultural sledgehammer otherwise known as "Bollywood night" and European open air cafes shall start serving samosas and jalebis. That will also be the day Amadeus Mozart, in his nameless casket, shall wring his hands in quiet desperation and start "de-composing". [Some pictures]

Ganguly---End of the Road?

2005-09-18T19:55:00.000-04:00

What really happened between Sourav Ganguly and Greg Chappell before the Bulawao test? Sources close to the Indian team tell me that Chappell told Sourav to take off his shirt ala 2002 Lords and pretend that Greg was actually Nagma. Sourav Ganguly asked Chappell if he was serious. When Greg told him that he was not, Ganguly felt rebuffed, got angry and threatened to resign. For another version of the events, read this. Okay accepted that this version of events probably did not happen but why should it be any more authentic than the version from Cricinfo? I dont know about you but when one of the most respectable sources of cricket writing carries a slanderous article based on unauthenticated "sources close to the team" collected by "Cricinfo staff" , I find it somewhat against journalistic ethics of objectivity and balancedness. Read this article in the context of other Ganguly-bashing articles in Cricinfo (an example here) and a pattern of consistent editorial bias emerges. In a previous post, I had taken issue with one Kanika Gehlaut for using her offices as a correspondent for a major daily to pen an extremely biased article about so-called "chick bloggers" where her personal contempt for the aforementioned community came to the fore in a particularly dramatic manner. One of the points I made was that while such an article would have been kosher if Ms Gehlaut had put it up on her personal blog (which is after all her personal space), she had no business in using the newspaper (and the newspaper had no business in carrying this piece) to carry out her personal battle of jealousy-induced attrition. I perceive something similar here. Its quite evident that the Cricinfo journos do not "like" Dada. And the reason for that maybe because that Sourav Ganguly does not give non-Calcutta journalists "quotable quotes". He is accused of having a coterie of favored journalists who spin his failures and attack VVS Laxman. When Souravda was stepping out of the crease and lofting bowlers for sixes, the aggrieved cricket-writers had to grin and bear it but now that Dada is on the way out, they have decided to strike back. When the man is down. Firstly, I do not believe there is anything wrong in anyone having a select group to which a person is more open than to others. Ganguly comes to press conferences and discharges his media duties as a captain. Whom he then gives "better quotes" to in his hotel room is his sole prerogative and journos who think that is unfair are just pissed off at not being part of the group. And as to the matter of attacking VVS Laxman----I have never seen the Anandabazar group doing it any more or less than other publications. On the topic of VVS Laxman. After scoring 140 against the same soft attack as Dada, he darkly hints at "negative vibes" inside the team. Noone accuses him of ruining team spirit and casting aspersions, Cricinfo does not tell us (from their inside sources) who the negative vibe-giver is and his braggadocio after scoring runs against the weakest bowling attack in the world is not lampooned. And even after this, a select group of newspapers is accused of going after Laxman when Ganguly underperforms. Hmmmm. Again the material currently on Cricinfo would have been fine if it has been on someone's personal blog. But coming from an institution that is known for the highest standards of cricket journalism, it is shocking. Once the source is anonymous, anything can be written without the onus of accountability-----and that too in a piece where the author's name is withheld. But people being people are going to accept this one-sided version of the story since the written word is the truth. Or so we perceive. My personal opinion on the whole fracas. Unless he makes a real turn-around, Ganguly has come to the end of the road. In a way, it would have been better had be scored a duck against Zimbabwe----at least his fans could argue that he was still out of form. But it is now proved beyond doubt----Ganguly is not out of form----against weaker opposition (Zimbabwe, county cricket) he is getting runs but the moment the standard of competition goes up a notch, he is all at sea. But the decision to say finis to Ganguly's career is not Chappell's. I fail to see how having such a potentially divisive argument on the eve of a Test match served team spirit-----it reflects poorly on Chappell's ability as a coach that instead of providing confidence (even if false) to a proven performer just before a game begins, he tries to run down a man who is down and out. Methinks that it would be poetic justice for Gangs to retire now----which would leave him, like Azhar, with a century in his first and last Test. An achievment he would also share with ---yes you guessed it--- Greg Chappell.

Mithunism----The Religion

2005-09-09T15:15:00.000-04:00

A buxom lady is going to have the shoulder of her blouse torn by a bunch of marauding ruffians. Suddenly, a bottle rolls on the ground and a Man enters the screen. The ruffians ask "Who are you?" In a voice that would make the blood of tigers run cold (old jungle proverb), He says: "Dikhne me bewada, daudne me ghoda, aur maarne me hathoda hoon main" The man. The legend. Mithun Chakraborty. Some call him Mithun-da, most call him Prabhuji. Mithun-da is one of my idols. I will go even further and say He is my God. I believe in Him. And like any fanatic, I am extremely impatient with some people who laugh at Him, compare Him unfavorably to Amitabh and Shahrukh Khan just because He is supposedly "down market". I think these people should rot in Hell with 72 virgins. 40 year old male virgins that is. Also like any true-blue fanatic, I would like to spread His word, increase His flock and hopefully salvage many Mithun-less souls. For those who come to scoff, I hope, that after reading this rather lengthy post (the word of God is never concise---The Bible, the Koran, the Gita are not small books), you shall stay to pray. Or at least say :" Hayeeeeeeeeeeeee Saalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" Mea culpa. I have to confess. My faith in Him had faltered. Once. It was occasioned by reading this article. On the very first day of shooting for Mithun-da's new movie "Chingari" directed by Kalpana Lajmi, the traditional rape sequence was being picturized between Mithun-da and Sushmita Sen. However Sushmita, who is somewhat of a nag and a pathetic pseudo, left the sets fuming about how Mithun touched her inappropriately during the scene. Despite the irony of inappropriate fondling during a rape scene, I was distraught. How could Prabhu do this to a girl his daughter's age? I cried myself to sleep and in my dreams, Mithun-da came to me, whispering words of wisdom. Well actually no. He said nothing. In my dream, He was standing on a desolate beach with dolorous weather-beaten eyes. He bent down, picked up a fistful of sand, and let it fall through His fingers. I immediately understood what He meant----the ephemeral nature of the human body, ashes to ashes --dust to dust----what is one touch here or there ? It's all Maya. How true. In the morning I realized that He also may have meant that all He did was touch silicon (ie sand) and not Sushmita Sen, the creature of flesh and bone. I was born again. Unlike Amitabh and Shahrukh and all the other false Gods, Mithun-da delivers. Week after week He delivers hit after hit. And the people whom He cares for, the people who worship Him are not the multiplex-going-Western-culture-aping-Godless-apostates but real Indians----the villagers, small towners, the sons of the soil---the Jawan and the Kisaan, who flock to see His movies in Mithun temples----small, stuffy, dilapidated cinema halls with creaking torn seats, insects, peeling paint and the all-permeating stench of sweat and urine. Mithun-da is versatile. No living actor has essayed as many diverse roles as He has which include (but are not limited to)---a tribal caught in the headlights of exploitation (Mrigaya), a disillusioned freedom-fighter (Tahader Katha), Ramakrishna Paramhansa (Ramakrishna Paramhansa), a ventroquilist (Gudiya), a pimp (Dalal), an army general ( Military Raaj), a Coolie in an airport (Gunda), a drunk ruffian (Prem Pratigya), an assassin (Jallad), a Tamil coconut seller (Agneepath) a boxer (Boxer), a Bengali (Bengal Tiger), a teacher (Krantishetra), a disco dancer (Disco Dancer, Dance Dance), a truck driver (Truck Driver Suraaj), a police officer (Jung), a detective (Lucky), an international terrorist (Baba Sikander in Elaan), a false man of God (Dance of Love) , a Sardar (Tusi Great Ho Paazi) and not to forget his donning the mantle of the Indian James Bond---Gunmaster G9 (actual name:Gopinath) in Suraksha and Wardaat. The first three roles in this list won him National Awards---more than any other Indian actor and all of them the adulation and devotion of his followers. A word about Mithun-da's Bond avatar. It's one of this century's biggest tragedies that so few people know about our Desi Bond-- G-9 . While he may not have worn exquisitely tailored suits or sipped Dom Perignon below 38F, Mithun-da is the only Bond to have group danced with a gaggle of buxom ladies in skin tights. G9 may not have tangoed with Blofeld and the SMERSH but he had his hands full with Dr. Shiva of the evil Shiv Shakti Organization (this name sounds vaguely familiar in light of the Indian political landscape). And let me remind you, in all his battles G9 came out with flying colors---saving the world from death rays (Suraksha) and invading locusts (Wardaat) while grappling with a futuristic bionic villain, enhanced with bio-mechanical implants at the nano level (in the movie, the villain had calculators strapped to his hands). Talking of villains, in almost all movies Prabhuji has tackled the scariest villains ever seen on screen. In other words, the scum of the earth as represented by the lusty Bulla, the confused Chutiya, the imperialist Sam, the foul Pothey, the dark Kala Shetty, the hapless Lucky Chikna, the sly Ibu Hatela, the politically well-connected Lamboo Ata and the fearless Ballu Bakra. Each of these accursed souls have been dispatched to their maker by Prabhuji with style and panache as exemplified in the dialogue he delivers to Ibu Hatela : "Main tumhe Hatela se Katela bana doonga" If the names of these devils have not made you understand what Prabhuji was up against, here are dialogues from two of them: "Mai jis gali se guzarta hoo waha bachcha paida hone se pehle durrkar maa ke pet me susu kar deta hai!!" (Loha) and a similar sentiment: "Hum aise laashen bicha denge jaise kisi nanhe munhe bacche ke nunhi se pesaab tapakta hain---tap tap" ( Gunda) Tough guys........... indeed ! But Prabhuji is not all about dispatching the bad guys. He knows how to have fun. And whenever the villains are not around, He likes to dance and frolic. A few of His memorable Bhajans (many of the "moojick" being supplied by another God, Bhappee-da) ---" Char Gya Upaar Re" (Dalal), "Mirchi Re Mirchi Kamaal Kar Gayee, Dhoti Ko Pharke Rumaal Kar Gayee" (Jurmana), "Main Loongi Uthaake Tumhe Disco Dikhati" (Agneepath), De de de chummi chummi (Janta Ki Adalaat), Main Tera Murga (Hitler), Daakiya Babu Daku Hain Pakka ....the list needless to say is endless. Not only is Mithun-da India's greatest actor and superhero, He is a very keen businessman. And a visionary to boot. If Henry Ford revolutionized the automotive industry in the early 20th century with the use of the "assembly line", Mithun-da has done something similar with movies. Sick and tired of Mumbai's loss-making film industry, He started an alternative center for high-quality yet money-making movies in beautiful Ootie with his hotel (the flagship of the Monark group of hotels which he owns) serving as the base of operations. Movies are efficiently produced within two weeks---from conception to the finished product. No expensive foreign shoots, no production delays and in general none of the needless flab that has made Bollywood a loss making endeavor. Mithunda has truly productized movie-making by creating a baseline movie framework that can be efficiently re-used for multiple offerings----the baseline plot is --Mithun-da is an honest man, His father gets killed, His sister gets raped and then He takes revenge. As simple as that. Of late He has started playing the villain but usually what I mentioned before is the skeleton of almost all His movies. With the base structure in place, each particular movie then can be looked upon as an instantiation of this general framework-----as a researcher into formal software design I can only marvel at His godly genius. Like many geniuses, Prabhu-ji's greatness has not been appreciated. While duds like Shahrukh keep on getting one Filmfare after another for crappy lovefests, Mithun-da has to be content with measly "Best villain" awards. BS I tell you ! And His greatest movie, "Gunda" surely deserved the Oscars much more than that monstrosity "Titanic". Just like Spielberg plagiarized Satyajit Ray's script to make ET, countless number of Hollywood hotshots have shamelessly copied from the holy texts without so much as a hat tip. Mithun-da's movie "Boxer" was an inspirational story of how a no-hoper becomes a champion boxer---with his coach being a monkey whom Mithun-da feeds bananas. Stallone lifted the concept for "Rocky" (sans the monkey---that would have been a giveaway) and the song "Eye of the Tiger" is nothing if not an implicit acknowledgement of having copied from the real Bengal Tiger. In another movie "Aajgar" Mithun plays a Shaolin monk who learns some amazing move with his hands---he does not even need to touch the villains---they fall nonetheless on account of his knowledge of the "force" (wink wink---sound familiar?). And then in another movie, he suspends himself mid air and kicks the enemy in super slow mo-----yes the precursor of "Matrix" which incidentally should have been called "Mithun Tricks". In the movie "Panther" (or it could have been "Cheetah'') He plays the role of an assassin who is coming out of a state of amnesia. Bourne Identity anyone? Finally, his movie--"Agniputra". In that, the villains have kidnapped his mother and sister and the villains gloat over the mother's dead body. Suddenly the mother gets up and starts bashing the villains to pulp. Then the "mother" removes her mask---it is Prabhuji ! In the audience must have been John Woo---MI2 was born. Another thing that pains the Man is how many of His physics-defying antics have been appropriated by Rajanikant. Now all Mithun-bhakts have respect for Rajni but surely, splitting a bullet into two with a knife and killing 2 villains with one bullet was first done by Mithun-da in the movie "Heera" where He gave the line :" Mere naam hain Heera, chakoo se bullet ko cheera". In a similar situation, I once remember Mithun-da running when a villain fires a bullet. What follows is a breathless chase---bullet flying, Mithun-da running, bullet flying, Mithun running. Then when the bullet is gaining on Him, Mithun-da suddenly steps aside and the bullet passes Him by a whisker. Only then does He realize the bullet is going to hit His widowed mother. Now it is Mithun running, bullet flying, Mithun running, bullet flying. And at the last moment, He grabs the bullet and saves His mother. Simply divine. I could go on about Him---how He coined the term Disco (which in case you did not know is an acronym with D=dance, I=item, S=singer, C=chorus, O=orchestra--source "I am a Disco Dancer" from "Disco Dancer"), how He is the only person to have been a Naxal as well as a Shiv Shainik, how He has a massive fan following in Russia, how He almost married Sridevi, how He was the highest tax payer in India and how He inspired India's 21st century economic prosperity with the inspirational line "Agar tujhe halwa khana hain, to tujhe dance karna parega. Dance dance" ----but I shall leave that for now. Because it is now time for prayers. Prabhu-ji ki Jay Ho ! Can you feel the love? (Acknowledgement: Numerous Mithun bhakts in Orkut and real life and our local cablewallah who would screen a Mithun-da movie every Saturday. And apologies for the untranslated Hindi dialogues----their effect would be totally lost in translation) [PS: Will be gone for the week to Austria and so will not be able to reply to comments or post anything new ....but please do leave your comments nonetheless :-). See you all in a week]

Hey Teacher Just Leave the Kids Alone

2005-09-06T08:59:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, we all heard of a principal, Srinivasa Rao of Vijaywada who took digital photographs of girl students in the nude and posted them on the Internet (link to the Internet posting article I could not find). His punishment was to stand in his underpants in a thana in Vijaywada. Today I see another incident ---Bobby Chachan , the principal of Bethany Boarding School in Kurseong who, in a drunken fit, hugged and tried to kiss a 15 year old girl of the school. Police have picked him up. The alarming thing is that for every perv outed, there are 100s of more prudent ones who pass muster under the guise of respectability. Taslima (not her real name) tells of how Bobby Chachan would pass seemingly innocuous but sexually loaded terms (lovely mountains etc) while teaching Geography and stroking her hair. In my own school, I have seen similar things happen countless number of times----girl students being "encouraged" by caresses on their back and other instances of teachers intruding into a girl's personal space. Not to speak of the barely concealed sexual innuendo that had no business coming from a school teacher. Example: A teacher in a tutorial told a girl of Class 11 who had done a problem in a needlessly complicated way: " This is like taking off your "inner wear" without taking off your top." Example: Another Life Science teacher in a prominent tutorial always chose girls to explain what "sternum" was. The sad thing was that many times, girls did not even know that they were being molested-- physically and/or verbally. My best friend in school and through college used to be regularly "felt up" by one of these leches and when I pointed it out to her she kept on defending the teacher saying that he was merely being avuncular and "loving" and that it was my dirty mind (which to be honest I have...sorry had) that ascribed disrespectability to his actions. Now a married lady, she says she was wrong and realizes how her favorite teacher used to get off on her. The reason this happens is because of the absolute powers vested in teachers by the Indian school system---there is no way a student can speak up without the fear of recrimination from the concerned teacher. Parents are also loathe to take up the issue because of the same reason----sir will be correcting the annual exams. The only option is to take a transfer certificate and get the girl readmitted to another school (one which Taslima's parents tried to take also) --something that is also an extremely difficult thing to do. What I found laughable was how our school authorities were strict in reacting to exploratory sexual incidents between boys and girls----a boy and a girl got expelled for kissing in the library and another girl for kissing a guy during a production of Macbeth while no action was ever taken against teachers who were , as adults, doing far worse. Lest this sound like a denouncement of my school and my childhood tutors, let me say it is anything but. Most teachers were dignified and professional and the rotten apples were very few---but even that was enough to do extensive damage to impressionable girls. And to guys also----young boys grew up seeing firsthand how authority could safely be abused for one's gratification. The solution is simple: make schools more accountable to parents. I found it despicable , how teachers would sometimes act rudely and arrogantly with hapless, grovelling guardians-----the subtext being that teachers were Gods and doing an enormous favor by performing their duties. And if you dared glare back at the Gods, the threat of victimization was always dangling-- palpable yet unspoken. Its high time this power equation was changed in Indian schools so that errant teachers can no longer hide behind the veneer of "nobility of teaching" and "authority".

The Dissolution of the Fellowship of Friends

2005-09-04T15:18:00.000-04:00

There's something I have observed in most of my guy friends. As soon as they get married, they sever all links with old college buddies with a vengeance that borders on the obscene. The train of events is almost always the same --- a gradual process of successively decreasing phone calls, unreplied voice messages, "inability" to attend reunions until ultimately the increasingly-getting-small group of friends get the message--- our old friend is out for good. A word about our group. It is an exclusively male clan of about 20-30 core members of the 55 odd who went to college together and who have kept in regular touch through email and reunions organized in US and in India. Lest this be interpreted as a bachelor's inability to understand the nuances of married life, let me say that I am married myself. I am aware of the constraints of married men--- I took my wife to a reunion over a long weekend, ostensibly to "integrate" her with my buddies and my past. Being the only wife there (the other married friends had begged off) and not having been part of the collective JU ethos, she stood out disparate from the crowd. Now what was I to do? Keep my wife company and in the process detach myself from the rambunctious core? That would defeat the whole purpose of coming to the reunion. Plus my friends would think I am henpecked----now that's an unmitigated disaster. Adding to the discomfort level, I could see that there was a visible effort on the part of my friends to keep control over their tongues and appear "agreeable" because of my wife's presence there. Of course, my friends telling me, in front of my wife: " Wow Arnab, you are acting so nice and decent now that your wife is here" did not help matters any. Which incidentally was true---I was being forced to act "responsible"----a role that does not suit me well. However, I never felt on the basis of this experience that I would have to detach myself from my friends in the future---the only thing I might do would be maybe not bring my wife till there is a considerable number of other wives there also. And my wife is fine with me going alone to successive reunions---if they ever happen again (which I doubt) Which brings me to the original question----what happened to my other married friends? The ones who had some excuse or the other to not attend the reunion, the ones who after marriage have fallen behind an Iron Curtain. An immediate temptation is to blame the wives for detaching the man from his tribe. I shall not succumb to it. Mainly because my wife is standing over my shoulder as I write. It's all the guys fault. Like most things. For starters, for some strange reasons I find my friends overtly eager to bury their pasts in front of their wives. It's not that they led a Hugh Hefner swinging life in their youth ----the indiscretions they want to cover up are things like they watched porn, ogled girls at the Arts gate, got drunk and talked nonsense. And that's why they want to firewall their friends from their wives. There is another reason. In order to appear as heroes to their better halves, they embellish parts of their past and gloss over the others. And as friends we feel obligated to speak the truth---or at least our version of it. The conflict is inevitable. Which brings us to another reason we lose friends. We are a most politically incorrect bunch of people and are loathe to consider sissy things like "feelings". Even now in reunions, we try to revive old times by reverting to our juvenile selves--practical jokes galore, old secrets revealed left and right. This many married people find more than a bit uncomfortable.While in college, it would have been okay to be dubbed as Mr Gay, Mr Frustrated, Mr. Desperate, Mr. Palm Pilot, Mr. Porno, Mr Sneaky, as mature married men, in front of their wives it is cruel and unusual punishment to be called these names and be reminded of the incidents that led to these monikers. Wives also react poorly to this. They tell their husbands---"These are whom you call friends? They are a uncouth bunch of people who make fun of you--you are just the class clown. On the other hand, my friends......" Not far from the truth there. And husbands see their friends in a new light. The ultimate truth may however be a very bitter realization---that we were never really "friends" in the first place or perhaps not as much as we liked to believe----our camaraderie was merely based on the loneliness of our post-college life away from home and for most of us in a different country. Our friend circle from college was thus an anchor to our past---something that we clutched to in order to alleviate our isolation. But once wives come in, the lacuna is filled up, the friends from college are no longer "needed", and people just move on. Aaah well. That's life.

It's All In The Game

2005-09-02T19:14:00.000-04:00

Ajit Agarkar and Irfan Pathan got into a heated verbal duel today during the India-New Zealand cricket match. Ajit Agarkar, the man with a career "economy" rate (aah the irony of using the word economy in the context of Ajit Agarkar) of well over 5 , bowled an over where he gave 15 runs. Nothing new there. At this point, we presume that Irfan must have said something to Agarkar. Then Irfan ran into bowl and got blasted for an identical amount. And then Agarkar took a catch off Irfan and that did it. India's two spearheads started mouthing off at each other in the full glare of the cameras. Team India...yeah ! Let me add, that tensions between two pace spearheads of a team is nothing new. Wasim and Waqar did not speak to each other for years and had many awkward moments on the field and in the dressing room. The two champions reacted by engaging in a game of one-upmanship by trying to get more and more wickets---' I am the best. I got more wickets' And over here, Irfan and Agarkar are taking a leaf out of that book----only their fight is like ' I am the best. I gave away 15 runs last over *and* took a catch. You only gave away 15 runs. Loser." My only regret is that it did not evolve into violence . As we used to say in Jadavpur University: "Haath thaakte mukh keno?" [Why shout when you have hands?] Javed Miandad raising his bat charging at Dennis Lillee. John Snow shoulder-butting Sunil Gavaskar sending him flying. Inzamam rushing into the crowd brandishing a bat to the tune of "Jab Tak Rahega Samosein Main Aloo". Sylvester Clarke hurling a brick into the crowd. Rashid Patel, Raman Lamba and Manoj Prabhakar running around each other stumps in hand. Inzi and Younis Khan fighting in a football match. All immortal images of the gentleman's game. Which brings me to the real issue. What's happened to our team ? A year or two ago, they were all huddled up in a cuddle with Dinesh Mongia as the "Jaddo ki Jhappi" man. And today, it seems that everyone is going for each other's throats. Zaheer Khan is evidently dropped for "disciplinary reasons" because he is upset at Irfan getting "first preference". Nehra goes on record saying that Anil Kumble is the only match winner on the team (and not, for example, Harbhajan). Anil Kumble lashes out at being rested and in a scary disassociative state, starts referring to himself in the 3rd person. Rahul Dravid looks sullen and morose at being "passed over". Ganguly is cheerless, tense and strangely subdued (not to mention, sadly over-the-hill) ---the only Gangulesque thing he did was come late for a press conference and even then he got pilloried (Come on guys he was back home celebrating his wife's birthday......do you think "Crouching Tiger Pyar Ka Nagma" Ganguly was enjoying it ??) and Greg Chappell looks like a perennially angry school-master. My suggestion: bring back Balaji. If his toothy, devil-may-care smile does not calm down nerves, then nothing will. Well to be honest, the Indian dressing room has never been the calmest of places. Lala Amarnath was sent home from England for not being gentlemanly to the Maharaja captain, Sunil Gavaskar spoke of a dressing room fight between Faroukh Engineer and Syed Abid Ali (if my memory serves me correctly) that almost came to blows, the Indian Ambassador to England kicked out the entire Indian team for being bowled out for 42 (thanks Aniruddha), Kapil and Sunil Gavaskar never saw eye to eye (maybe because of the height difference) and Harsha Bhogle in Azhar's biography writes how scandalized Azhar was at the street expletives Dilip Vengsarkar used to hurl at players from the dressing room. And even recently, the inscrutable John Wright shook Virendra Sehwag by the collar. So maybe it's nothing to be unduly worried about. And whatever be the case we should always remember: it's just a game. Naaw it's not. Who am I kidding?

Meltdown

2005-09-01T07:01:00.000-04:00

Watching the effects of Hurricane Katrina on TV, I could not escape being repeatedly struck by the extremely thin line between man and Nature. Here is New Orleans, one of US's liveliest cities, built over 250 years, reduced, in a matter of hours, to an extension of the river and the lake. And as looting takes place on an unprecedented scale, lowlifes patrol downtown Orleans with Ak47s while police, overworked and clueless about an emergency on this scale, put up token resistance, corpses float down thoroughfares, alligators and snakes wade through debris and the threat of an impending epidemic hangs in the air ----one can see that New Orlean's refined, urban ethos has vaporized in 36 hours bringing the rule of the jungle to its dark, waterlogged streets. In short, a total meltdown of civilization played out on live TV. As Sheppard Smith, Fox New's Dan Rather-wannabe mentioned---the situation in New Orleans is as bad as it is in a third world country. ( a sentiment echoed in multiple places) Yes it's that bad.

Blog Day

2005-08-31T19:42:00.000-04:00

It's Blog Day. Why so? Because 3108 looks like the word "blog"......the graphic to the left shows how that works out. The point of Blog Day is to link to 5 blogs which you find interesting. In keeping with the general tone of this blog (which is almost never very serious----except the times I get into my rants) and stretching the definition of "interesting", let me give you 5 tongue-firmly-in-cheek recommendations. 1.Mangal Pandey's blog: Unquestionably, the oldest dude in the Indian blogosphere, Mangal Pandey is living proof that blogging is for all ages---even the 1700s. Of course, age has been kind to him----he looks surprisingly like Aamir Khan, India's cerebral filmstar. Some critics of course claim that this blog is ghosted----of course duh ! Mangal Pandey was hanged by the British---so yes it is being "ghost written"----god some people want everything spelt out to them. Favorite line: However I don't agree with you when you say that Indian Cinema is not for me and that I should go to Hollywood. I am very happy and proud to be an Indian. And I am very proud to be part of Indian Cinema. Do not underestimate our power and value, and do not be unduly enamored by the west. Which explains why Mangal Pandey never attends Filmfares but canvasses for an Oscar. Oh I am sorry that was Aamir Khan. 2. Bipasha Basu's blog: Just what men all over India wanted. A peek into Bipasha's most sought-after asset: her brain. Of course there is not much on the blog except one post which critics say reads like a promo for her future release "Apaharan" and a tag-board (the bane of all serious bloggers). There are of course a bunch of well-thoughtout comments like :" pls stick to western wear..u look funny in traditional indian dresses" and " bips i love you(more than john)" and "well bipasa u only tell the one theing to the indian world that body fitness is the current mantra to get excel in the most havoc creating bollywood industry i or every indian must feel proud you of being an indian atleast i do" . Needless to say, there are losers with vulgar suggestions and people who think that giving their cell phone number in a comment will tempt Bipasha to give them a call. Favorite Line: Initially, I was hesitant, since I am familiar with the kinds of film PJ usually makes. All the big words were coming to me -- socially relevant, gripping social themes, hard-hitting.In short: Serious cinema. It would be a first for me. The mind of Bipasha....fascinating. 3. Hawk's Blog: Accept it. You have, in the course of your life, at least once craned your neck to see a car wreck or a thief getting beaten up by the public. Hawk's blog, for those of you who don't know it, is India's premier trainwreck-----a hate site whose constituency is Westernized, liberated women for whom he has nothing but the most sincere scorn. Hold it, you ask, aren't you driving up this guy's traffic by linking to him ? Yeah why not ! He deserves to be heard and laughed at. Favorite Line: Of course, more than the women these certain type of men are to be blamed. They should all be collectively nuked for shaming men in general. Touche. 4. Parimal Sondawale's Blog (Save Maharashtra) : A gem of a blog which competes with Hawk's blog for undiluted vitriol----Parimal is the shoo-in for the national integration blog award for this year. What Hawk thinks of ``chick bloggers", Parimal thinks of everyone. According to him, Bongs are irritating Marxists, Tamils are sex-maniacs, Kannadigas are pimps....... Okay so another hate site----but what makes it unique (besides the incessant rape of the English language) is his manic style of writing----you can just feel the froth emanating from his hate-filled lips hitting you as you read through the blog. Which you have to accept is a stylistic achievement. Favorite Lines: (from a post titled; Bangali pocha!!!!! Sabaka Dadhi Nocha!!!!! ) Some persons(not all) thinks that they and there culture are best among the world.Therefore it should be preserved(There is not even a significant achievment or development in West Bangal since Brtisher left India because they want to cherish the Memories of English culture). In the past we are very much aware that Marxist Bongs have welcomed the attack of China on India! People protest in Kolkata if Tram leaves the stations by time! Forget about the industry....Haratal is there main slogan.Sona kachi -Kolkata is Asia's largest red light area. Philips is not doing well because the top Management which handles it are all .....Again...i am not saying that all Bong... are same....but some .are........ You know what, besides the spelling of "Sonagachi" being wrong and the fact that it is not the largest brothel in the world, I think I am basically in agreement with our friend here. Once you forget Satyajit Ray and a few other luminaries that is. But of course there are a few factual mistakes and weird assumptions ----as one commenter on his blog points out, he seriously should not assume that Shyam Benegal is Bengali (and so favored by Bongs) just because the 'Benegal" sounds like "Bengal". 5. Intentionally Left Blank: There were many other "interesting" blogs that I thought would be worth your time but as I mentioned in a previous post, I consider "pointing out" specific blogs to be not exactly cricket. (The first 4 are definitely specific blogs---but celebrities and hate sites are the exception to the above mentioned rule) . I shall keep this space blank till Parnab Mukherjee or Jackie Shroff (he once had a website) or Mayawati start blogging----think of this as Rama's empty throne on which Bharata put his slippers---a place holder till next year. Happy Blog Day! (PS: As per BlogDay etiquette, I am supposed to email each of the referred blogs. Alas ! Mangal Pandey, being a devout Bramhin, does not open emails delivered across Kala-Pani, Hawk has mutliple identities and personalities (so do not know where to write to him) and Parimal's spam blocker blocks all senders with the word "Bong" or "Bengal" in the name field. Bipasha Basu's email--- I am still looking for)

Happy, Healthy And Alone

2005-08-30T19:19:00.000-04:00

The title for the "luckiest dude in the world" goes to the King of Swaziland, MSwati III beating out super alpha males like P. Diddy (now called Diddy: hat-tip:Gawker), JayZ, R Kelly, Snoop Dog, Bill Clinton and Babulal Gaur. Points to note: 1. 50,000 topless dancing virgins from which to choose your 13th wife. Isn't that like way too many options? Personally 15,000 is the number above which I would not be able to make an informed decision any longer. 2. "Wielding machetes and singing tributes to the king and queen mother, also known as the Great She-Elephant, the girls danced around the royal stadium in the hope of catching the eye of the 37-year-old monarch". The Queen Mother actually likes being called the "Great She-Elephant?".....Swaziland surely is a country where people speak their minds---feelings be damned. 3. "The king takes a wife whenever he wants and that's the way it is. This is our culture and we will never change," said Tsandzile Ndluva, 21, another dancer. " What the article does not mention is that after saying this, Ms Ndluva , in a voice surprisingly like Lata Mangeskar, sung: "Hum to bhai jaise hain waise rahenge" 4. Trainee police officer Patience Dlamini, who jazzed up her traditional outfit with a fake diamond necklace: "This thing of many wives is not good, how does he satisfy them all?" Good question. I sense an outsourcing opportunity here. Lou Dobbs beware. 5. Monday's ceremony was the culmination of a week of preparations, which included the lifting of a royal ban on sex with virgins, decreed in 2001 to help rein in HIV. Days after reviving the ancient ban, Mswati in 2001, married a virgin and fined himself one cow. Last week he lifted the five-year ban a year early, ordering thousands of maidens to throw off chastity scarves worn to ward of preying men. What an amazingly just king. Since he was breaking his own ban on sex with virgins, he very graciously fined himself one cow---now how many politicians around the world can exhibit such examples of self-censure ? 6. "We are happy, we are healthy and we are alone," sang thousands of tuneful, high-pitched voices. Sameer would have been proud of the simple, direct lyrics. Next Mithun movie will have the song : " Hum Khush, Tandaroost Aur Akele Hain" 6. Ok seriously, this man is quite a debauch [or as my friend Saumyadipta comments by mail :" traditional imperialist"]---he "forcibly" carried away last year's Teen Swaziland contest winner --incidentally the Teen Swaziland contest is locally called "Kaun Banega Garbhabati") But consider this --a procession of 50,000 topless, dancing virgins which appears reprehensible and dehumanizing, is in a sense nothing but an extreme version of the process by which arranged marriages take place. Yes dear readers-----this is what arranged marriage in India is---stripped off all euphemisms like "wavelength matching"and " compatibility". Sure the girls are not topless, nor do they dance all together saying "I am happy, healthy and alone" ----well not literally anyways. Aren't marriage websites, matrimonial ads and the "ladki dekhna" just a more civilized form of the reed dance? Not just for females but for males also. Decisions are based on physical beauty or the bulge in the pocket (due to wallet)-------the same kind of considerations that guide the king when he chooses a consort. Or as MSwati III calls it ---fresh meat. [PS: The song" I am happy, healthy and alone" seems to epitomize the mental state of single people]

Conflict of Interest

2005-08-29T08:19:00.000-04:00

Dr. Subramanium Swamy thinks that our Finance Minister, P Chidambaram should resign on grounds of corruption. The crime: Ms Chidambaram has been legally representing the IT department, which falls under the purvey of the Finance Ministry, for the ``modest" (in the words of Ms Chidambaram) fee of Rs 2 lacs a pop. As to her record: 1 case fought, 1 defeat. After that her legal counsel has not been sought possibly because the Opposition had already caught onto the nepotism angle or possibly because, after shelling out 2.5 crores as compensation, the IT department, in the tradition of the Indian cricket team, was "resting" her. However she is still on retainer---that is she is still getting cheques in the mail. The government's version reads thus:

'The Board would like to clarify that in January 2004, Smt Pushya Sitaraman, senior standing counsel for the Income Tax Department, Chennai briefed Shri P Chidambaram (then practicing as a senior advocate) in a case involving large revenue (clubbed with a batch of cases raising the same issue). The case was not taken up for hearing until May 2004, when Shri Chidambaram became finance minister,' the press release said. 'In July, 2004, due to the non-availability of Shri Chidambaram, Smt Pushya Sitaraman persuaded Smt Nalini Chidambaram, senior advocate, to take up the case, in view of her long experience and familiarity with the subject. A proposal to this effect, received from CCIT-I, Chennai was approved by the CBDT as per the prescribed procedure,' the press release added.

In simplespeak, that means P Chidambaram used to be the legal counsel for the IT department and when he became the FM and hence "unavailable", the government finding no other person went to Ms Chidambaram and "persuaded" her to take up the case just like Rabri Devi was persuaded by the people of Bihar to become the Chief Minister once the "Messiah of the Masses" got himself into some trouble with the law. Now how can she refuse ----really it would have been a most heartless thing to do. P. Chidambaram has gone on record saying that he had no idea that his wife was representing the IT department because he was never shown the files. Which reminds me of a line in "Yes Minister" when the Minister asks Humphrey, the great bureaucrat, why he is never shown all the files and Humphrey replies: " There are some things, Minister, that you are better off not knowing." Then of course there is the third angle. Assuming that P. Chidambaram was never shown the files---should he, as a husband, know what his wife does for a living and whom she represents? A point of view expressed thusly.

The MP said, 'He (Chidambaram) doesn't seem to know what is happening in his ministry. Now he doesn't seem to know what is happening in his house. What kind of a person is he? Does he know what is going on in the country?'

I think what happened was that Nalini Chidambaram did tell her husband. But the way she said it would have been like: " How many times have I told you to clean the living room? The ceiling fan has been making a creaking noise and I have been telling you for months now, bring it down and grease the joints. My sister's daughter is getting married and we need to go shopping, buy some gifts. I also need a new sari. By the way I am representing the IT department.And oh did you do go to the..." No wonder....P Chidambaram was by then in the "entering this ear and going out the other" mode husbands frequently get into for their survival----of course he did not know ! Swamy, of course, thinks that the husband and wife are in it together. He reminds us of the Fairgrowth scheme where again, Fairgrowth was a company under CBI investigation, P Chidambaram had some inside knowledge, and his wife supposedly made a killing on the stock. Here's the deal. Let's assume the highly unlikely scenario that the Chidambarams are a corrupt couple----again let me stress it is so very unlikely that two people engaged in two of the world's most honorable professions---politician and lawyer would stoop to such a level. Making that assumption, I as an Indian citizen, still feel proud of their alleged corruption. Nepotism has always existed----but it is usually an unqualified relative getting a position on the basis of daddy/mummy's pull---examples: the entire Gandhi family, the Yadavs, the Chautalas.......however here Nalini Chidambaram is qualified in her own right to act as a legal counsel (just like many others are)......the fact that she gets the job is perhaps because of who she is related to. And note Chidambaram's reaction and contrast it to what Devi Lal said, circa early 90s, when a reporter pointed out why Om Prakash Chautala was the Chief-Minister-in-waiting: "To kya? Usko nahi banoonga to kya Bhajan Lal ka chora ko banoonga ?" (So what? If I don't make him (the CM) do you think I should make Bhajan Lal's son the CM ?) I mean looking at in another way-- India is shining. Politicians too are now hopefully evolving from the days of cash-filled suitcases (Narasimha Rao) , smuggling in watches (Om Prakash Chautala), weighing against gold (Jayalalitha, Maywati) to more refined forms of corruption---insider trading, conflict of interest etc. And that, my friend, is progress.

Chick Blogs

2005-08-26T22:25:00.000-04:00

Kanika Gahlaut coins a new derisive term---the chick blog. Her original article along with the rebuttal of a so-called chick blogger are given here. In summary the point she makes is that there is a new breed of blogosphere denizens---- "actively attention-seeking", sexually liberated female Indian bloggers who chronicle their colorful "Sex And the City" Carrie Bradshaw-ish life of booze, men and parties in colorful prose. And get a huge audience of both admiring men and "way-to-go-sister" women. A blogger in US has got a book deal out of her experiences----the Indian women bloggers may well follow suit. Kanika Gahlaut savages this breed --- focusing her vitriol on a few of the most popular Indian female bloggers. Whatever be the merits of her bitchiness, what's quite distasteful is the subterfuge she engaged in to interview her subjects without informing them of the hash job she was about to do to them. Journalistic ethics at their worst. What could have been a sharply observed critique of the Indian blogosphere degenerates into the ranting of an obviously disgruntled person who, it can be argued, simply feels jealous of the popularity these female bloggers have acquired----in her opinion unjustifiably. This is evident by the way she attacks specific persons-----rather than the genre they belong to. As an example, it maybe fine to fulminate about the dangers of obesity but quite another thing to say: "God that guy Arnab is fat". Which let me also say is a big lie. I am merely big-boned. If any proof of her total lack of balance is needed, the piece d'resistance is when in order to buttress her point, she stoops to quoting a blog that is a borderline hate site----where the posts are interspersed with unparliamentary, distasteful language that personally attack female bloggers who in the blog-admin's opinion are a disgrace to "Indian culture" with their "Westernized, sexualized ways". Now here's my politically incorrect view of the whole chick blogger syndrome. I don't personally buy the ``personal catharsis thing" as a motivation for these blogs."I write to get the demons out of me" is kind of like Christina Aguilera justifying her raunchy, butt-shaking music video "Dirty" by saying "It's a creative way to express my angst ...you know...that I am no more a girl and people should start treating me as a woman...you know?". Yeah right. It *is* all about popularity. And there is nothing wrong about that. I personally have never denied that I have sought acceptance and readership as a blogger. I value my readers and their comments-----and I gather a lot of blogizens, (who publicly may claim otherwise) also do so. I know that as a member of the male species if I start detailing my daily life--- it would read something like 1) paper got rejected 2) wife is not talking to me 3) the jeans I bought 6 months ago is riding up with much effort Now who in their right mind would want to hear that? And face it---the same thing coming from a guy and a girl have different effects. If a committed girl blogger says that she saw a cute looking guy that made her pine for her single life again, guys are going to love reading that---appreciative comments follow for her honesty and "forwardness". A guy says the same thing and he is dubbed a lech, by both men and women. A woman says she is bi-curious and everyone is interested....I most certainly am. I say I am bi-curious (I am NOT let me add) and people will be like.........the PhD sure blew out a few of his fuses. That's just the way things are. Most guys want to hear about the edgy lives of professionally liberated Indian women who are upfront about a lot of things Indians are generally not comfortable about-----their ``compulsive confessions" (TM) so as to say----the prurient, reality-TV appeal of this packaged candour is undeniable. Which is why you will find guys the first in line to defend these bloggers. Which I as a blogger appreciate----everyone likes loyal readers. And paradoxically, the guys who post nasty comments or create an entire blog devoted to blasting chick bloggers are fans of these blogs too---somewhat like Ravana was actually one of Rama's biggest disciples (according to some interpretations). Cause if they really hated chick blogs, they would just stop visiting them. But no they come back again and again and follow every post with an obsession that can be motivated only by "Oooh these lucky girls are having so much fun somebody should make it illegal". Which makes me repeat one of my favorite lines from "As Good As It Gets": What makes it so hard is not that you had it bad, but that you're that pissed that so many others had it good. In summary, Kanika Gahlaut does not come off any better than a mere hater----a smug ethically-challenged journalist unable to disguise the bare fangs of her brazen bitchiness.

Anger Management

2005-08-24T19:42:00.000-04:00

Pat Robertson is this nice grandfatherly man who comes on ABC Family on a televengalising program called the 700 club (which alert readers will realize is 007 spelt backwards). In it, he and his son and a few others explain the news happenings of the day in a Biblical context interrupting his weighty discourse with metaphysical activities like "Betty of Iowa has lost her pet dog. Let us pray for its safe return." Unfailingly polite and kind, I enjoy watching his show while gulping down my TV Dinner. I specifically admire his tolerance for other cultures especially my own. Some samples:(1 , 2, 3) If anybody understood what Hindus really believe, there would be no doubt that they have no business administering government policies in a country that favors freedom and equality. ... Can you imagine having the Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini as defense minister, or Mahatma Gandhi as minister of health, education, and welfare? The Hindu and Buddhist idea of karma and the Muslim idea of kismet, or fate condemn the poor and the disabled to their suffering. ... It's the will of Allah. These beliefs are nothing but abject fatalism, and they would devastate the social gains this nation has made if they were ever put into practice." From "The New World Order They have thousands and thousands of earth stations picking up satellites. It's a window of opportunity [for Christian TV programs]. Of all of India's problems, one stands out from the rest. That problem is idol worship. It is said there are hundreds of millions of Hindu deities. All this has put a nation in bondage to spiritual forces that have deceived many for thousands of years." (His son says) "Wherever you find this type of idolatry, you'll find a grinding poverty. The land has been cursed. The Bible talks in terms of the land being cursed on behalf of what the inhabitants have done to it. You erect all these idols under every green tree, on top of every hill,you're going to curse your land. And the oppression, we see it in evidence." "Siva [is] the God of Destruction, and his consort, the Goddess of death [Kali] -- that black, ugly statue there with all those fierce eyes." Quite a nice logical person. And knowledgeable. Sample below: To begin, Robertson's experiences in Rajahmundry (where he was converting Hindus) are described by a narrator. The scene is of a poverty-stricken people, bathing in the river at the head of which rests a statue of Lord Siva. Water is pouring out of Siva's head and a snake is wrapped around his head as well. Robertson and his son are found in the midst of the scene, observing and mocking the early morning prayers of Hindus. As they witness the scene, they make incorrect reference to the river as "Siva's sperm," and claim that the people "were supposed to wash away their sins in the sperm of the God." However this nice, kind man who rightfully considers religious Hindus to be pornstars, lost his temper recently and said something very silly. He asked for the assassination of President Chavez of Venezuela which some have pointed out is a violation of one of the commandments---possibly the one about not killing and all. But I feel bad for the man. I mean come on all of us are allowed to lose our tempers sometimes ---even men of God have their weak moments. Everyone cracks and so has poor Pat. Let me conclude with an anecdote the person who taught us the history of Bengali literature told us. Vaishnavites (followers of Chaitanya Mahaprabhu) are, by philosophy, the most non-violent of people whose motto is "Tirnadopi Sunicheno" ie be as resistanceless as grass. The life-story of Chaitanya Mahaprabhu and his teachings are written down as "Podabolis" ---different disciples have penned different Podabolis. One of the Podabolis conclude with these lines: "I have spent a lot of time and effort detailing Chaitanya Mahaprabhu's greatness and extreme non-violence. Even after this if someone is not convinced about his godliness, then that person deserves to be kicked in the head." Which just goes to corroborate what Norman Bates, the serial killer in "Psycho" , said: We all go a little crazy sometimes . True.

The Rocks That I Got

2005-08-24T08:12:00.000-04:00

Don't be fooled by the rocks that I got, I am still the MP for your block, Used to have a little now I have a lot ----JLo ( modified) [Jenny From the Block] Our politicians are goin gangsta ! And a good thing yo cause frankly I am sick and tired of us being portrayed as devious and cowardly people by the Pakistanis. I am through with Indian citizens falsely accused of spying and being put on deathrow in "Terrorist's Own Country---Pakistan". And of our politicos talking about world peace and world hunger and neighborly love when we are surrounded by countries that wanna smack our bitch up. I say its time we got medieval on their sorry asses. The reason I am saying this is because our dudes in the government have taken the first step in becoming gangsta rap artists by pimping their ride---getting transportation that would make the eyes of the most notorious P.I.M.Ps stand out in their sockets. Move over JayZ.....Jay B (Jyoti Basu, the eternal wannabe) is in da house. Have you looked at the pimpy interiors of the pleasure pads that our Man ManMohan and the "Wild Bull Avul" will be flying around in ? 5 of them ! At $25 mils a throw. This will surely impress da ladies. Press conferences? Policy decisions? No way------this place is for partyin. Kick the crusty white-shirted IASs out---get me some video vixens. Cause this shit comes equipped-----a full-breadth lavatory for the fat-ass politicians to get the party "private". For the bolder Slim Shadys there is the plush divan. New Rule 1: The next time Musharraf says that there is no cross-border infiltration, PM will go upto him, posse in tow, shake his hand in Mush's sorry face and say, sarcastically,: "Fo Shizzle Ma nizzle" New Rule 2: Uma Bharati, our own Missy Elliot who spends Rs 98,000 for a single day of "taxi rides" , will use this plane as the setting for the raunchy new video of her song "Ek Dhakka Aur Do " (Give me one more push)----that brought the country to riot not so long ago. New Rule 3: BJ stands for Bharatiya Janata. So when they say that there is BJ Party in the government jet, you know that Vajpayee has become the PM again. New Rule 4: Sessions of Parliament open to the music of "Who Let the Dogs Out" New Rule 5: Dev Anand is officially anointed the Nostradamus of this century for coming out with a movie in which the PM of India is a rap star----of course he plays the PM. New Rule 6: Indians without food/clothing/shelter can kiss ma ass. A fleet of $25 million luxury planes for our rulers is exactly what we need now.

The Redemption of the Don

2005-08-22T19:06:00.000-04:00

When and if I ever have a child, I shall definitely ask him/her to consider joining the Mafia Cadre as a career option. It is a bit too late for me I am afraid. Many a pound overweight, I would be a sitting duck for sharpshooters. I also don't have a chilling voice, am dreadfully afraid of the police and could never shoot balloons properly. I also happened to think that murder and extortion aren't honorable ways to earn a living. This is of course because I was brought up that way. My parents told me what was right and what was wrong---a mistake I shall never repeat. Movies also misled me. In the Hindi movies I used to see -- the mafia leader was the unambiguous villain who would sprout some devilish "loin" lines, cavort with Mona and Sona but ultimately die in the end at the hands of the hero. A thought that did not appeal to me. Even when the hero became a "Don" , it was because of a bad childhood, widowed mother, the need to survive----conditions which I was, fortunately not exposed to. And even then he died at the end---a pathetic, dog-like death. Worse than that, Ma was never on his side. When I saw and later read the 'Godfather" saga I was struck by the way Mario Puzo humanized the mafia but still depicted them as criminals. That is why when Michael becomes Godfather, Kay "prays for his soul". That is why she leaves him when he finds out about his recidivism. That is also why Michael endeavors throughout his life to make his business legitimate---he is aware of the fact that what he does is not "good". However it is his tragic destiny that keeps drawing him back to the dark side. It was these struggles between morality and expediency that made Godfather a subtly nuanced modern "Greek tragedy". Operative word---Tragedy. I wanted no part of it. Better to be Dr. Ashok and live happily ever after. And then came RGV. Satya in "Satya" is bad not because of a traumatic childhood but because he simply wants to be. At least he dies in the end pathetically--- forsaken by the woman he loved---a broken man. Then came "Company" with the all-cleansing line "Ganda Hain Par Dhandha Hain Yeh" ----translating to "It's bad but it's just business". Chandu (Vivek Oberoi)'s mother and love interest are absolutely fine with his career choice-----the fact that he bumps off people for a living are of no concern as long as he keeps on bringing in the money. Becoming a Mafia man is now a career choice---and judging from the fast life the characters are shown having it's a pretty good one. But at least Malik (Ajay Devgun) dies in the end and Chandu spends his life in jail. So maybe it's fun while it lasts but justice does catch up with you in the end. In the next stage of evolution comes "D". Here like Satya, the hero Deshu (Randeep Hooda) just chooses to go into the mafia because it seems profitable. His girl-friend is absolutely cool with it and actually sleeps with him because he is the Mafia. And now, at the very end, he walks away into the sunset with moolah, girl and style. The law is officially his mistress. Wow I think to myself. And now the final stage. "Sarkar". Over here, we are led to believe that "Sarkar" and his family are true blue-collar heroes who impose an alternative justice system because the existing one is so corrupt. (and not because the system is corrupt because of them). They are modern day Robin Hoods----as Abhishek Bachchan says in the movie " My father has never harmed an innocent man in his life". This is what ultimately bought me over. You could be the most feared man in Mumbai by not having harmed an innocent man. Ever. Deshu in "D" was a criminal. Sarkar here is God. And RGV wants us to believe that in a real world, someone can command "Sarkar"'s power by not having harmed an innocent person in his life. Sarkar's family are the good guys---his opponents (who are nothing but mirror images of Sarkar) are depicted as idiosyncratic, ugly, damaged people bordering on insanity. So now these people are the "villains" and the Mafia Don is the "hero". No wonder Bal Thackeray did not object to Sarkar having his mannerisms----this is the greatest glorification of hooliganism ever seen on the Indian screen. Of course, people will say that what RGV is showing reality.(and what old Hindi movies showed was hypocrisy). It's a bit deeper than that--- what RGV is actually doing is altering reality. In today's world, for good and for bad, our morals and our definition of acceptance is shaped by the media. What RGV is doing is gradually making the Mafia Don as acceptable socially as the school teacher or the milkman. Not just acceptable but as heroic as the freedom fighter. The social stigma that perhaps prevented people from getting into this line is being slowly and surely eroded by the pervasiveness of such movies-------not accidentally but in a planned, deliberate fashion. Which is fine. Maybe I missed the bus but my next generation surely shall not. My grandson, one day, shall be playing squash with a Katrina Kaif lookalike while my son/daughter dispenses justice in the living room. That will surely bring a smile on my face as I lie on the bed, hooked upto a dialysis unit. ------------------ PS I enjoyed "Sarkar"-----was very different than Godfather and the acting was good all around. The message however left me disturbed.

Go Showty

2005-08-20T12:00:00.000-04:00

Go Showty, It's your Birthday We gonna party like it's yo birthday We gonna sip Bacardi like it's yo birthday And we don't give a f*** it's not yo birthday. --Fifty Cent Well it's my birthday. My blog's birthday. My blog turns one year old on August 20. Last year around this time, I was passing through a particularly low point of my life. Which is why I decided that it would be a good idea and a pleasant diversion to blog. Get everything out my system---that is. So this blog started out aiming to be a personal journal--- "I-did-this-and-that". If you look at my first post, you will see that it endeavors to be a "Dear Diary" type of thing. Which is also why I started off by not blogging under my real name but under a pseudonym. A word about "Greatbong". This is not a statement of Bong parochialism---as some humor-challenged anonymous commenter on CSF thought. The "Bong" has two meanings---of course the "Bong" as in Bengali and the second one "Bong" as in a instrument for smoking cannabis. Not that I endorse drugs or have ever tried it myself, but because "cannabis" is related to "ganja" which in Bengali also means an embellished story. So basically a teller of tall tales. Now ok that takes care of the Bong part. What about the Great ? Well the name "Greatbong" was a derisive epithet given by a non-Bengali friend of mine to refer to all Bengalis who thought too much of themselves.....and so when I was looking for a moniker, I could think of nothing better than Greatbong. After writing my first post, I realized that noone was interested in what I did and where I had my lunch. Most importantly, I was not interested in it myself. When I was in Stonybrook, one of the most pleasurable ways by which I would spend time would be to have shouting sessions with my friends that went into the wee hours of the morning where we would hold forth on life, politics, movies and how basically everything pisses us off. In a new job, in a new city, alone and cut off from these stimulating discussions---the blog became my new friend. I got to tell you----I am not among those kind of people who write only for the pleasure of writing. I do like it when people read what I have written and spend the time to comment---a regular readership is definitely a big motivation. Initially, my blog had no readers-----I tried some shameless publicity....slipping it into my email signature, sending links to my old Jadavpur University mailing group and relatives----but the returns on my spamming was poor. In other words, as I once mentioned my comments section resembled an untrampelled, virgin forest. A digression. Getting people to read my stuff isnt something I just started doing last year. I have been doing it for years now. I got off to a good start, but from then onwards, I kept on sending my work for publication to different places and got only silence in reply----with the exception of a few reviews that made it to Rediff. My blog solved everything. No need for me to get "published" (not that I still dont want to go mainstream), just press the button "Publish Post" and it's out to the world. But yes not much of the world came to read it. I kept on posting and persisting----a mention or two on Sepiamutiny followed, Suhail Kazi introduced me to the CSF gang, Amit Varma linked to me and I had crossed the tipping point......I was getting read. My frequency of posting increased. People were coming and commenting---I was getting into comment wars with them-----and before I knew it, the world I thought I had lost in Stonybrook was alive again. Its not been all plain sailing----I have had my share of misguided and unkind feedback---some of it (like the one below) on second thoughts, may have been totally justified. In a post I had pointed out the weird Google search strings that brought visitors to my blog like "DPS Dhamaka" , "Suhaag Raat--what to do?", "Kolkata Hot Girls" etc etc upon which an Anon visitor exploded: bull shit...everyone who has basic knowledge of web knows that internet is used for 3 key things1. e-mail 2.Sex 3. Google Search No one can use your blog for email and second best thing to divert people to your blogger is sex,. Bloggers like you and many organsiations are misusing and putting the latest sex related stuff as comment in there web sites to drive visitors. What is wrong with trying to find a sex clip...but people like you have made it impossible as there are millions of sites without clip and pain for people doing search....Sick, yuck yuck Someone seems to have caught onto the trick us bloggers use to drive up our site traffic. My blog has also been called by another Mr/Ms Anonymous as "the Net's worst blog---long boring posts full of misogynistic crap".....which let me point out was an honor. What would have sucked would have been to be called "the Net's second worst blog." At the risk of beginning to sound like an Oscar-acceptance speech (or worse like Dharmendra at the Filmfare Awards), I would like to thank all my readers, commenters and flamers for their continued support......... The music has started playing.......and I must now take my leave. But before that let us raise our imaginary glasses to another glorious, opinionated, politically incorrect, "misogynistic" year of unadulterated blogging !