Freebird

Wonder Years

2012-02-22T00:43:00.004-08:00

(This post is a part of Kissan 100% Real Blogger Contest)

Most of us hanker for our lost childhood. However, given a chance I would love to relive my ‘wonder years’- ages between thirteen and fifteen. The age when one emerges out of dolls and enters into makeup! Honestly, I have never been as displaced as I was at age thirteen. As I reminisce, being nuts was so much fun. In fact, it was a blessing. Today in the midst of pervasive cynicism, the innocence and the naivety involved in being loony sounds even more appealing. What bliss it was to live in a make believe world. The world looked pretty with the ‘All is wonderful with the world’ glasses.

We lived in small town but the government bungalow had a huge landscaped garden with a boulevard of trees. The sprawling bungalow with mango and guava trees was nestling in the very lap of nature. Nevertheless, my own secret place- my comfort zone was atop the guava tree in the backyard. Interestingly, brother had made it comfortable by fixing a wooden plank between two strong bifurcating branches. Leisurely afternoons were spent on the tree, tasting the un-plucked guavas (Yes, never washed them). Apart from me, a flock of wild parrots were the only other visitors filling the dewy mornings with trills and dulcet cries. Even though the parrots looked exquisite pecking guavas and shuffling iridescent wings, I hated them. They pecked at all the ripe guavas much before I could!

‘Wonder years’ were also about hopeless infatuations and heartbreaks. Needless to say the infatuations appeared in the garb of ever-lasting love. When you are fourteen and besotted, you can waltz on imaginary clouds for hours with any moron. It’s almost magical. On bad days, every banal comment about clothes, boys and weight seems to upset. I cried my heart out for stupidest of reasons and agonized for days on my tree abode. Reason? Well a lousy hair cut prior to a party. Now that I rewind the reel, my tree abode epitomized a glorious kinship between nature and my wonder years.

There were moments when I would lose track of time staring at the sky as myriad ideas popped up. It was an age when confusion reigned supreme. Mood swings came with the territory. There were days when I would climb up my comfort zone only to brood, or melt into books.

Ah books!

Classics, Enid Blytons and Nancy Drews were done with. It was time to move on to my first Mills and Boon. The only hindrance was that the romantic novel was forbidden. “Not yet,” mom said. I imagined mom was specifically setting up rules to trouble me. Most girls in my class had already read the book. Why couldn't I? One lazy afternoon, after the limpid showers had stopped dancing in the garden, after the symphony between light and sound was long over, I sneaked out of the house with my forbidden novel. The ground beneath looked satiated, emanating a rare joie de vivre. The droplets accumulated on the renewed foliage disturbed my reading intermittently, but what the heck! Reading the forbidden book was fun.

I am sure, as children we all have interesting stories of bunking school, the first crush, the first date, the first.....

Even though teen years are an experience any mother would hate to re-live, the sheer innocence of times remains magical. Unfettered by the onslaught of television and computers, life had its own sweet charm. I am far too worldly-wise today. Aren’t all of us? We conjure witty one-liners. We have opinions. We are far more cynical. Which is a pity, because, the age of innocence is lost forever!

Age No Bar

2012-02-15T02:47:00.000-08:00

The glossy gizmo has been her prized possession. Ever since brother gifted the latest laptop to my mother, she carries it like an oxygen cylinder. While travelling she doesn’t mind losing her baggage, but her lappy remains close to heart; always slinging smartly on her shoulders. Often we playfully remark “Mom, stop acting like the CEO of Intel!”

Living alone, my mother’s primary objective of using a computer was to video-chat with her grandchildren residing in Chicago. And guess what? I had the formidable job of familiarizing mom with the computer. As a reluctant teacher, I remember my rather insensitive comment. “Why do you need to struggle with the computer? I will book your tickets, recharge your phone and show you the family pictures.”

A week passed. Mother remained quiet, but persistent. I remained committed, but reluctant. When boredom struck mother with all its vengeance, I persuaded her to go for the senior-citizen chat sessions in the apartment. I realized my folly! She was keen to learn the computer more than inane chatting or singing bhajans.

That the lessons required perseverance would be an understatement. There were typo errors and the eye-cursor coordination needed practice. “My mail box doesn’t open? Maybe someone has hacked my account,” she would wonder. (Even though most of us go through similar glitches as beginners, we conveniently forget our own follies.) Another tricky issue was that mom often forgot to select the desired icon. It compounded confusion. Later I realized what an idiot I was. Her spectacle number had changed. Increasing the font size and a pair of new spectacles resolved the predicament.

On days when I lost patience, my son came to her rescue. “It’s so simple nani, you just have to press ‘my documents’, then ‘create a folder’ and press ‘install’ and….”.

When you are nineteen, patience is not exactly a virtue. Impatience comes with the territory. So each time my son imparted breezy lessons, my mother hurriedly scribbled down the steps in her diary. ‘Press start. Go to My Documents. Click on C. Select first…’ Before retiring for bed after her customary meditation, I saw mother memorizing the computer lessons from her diary.

Not the one to give up easily, mom approached rather unusual teachers - my ten year old nephew. Forget patience, age ten is synonymous with impatience. At a time when the tech savvy young boy was to impart computer lessons to his dadima, he became an adult. Almost instantly! Few minutes down the line, the child in him would take over and he would revert back to playing Lego’s, leaving behind a puzzled grandmother.

That was two years ago. Today mother books her own e-tickets, recharges her mobile phone, video chats with her grandchildren and also listens to music on her lappy. She is the first one to read my blog posts. For someone who was tech- befuddled, these are all incredible milestones. Now I know why she carries her laptop like an oxygen cylinder. Her laptop is panacea for her solitude. Just as mine is!

I feel like kicking myself for clucking with disapproval at her desire to become computer savvy. The process of learning was slow, but empowering. Why was it so difficult to realize that a desire to be a part of everything contemporary and a zest for learning needs to be applauded, not muzzled!

An Open Letter By Google

2012-02-06T22:56:00.000-08:00

Dear Users,

I always wanted to present my version of the Great Search Engine story, hence this letter. I hope this open letter puts an end to all the blame game doing the rounds.Let me start on an amusing note. Well, I just read the following news item and almost fell off my bed. Laughing!

‘Falling classroom standards and a shift towards creative learning have led to school children in UK believing that ‘Winston Churchill is an animated dog, called Churchill from a TV advertisement, rather than one of Britain’s greatest wartime leaders’. Other students even struggle to differentiate between France and Paris, says a former deputy head teacher. She claims that teaching basic knowledge, facts and figures is fast disappearing from class rooms as it is considered old-fashioned’.

Seriously, how lame is that! You can’t shun basic general knowledge, can you? Fine, you are hooked on to me, but then you need to jog your memory or it will dodge you one day. The day is not far when you will need me to search for the name of your President, or the capital of your home state. I often wonder whether I am stifling general knowledge, just as calculators choked mathematical skills?

Undoubtedly, there is something about me that has changed the world. And how! Only yesterday when a mother was reprimanding her five year old son for his illegible handwriting, her elder daughter intervened, “Why are you mad at him mom? When he grows up, no one will write. Teach him keyboarding instead.”

Now, this worries me to death. I fear that after the gradual withering of memorizing abilities, writing skills might soon become decadent. What then happens to those calligraphy books, which school children have to complete during summer holidays in order to perfect that faultless ‘g’? With calligraphy becoming redundant, the spelling bee contests which Indian students win repeatedly will become meaningless too. I mean, why would anyone need to memorize spellings when the spell checker is at your service? And what’s more? You send documents with embarrassing mistakes that the spell-checker fails to pick up. Like, “She took up her new position in pubic affairs.” One lazy dude almost ended his marriage when he typed, “I love you my previous wife.” The moron wanted to say ‘precious’ not ‘previous’.

But honestly, am I making folks lazy? Or stupid? Or both?

Lazy, perhaps! Stupid, I’m not sure.

Little surprise then, that the present day writers do not visit libraries any more. And why should they? Just a few clicks, links, and hyperlinks and almost magically any information is available. How difficult it is for you to comprehend the fact that I can only dispense information. Wisdom and intellect are not my forte! Indeed, I have registered a tight slap on the face of the system of rote learning. Remember that certain degrees of memorizing abilities are required for social sciences, general knowledge and languages. How else can one memorize preambles and texts based on religion?

Let me move on to my two pet peeves. First is with the present Indian government. I mean how susceptible and touchy are they? When the joke is on them, they start crying foul even though they love to play jokes with their own people. These days I am doing nothing but removing content about the Indian neta log.Second I want to know about your obsession with the three letter word - sex. I fail to understand why you relentlessly search for it over and over again? I am sick and tired of searching related videos and pictures.

That said I refuse to take the blame for making people stupid. I am not responsible for killing your grey cells. I am simply altering the way your brain functions. After all, wasn’t it a concoction of intellect and knowledge that led to my birth? Remember, a lot depends on how you use me.

Dude, now don’t go looking for answers by typing the phrase ‘Is Google making humans stupid’.

Think.

Yours truly

Google

Rewinding the reel....

2012-01-30T21:36:00.000-08:00

This post has been selected by Blogadda as the winning entry for the contest...Love, Adventure and Miracle....

It was only yesterday. Or was it ? Memories came thick and fast. Some vivid, some hazy. Like smoke; only to fade away into thin air. Disappear and yet be present somewhere in the background.

Boredom does strange things to people; it revived the nostalgia for us. In a fit of boredom and in the lap of an empty nest, my husband and I viewed our marriage videocassette after two decades. Even though it was converted into a CD by our son, we had restrained from viewing it. Why, I am not sure. Perhaps due to an unfortunate incident which followed our marriage. So when the husband said, "It will be an adventure, lets hold hands and watch the CD together," I was game.

I prefer to close doors on bad memories or shove them under a veil of assumed amnesia. My husband however, believes that suffering and pain are healers. If they are dealt with effectively, they cleanse our subconscious and make us happy. No wonder he enjoys listening to ‘sad songs' by Rafi,. Yes, even when all is well and the sun is shining brightly. It makes him happy. How, I don’t know. I however, do not prescribe to his philosophy and avoid going down those painful lanes.

Even though I had viewed our marriage photographs taken with the Fuji camera several times, watching the marriage proceedings in action was an emotional roller coaster. It evoked countless memories. If you’re a woman, then the first thing you notice in your old picture is your appearance. Given a choice, I would never wear the same heavy dress which did nothing to accentuate the figure of a young bride. The next shocker was the make-up! It was hardly there. And whatever was there was 'puraane zamaane ka'. My two aunts had painstakingly festooned my forehead with multicolored dots. And the huge nose ring? I could have walked straight out of Jodha Akbar’s set. Arghh…it had hurt so much. Not to mention the crimson shade my nose had acquired.

Immediately after the self-flagellation, I embarked on a self- admiration soiree. The kohl lined almonds with thick lashes sans mascara looked mesmerizing. Why do eyes shrink with age? Damn, the wrinkles! Why do they have to show up uninvited? Why doesn’t the waist-line retain its slender glory? The ravages of time are unsparing. Not even if we are ‘worth it’.

It was amusing to watch my friends and cousins fussing around me, hovering like mother hens. Why the fuss? I was perfectly confident of holding my twenty kg lehnga on a forty five kg frame. Then I started recalling old acquaintances, “Did you see her? She was my college friend? Did you see that uncle? He was our neighbor.” I felt my throat tighten instinctively as I saw my grandmother sitting pristine in white, watching all the proceedings without a hint of tiredness. Also, I couldn’t help but ache as I noticed that in a matter of two decades my own mother has aged considerably. In the pictures she appeared gorgeous, nattily managing the guests in her stilettos. And only yesterday, she was complaining of knee pain.

Then I saw my smiling dad welcoming the baaratis. Promptly my eyes welled-up and a stab of pain went down the heart. Why do people leave never to return? Not even once! Just for that warm reassuring hug? Watching him on the television in that moment, I could almost picture him entering my living room and caressing my head.

From the corner of my moist eyes, I noticed that my husband was looking at his own father rather wistfully. “You are lucky”, he said. “You have your mother; I lost both of them.” In the pictures on television however, the groom dressed in a white achkan was laughing and jesting with his office colleagues. He appeared happy enough for the entire state of Delhi. Why doesn’t he laugh as often? But then, who am I to complain. Even I don’t giggle anymore.

We suddenly fell into silence. To lighten the mood the husband playfully remarked, “It was such an important event. Why wasn’t our son present at our wedding?’

“If he was there that day, perhaps you wouldn’t have agreed to marry me in the first place.”

And we both laughed.
The adventure turned out to be a miracle.Why? Because that day I learned to overcome my grief of two decades.

Weapons Of Mass Reduction

2012-01-23T05:57:00.000-08:00

“I dig into aloo and gobhi paranthas everyday,” declared Kareena at the launch of her dietician Rujuta Diwekars weight loss book. As if on cue, another svelte stunner Shilpa Shetty tweeted, ‘Just had a Krispy Kreme donuts yumm!’

Are we idiots or do these wafer thin celebrities derive vicious pleasure in such charades? Either they are fibbing or they are blessed with great metabolism. Or maybe, it is the magic of 108 surya namaskars they profess to perform daily.

That brings me to a delicious paradox. The two biggest sellers in any bookstore are the cookbooks and diet-books. The cookbooks tell you how to prepare food, and the diet ones tell you how not to eat any of it. I have never ever bought weight loss books. Well, I don’t have the patience to follow weird diets. I mean who has the time to shop for exotic berries, Pepino melon, avocado or lettuce on a daily basis? And who has the patience to dish out weight loss salads? Fad diets are quick fix solutions. The weight comes back with vengeance once people go off the fad diet. Also if I start 108 surya namaskars, the husband will have to go without food. Okay, fine. I accept that I am lazy and impatient. Perhaps the dogged ones go all the way. Kudos to them.

With famous nutritionists and weight trainers at your beck and call, maintaining chiseled bodies is a tad bit easier. Hrithik says, “If I can do it, so can you.” Surely! But you Mr Roshan did it with the help of Kris Genthin, an international weight trainer and Maracia, a renowned nutritionist. Plus the celebrities have only one mission in life – to look good. I mean looking good is their business. But for lesser mortals who juggle daily chores, losing mind comes more naturally than losing weight.

When I feel stressed and upset , I do not have the luxury of a nutritionist who will fix a broccoli soup or a trainer who will coax me start cardio exercises. In all likelihood I will raid the refrigerator, take out scoops of butter scotch ice cream stored for unannounced guests, pour some chocolate syrup which the son loves, and gorge on it until I feel better. And feel even more upset afterwards. Surely it is not a mere coincidence that stressed spelled backwards is desserts. And yes, if I dig into aloo paranthas daily like Kareena, I will soon resemble Dolly Bindra. On top of it I won’t get any reality show because of my intimidating geography. Kismat mein oats and cereals ho to how can one gorge on donuts?

Recently at a book store, I browsed through Kallie Purie’s new book, ‘Confessions of a Serial Dieter’. Frankly I couldn’t even browse through. While leafing through a book a few lines can compel me to either sink in or jump out. Purie’s diet book had an assortment of diets and complex regimens which are not for sloths like me. If Purie is honest when she says that she tried 43 diets to find her happy weight, I salute her patience.

Rujuta Diwekar, another nutritionist became a bestselling author after her first book on weight loss. It was evident from the sales, that losing weight is a top priority for most urban folks. However, the question to be asked is: How many readers actually lost weight after reading the book? And more importantly how many readers were able to maintain their ideal weight? After any weight loss diet, people regain all the weight they lost because permanent weight loss needs a change of habits and not diets.And changing habits is a tedious process. There are no miracle cures. I have watched umpteen weight loss shows by Oprah and her ilk. And after watching Oprah recently at the literature fest, her countless weight loss shows over the decades seem such a waste. Tsk, tsk! (Normally I don’t have such bitch moments.)

I don’t believe in losing mind over losing weight; unless one is obese or unhealthy. It is best to keep the plan simple. Firstly, it is important to remember that Input = Output. Second, body weight depends on your metabolism. It is important to maintain a healthy lifestyle, control thyroid malfunction or hormonal fluctuations if any. And finally, since most women are emotional eaters, stress management plays an important role.

On a lighter note, LMAO is a great way to reduce weight in the hindquarters. Or maybe visit Tihar - Kalmadi has reduced his famous derriere by half after a short stint. Ahh ...a mean moment again…What has gotten into me?

"Practice safe eating — always use condiments."

An Unexpected Invite

2012-01-16T03:37:00.000-08:00

It had to be spam. Why else would someone send me an e-invite for the largest literary festival in Asia- pacific, the Jaipur Literary Fest? I deleted the mail.

The following day, I received another one. It essentially said, “You have been invited to represent thousands of Bloggers in India. Please confirm your presence.”

Delete again.

The next day, I received a phone call. Someone was speaking on behalf of the organizers. “Madam, please confirm your presence so that we can register you on the panel of speakers and issue security passes. You are a part of our interactive session, immediately after Salman Rushdie where he replies to questions on his book, ‘Midnight’s Children’.”

I was not so imagining this. I cleared the lump in my throat and mumbled, “Yes, I will be there.”

Diggy Palace, Jaipur. Wow!

There was so much to be done. Air tickets, speech, dress, bookings etc…After all, I was on a panel, representing esteemed bloggers in an interactive session.

Finally years of writing paid off. So what if I earn zilch from blogging. The pride of being a part of a festival widely acknowledged as the Kumbh Mela of Indian and international writing, was a definite high. And what’s more? I could rub shoulders with celebrities like Oprah, apart from reputed writers like Amitav Ghosh, Fatima Bhutto, Gulzar, and Jhon Elliot who are going to be a part of the festival.

Okay. Stop right now.

Tell me what are you thinking?

1. Why her? I have noticed typo-errors and grammatical mistakes in her posts. Plus, she is not even a published writer.

2. If this is the quality of writers being invited to the literary fests, thank God I was not invited. What has the world come to? Mediocrity is being applauded all around.

3. Someday, even I will be a part of the festival. There is hope for bloggers.

4. Why is she bragging about the invitation? Anyway, who is she to represent me?

Gotcha! Okay, I was fibbing. Apologies for that imaginary ride!

I am NOT an invitee at the Jaipur literature festival. I am simply a fence sitter who is watching all the brouhaha over Rushdie being a part of the literary festival. When every third malnourished child in the world is an Indian, the media and the neta log are busy discussing Rushdie’s presence on Indian soil. Misplaced priorities?

Spare Me Please!

2012-01-09T20:23:00.000-08:00

If some people enter your living room uninvited, pakaao you to death, even as you frantically press that remote, what do you do? I flip television channels like a maniac, yet some faces refuse to leave me alone. They haunt me on subsequent channels. Their acts, perfectly choreographed for the sake of television have become my nemesis. And for the sake of my sanity, I sincerely request the following divas and dudes to disappear from my television this year.

Master of Verbosity:

Mani Shankar Aiyyar - If ever there was a medal for mastering the art of ruffling feathers and creating controversies, Mr Aiyyar would bag the gold medal. He is disenchanted with his own party, yet defends it with all the intellect and pedagogy at his disposal. Honestly, I am tired of political verbosity. How about a break from NDTV Mr Aiyyar? But then, what will poor Swapan do? What will happen to all the verbal pyrotechnics played on NDTV prime time?

Hollywood Hoaxes:

After Anil Kapoor’s two-minute avatar in ‘Mission Impossible’ and Mallika Sherawats five-minute screen presence in the ‘The Myth’, I am not inclined to see any Bollywood star as a glorified extra eulogizing his /her Hollywood arrival on television. Anyway, Mallika has to descend back around New Year, to milk her old item numbers. And then she has the gall to make outrageous comments on television, “My jhatka’s priceless”. Seriously?

Smug Wizard:

Ravi Shankar Prasaad - Where does his smug expression come from? Even though he professes respect for the opposition, he wants his opponents to curl up and die! Thank you, Mr Prasad for unleashing the moral lectures on behalf of your party. Since your actions are not in alignment with your righteous words, why not take sanyas from television? After all, how many slanging matches of scoring points can I watch?

Buff Queens:

The trio of Poonam Pandey, Veena Malik and Ms Sawant can go take diving lessons from the cliff where Osama was thrown in the sea. Anyway, since they wear nothing and do nothing, they are giving rise to more dumb wannabes like Pooja Mishra. If the trio needs male company, they can take Himesh Reshamiya along. The guy has guts. And if Himesh promises not to torture me with a new movie this year, the girls can take other inmates of Big Boss.

Unconvincing defender:

Mr Chandan Mitra, how about sticking to ‘The Pioneer’? Just because the BJP rewarded you with a Rajya Sabha seat, you defend the indefensible for them. Thank you, but we can see through the cobweb of words which you so passionately love to weave. You would be advised to refrain from proclaiming that ‘Two wrongs make a right’. They don’t.

Amusing Politician:

Honestly, I love Renuka Chaudhary. She is sooo amusing. She has the knack of conversing with her eyes, her shrugs and her smirks. Yet, I wish she disappears from my television because she trivializes serious debates. And also because I don’t trust her! She is the female Kapil Sibal of UPA – with a lethal beatific smile.

Picture this.

In a prime time debate on Lokpal, Shazia Ilmi of IAC asks Ms Chaudhary about her governments intentions regarding fighting corruption. After some inane punches Ms Chaudhary rolls her eyes, and quips, “Why don’t you fast against dowry deaths and female infanticide?”

How lame? Any connection between dowry deaths and corruption is tenuous at best.

The Incorrigible Diggy:

He is either pandering to his vote bank, or playing to a gallery, or indulging in plain sycophancy. His comments on RSS and Anna are like a wretched record, that keeps playing over and over again, except that each time it sounds even more raucous.

I am sick and tired of the bitching fests, sensational comments and slanging matches of scoring points. Words, verbosity and rhetoric have become meaningless for me. Debates have become demoralizing. More so after the Lokpal fiasco. How about a maun vrat for a year? Come back with vengeance in 2013.

Ha, ha…anyway, the world will be over by Dec 12, 2012.

The Curious Case of Rampal

2012-01-02T01:32:00.000-08:00

The Curious Case of Rampal

Rampal, a poor farmer always thought that the idol in his village temple had supreme powers. However, after repeated media reports he realized that his God was not supreme. There was something called the ‘Parliament’ that was supreme. Naturally Rampal wanted to see the Supreme Body. On reaching Delhi he was told that that the parliament had been disrupted. A disheartened Rampal decided to witness an ‘all party meet’ for a close ‘darshan’ of the supreme members who throng the hallowed precincts. But Rampal was denied entry at the all party meet. A disheartened Rampal sat on a hunger strike outside the meeting venue.

Some excerpts from the all party meet:

Chairperson: Baith jaiye, baith jaiye. Shant ho jaiye.

M Ban-nerjee: No. Our stand is a clear NO.

Chairperson: Madam, please listen to the agenda of the debate before giving your reactions.

M Ban-nerjee: I don’t care about the agenda. NO means NO. However, if you give us a Bengal package, we can re-think. Derek will explain things on my behalf. That you will end up even more confused after his explanation is another matter. I have to leave....

Chairperson: Honorable members, today we have to debate whether we should allow Rampal, ‘a commoner’ to witness this all party meet.

Bring-loo Yadav: Arre who is this Rampal? How can he claim to represent the peepool of this country? I am yet to recover from the nightmares of Lokpal and you are talking about Rampal.This appears to be some inter-nasnal conspiracy.Arre Mr Karat pleej check if this fellow Rampal is a CIA agent?

Behen Illusion-wati : Why should Rampal witness this meeting of supreme members ?According to the wishes of Manyawar Kanshi Ram ji, I will allow Rampal free entry in any of my parks. He can also click pictures next to the marble elephants.It will solve all his problems.

Sush-mother ji: We strongly oppose the entry of the common man. Today he wants to be a mute witness; tomorrow he will want to participate in the discussions. When we were in power, Congress had objected to the entry of Dharampal, hence we reject the entry of Rampal. How can the ruling party forget their promise of 'the sense of the meeting'?

Now-shake Singhvi: We rejected Dharampal because you had rejected RajPal in 1976. Let me tell you that Article 999 says that no ‘Pal’ with religious connotations can witness our meetings. Let me also quote clause 444, which says that members are not bound to respect the ‘sense of the meeting’. Please note Sush-mother ji, that clause 444 is separated by a semi-colon and not a comma. Hence the ‘sense of the meeting’ stands nullified.

Bring-loo Yadav: (Shouts) This is my nasun, our nasun. Arre bhai, even angrez left my nasun before I was born. I am thee supreme body. Tell Rampal to win an election and then come here.

Chairperson: Baith jaiye, baith jaiye. Shant ho jaiye. Those in favor of Rampal’s entry may say Aye.. ..

I think the noes have it, the noes have it.

Softy Singh Yadav : (mumbles for full thirty minutes) Is Rampal a dalit, OBC, Christian or minority? Tell him to change his name to Rahimpal. I will then personally escort him to the meeting.

Sush-mother ji: This is wrong. You are advocating a second Partition. We will not allow this.

Ca-pill Sibal: (with angelic innocence) But YOU invited Rampal for this meeting, how can you go back on your promise? Who has created this Frankenstein monster called Rampal? Let me quote article….

Sush-mother ji: We invited Rampal with conditions. Now the conditions do not suit us. And since we reject Rampal’s entry, you have lost all moral right to rule this country. Your PM must resign.

Bring-loo Yadav: Aree bhai, I have come to know that Rampal has nine wives, how can we allow non-minority pepool with nine wives. Tomorrow all his nine wives will want to become Chief Ministers, then who will be responsible?

Mr. Bring-loo Yadav's deputy tears Rampal’s application in anger. Both Softie Yadav and Bring-loo Yadav walk out of the meeting.

After two decades of deliberation, when Rampal finally got permission to meet the supreme members, a registered letter reached his village. His wife told the postman, “Owing to huge debts, Rampal committed suicide five years ago.”

Rewinding the reel....

2011-12-23T23:20:00.000-08:00

This entry is a part of BlogAdda contests in association with Zapstore.com

It was only yesterday. Or was it ? Memories came thick and fast. Some vivid, some hazy. Like smoke; only to fade away into thin air. Disappear and yet be present somewhere in the background.

We suddenly fell into silence. To lighten the mood the husband playfully remarked, “It was such an important event. Why wasn’t our son present at our wedding?’

“If he was there that day, perhaps you wouldn’t have agreed to marry me in the first place.”

And we both laughed.
The adventure turned out to be a miracle.Why? Because that day I learned to overcome my grief of two decades.

Running in Circles

2011-12-14T20:22:00.000-08:00

Have you noticed that the more things change, the more they remain the same? And the more we take the desperate way out to escape our lot in life, the more we learn that we are not better off. The thought takes me back to one of my old posts which had a story about two tear drops.

Once, two tear drops were floating down the river of life. One teardrop asked, “Who are you?” The first one replied, “I was shed by a girl who loved a man but lost him. And who are you?” The other tear drop replied, “I was shed by the girl who got him.”

Come to think of it, we cry over what we lose and often cry over what we gain. Always in the pursuit of some more, it is this very pursuit which lays the foundation for discontentment. When I am about to fall in the trap of …. “I’ll feel good when I achieve a particular objective,” I keep reminding myself that my desired objective which I think will bring happiness can be lost again, and therefore it holds the potential to cause pain. Yet, more often than not, I keep falling in the same trap.

Now that I am thinking about it, Paulo Coelho’s ‘The Alchemist’, ‘Veronica decides to die’ and ‘The Winner stands Alone’ were based on the similar premise. I recently read this story in ‘The Mail Today’ by Paulo. I wanted to share it. Ignore it if you have read it before.

Many years ago there was a young man named Mogo who earned his living by breaking stones. Even though he was born with amazing strength, he was unhappy about his work and complained regularly. He blasphemed against God’s plan so much that one day an angel appeared. The angel said, “You are healthy and have a life ahead of you. All young people begin their lives with hard work as you have. Why are you complaining?’

Mogo said, “God was unfair to me. He did not give me the opportunity to grow.” Worried the angel went to the Lord who said “Whatever Mogo wants, give it to him.”

The next day when Mogo was breaking stones, he saw a carriage pass by which had a noble inside it. Mogo said with bitterness, “Why can’t I be a noble person too?”

Soon Mogo was transformed into a master of sprawling castle, with servants and plenty of land. He walked outside his palace with his entourage and enjoyed watching his old friends lining the streets, staring up at him with respect.

One of these days, the heat was inescapable and even under his gold umbrella Mogo was sweating; more than he would during his stone breaking days. He realized that he wasn’t as important, as above him there were the king, and the sun; who did not bow to anyone. Mogo grumbled, “Why can’t I be the sun? That should have been my destiny.”

And thus Mogo became the sun. While Mogo was sparkling as the sun, admiring his powers to grow or destroy the crops depending on his whims, a cloud covered his view. As the cloud encompassed Mogo, he got furious and said, “My destiny should have been that of a cloud.”

And soon Mogo was transformed in a cloud. Mogo was now delighted as he blocked the sun and followed the waves shouting loudly, “I am invincible.”

Along the seashore stood a rock, as old as the world itself. Mogo thought that the rock was defying him and so he unleashed an enormous storm. A storm that the world had not seen before. But the rock stood firm and impassable, almost mocking Mogo.

Now Mogo wanted to become the rock. The angel transformed him into a rock and Mogo thought, “I am the most powerful in the world.”

And this is how he spent several years, until one morning Mogo felt a sharp stab of pain deep inside his gut. He felt several thuds and immense pain. Mogo cried, “Angel, someone powerful is trying to kill me. I want to be like him.”

Soon Mogo returned to his previous life of cutting stones.

Often we keep running in circles. This is not to say that ambition is unwarranted. Ambition is good; but hopeless infatuation with all the good that’s happening in the lives of others is not. Contentment at some level paves the way for that much desired and elusive emotion – happiness.

LET ME BREAK SOME WIND PLEASE

2011-12-06T21:32:00.000-08:00

It is said that if a person breaks wind on social media, a whole bunch of people queue outside the loo! The medium is that viral!

The final arbiter of what is permissible on social media, the cherubic Satyawadi Kapilchandra who displayed brilliant mathematical abilities when he arrived at the famous zero sum loss, in all his wisdom has scored a self- goal. Well, allegedly his goddess was ridiculed in a cartoon which depicted her as the puppeteer. No points for guessing who the puppet was. Hence the minister in typical Inspector Clouseau clumsiness is all set to introduce new set of rules to monitor internet content. This hasty move has the whole world searching for his goddess on Facebook, to see what offends him. He of all the people should know that if one needs to popularize something, the best way is to ban it.

There are three main questions to moot. Firstly, it is imperative to gauge the intent of the government. What has upset most netizens is the way they have gone about it - summoning Face book officials in a clandestine manner.

Second question remains, who decides what is objectionable? For China statements from Dalai Lama could be objectionable and for Pakistan statements from the Shiv Sena. All sane netizens however, will support some sort of regulation or screening of morphed pictures which are in bad taste and unwarranted. Also, no one is denying the fact that content which offends religious sensibilities and threatens national security should be screened and monitored. I guess, it is already being done. Even in Thailand, Google restricted access to 90% of 225 You Tube videos for allegedly insulting the monarchy, which is against the Thai laws. However, in India Google mainly received requests to remove blogs and videos that were critical of ministers and government officials.

Having said that, Kapil Muni should have been upfront and said, “My leader has been insulted and slanderous content about her should be removed.” Instead, in all his sanctimonious wisdom he said, “We will not allow our cultural ethos to suffer….we have to take care of the sensibilities of the people.” Why is the cherubic telecom angel wielding the moral danda? Wasn’t moral policing the job of the BJP? Why bring religion in the debate?

And finally, it is humanly impossible to pre-screen content coming from 2.5 million Indian users on Facebook. Ankit Fadia, the computer hacker says that there is no technology which can detect sarcasm or monitor cartoons. Also, anyone sitting in a remote island can still use the internet for dubious purposes.

Social media is one big adda, like the erstwhile paan ki dukaan, where people air opinions and vent frustration. It is not to be taken seriously by powerful egos. Offensive comments are to be ignored. If they still persist, people can block them and report abuse. Finally the IT act of 2000 is in place for filing police complaints against the tormentor. Any complaint under the act should be strictly dealt with. It will act as a deterrent for anonymous abuse and hate groups. Here is another thing about internet; it is a hydra headed monster. You cut one of its arms; it grows another. So it is imperative to learn to manage it. To your advantage. If you suppress it, it emerges with double the vengeance.

It was Obama who said that suppressing ideas never succeeds in making them go away. Yet I feel ‘freedom’ is so much easier to preach than practice. Obama learnt it the hard way, after the Wiki leaks episode.So my humble request to the venerable minister is to allow me to break some wind on my status and blog. It is cathartic. It cures flatulence brewing against corruption and mis-governance. In fact he should try it. Achha lagega.

(I hope the Dabang minister does not say , " Hum tumahare mein itne ched kar denge......)

INTOLERANT. WHO ? ME?

2011-11-29T08:14:00.000-08:00

INTOLERANT. WHO ? ME?

The media in all its self-righteous glory and with an insatiable appetite for debate, pounced on the news of a mentally deranged man slapping Sharad Pawar. One slap from a publicity hungry youth had the media in a tizzy. “Are Indians becoming intolerant?” every channel asked indignantly. Hell hath no fury like a politician scorned. That the media continued playing clips of the unfortunate incident on the sidelines, even as they discussed the topic is another matter. How could ‘your channel’ disappoint the viewer who came in late and was unable to see the thappad footage? So they continued replaying the thappad footage, a la Ekta Kapoor’s serial, and milked the issue just as Harvinder ji wanted.

Firstly, shoes flying in the air are a global phenomenon and labeling all Indians as ‘intolerant’ is a sweeping thought. Though undesirable, pelting footwear is a symbol of suppressed anger and simmering resentment. After killing thousands and maiming innocents allegedly in search of non-existent weapons of mass destruction, one shoe hurled at George Bush, though objectionable was inconsequential.

Back home, attacks on Bhushan and Kejriwal were politically motivated. With several misguided youth willing to smash jaws and clench paws either for publicity or moolah, personal attacks cannot be the premise for labeling all Indians ‘intolerant’. The attackers of Bhushan were product of a political system of patronage, who ostensibly got enraged at his Kashmir referendum remarks. If asked to donate blood for injured Kashmiris, will these young people come forward? I doubt it. Attack on Bhushan in the presence of cameras reeked of opportunism by an inconsequential political outfit which should be criticized, not the average Indian.

The attack on Rajesh Talwar and Ruchika Girotra’s molestor cop outside court premises were also the handiwork of one mentally challenged youth, who should have been under the watchful eyes of Delhi Police. Both acts cannot be used to paint all Indians with one brush.

Status message of my renowned writer friend said, “Ek hi tha, but solid tha boss”. Many educated liberal Indians expressed glee as allegedly one of the most corrupt politician was assaulted. Intellectuals on television were concerned about this very glee which people evinced. If you keep slapping the aam admi on one cheek, don’t expect him to offer the other cheek all the time. Let us be clear that the glee did not originate from a dramatic erosion of morals. The glee was a symptom of the malaise of decades of suppression of the public opinion, of lasting frustration and simmering resentment. Having said that, I agree that expression of glee at a seasoned politician being slapped was misplaced.

Okay, so if one deranged man committed the offence of slapping Mr. Pawar, shouldn’t Pawar have reined in his party workers from burning public property after the incident? But he preferred to keep silent and let his rough-neck squads do the talking. That was intolerance. With the opening of FDI in retail, Uma Bharti’s comment, “I will personally lead a mob and torch malls” transgressed all limits of tolerance. She was not told to zip up by her party. Ms Bharti is known for her intolerant comments, “Ek dhakka aur do” but since she is our leader, she can presumably get away for inciting passions. When Mamata Banerjee stormed a police station and created ruckus, it was an act of 'intolerance'. When chairs and mikes flew in J&K assembly, the actions smacked of intolerance. When Jitin Prasada kicked a protester at Rahul Gandhi’s rally, he was being intolerant.

The odor of intolerance if any emanates from the political cesspool. Before calling the average Indian intolerant, it behooves our leaders to examine their blooming political gardens.

The average Indian shows signs of intolerance only when he indulges in road rage, abuses his wife, or when he bashes up others. A detailed study can show whether such cases have increased over the years, before we can debate and conclude that Indians have become intolerant.

As for the common man, he tolerates a tight slaps of power cuts, bumpy roads, civic apathy, comatose governance, prevalent corruption, political opportunism, price rise etc., day in and day out. Even when it goes beyond his threshold levels. Yet he smiles and hopes that one day “sab theek ho jayega” (all will be well).

If anything, the common man should be applauded for his tolerance and not branded as intolerant.

No Flatulence Zone

2011-11-21T05:15:00.000-08:00

Our neighbor has such important things to worry about. Pakistan Telecom Authority (PTA), the final arbiter of what is not permissible, has asked mobile phone operators to ban any text containing 1795 objectionable words. The idea presumably is to reduce spam.

Not bad. But wait. Apart from the dirty ones, several innocuous ones also feature in the ‘banned’ list. I will not talk about the foul ones (51 terms with the suffix a**), however some innocuous ones like ‘deposit, idiot, tongue, excrement’ are also off limits.

Now a patient in Islamabad cannot tell his doctor that he is suffering from ‘flatulence’. ‘Flatulence’ is a banned word and so is ‘period’. No farting in Pak.

Period.

A gutsy girl tweeted immediately after the ban.

Nida Jahen wrote: "So they're going to ban the word flatulence. Big deal! I prefer more expressive terms "thuss" and phusses any way."

Jesus! This is so funny.

Oops, sorry … you can’t type ‘Jesus Christ’.

Come to think of it, it is not a bad move. I mean with all the dirty words doing the rounds in our country, more so after Delhi Belly made it fashionable to DK Bose people; we should give it a serious thought. But damn our telecom industry! Oops ‘damn’ is banned. But our telecom industry is weathering a different storm. The neta log are busy landing in Tihar, one after the other. The way things are going, after Sukhram’s entry, a ‘Tihar telecom wing’ will have to be inaugurated by Mr Sibal.

Coming back to our neighbor, what is most intriguing is the painstaking effort, which some ingenious souls took to select the 1700 words. Hats off to their creativity and doggedness! With so much patience and effort, they could have solved several intractable global issues.

As a result you cannot call anyone in our neighborhood, ‘padosi ki aulad’ (neighbours offspring) but you can call him /her ‘kafir’(infidel).

How idiotic? Sorry, ‘idiot’ is not allowed.

I am also wondering, now that ‘butt’ has been banned, what will people call Salman Butt? Any ideas? When their constitution guarantees freedom of speech, why ban the written word? Who will control the tongue? Oops! Sorry ‘tongue’ is banned.

On a serious note, many words and phrases which Pakistan has banned were really offensive. Young girls must be relieved by this ban on abuse and offensive content. On the premise of liberty, there is too much dirt flowing around. But I am not sure whether banning is the right way to go about it.

Education is perhaps.

Kiss and Sell

2011-11-18T08:13:00.000-08:00

Sorry guys, I am clueless. I didn’t get it. Did you?

I mean, how can Benetton sell clothes by splashing digitally morphed pictures of famous adversaries, puckering up? What is the connection between clothes, hate, Pope and Obama? Ahh..Sensationalism! Shock therapy to grab eye balls. That’s what it is. To kiss and sell.

Unless of course, Benetton is in the race for the coveted Nobel Peace Prize!! But if that were the case, a simple embrace would have done the job. It is the lip-lock which has stirred a hornets’ nest. Understandably so! So what if the religious leaders preach love? How can Pope Benedict XVI lock lips with Ahmed el Tayyeb, the Imam of al-Azhar mosque in Egypt?
Is this what the world is coming to?

Within a day, Benetton had to remove the campaign after Vatican issued stern disapproval. But the purpose was served. Benetton got what it wanted. Recognition. That the campaign propagated further hatred is another matter. Their cause was noble. To ‘un-hate.’ Just like one would unfriend a friend on Facebook.

Allessandro Benetton, the deputy Chairman of Benetton says, “Kiss is a statement of tolerating differences. There are worse things that show up on the internet these days.”

Going by that logic, some manipulated imagery can be used by Kalpana sarees or a Kalaniketan. They can put up hoardings of Madam and Maneka in a firm embrace. Or perhaps Sushma and Sonia. Imagine the sale of saris? The idea remains, to be tolerant!

With the forthcoming UP elections, Behenji and Pehelwaan can well..err..I will let your imagination do the rest. The idea remains, to be tolerant.

When love is in the air, Salman and Shahrukh can lock lips and show the world that a kiss is a statement of tolerating differences.

And if a photograph can resolve differences between Israel and Palestine, what is to stop Zardari and Dr. Singh to smooch in public and solve the intractable Kashmir imbroglio. In fact Benetton did think of the same but refrained, fearing a backlash.People are not naïve enough to believe that fake bonhomie can solve problems.

Prasoon Joshi, the advertising guru thinks that Benetton has set the tone for a larger debate. The advertiser should establish a dialogue with his consumer beyond the realm of the product. Consumers can no longer be a passive audience. Fine. But in what manner should the dialogue be initiated, is the question.

On a personal note, I find the advertisement funny. But several others are offended. One has to respect cultural sensibilities. Even when money is the only moral in the marketplace.

This is not the first time Benetton has treaded an unconventional path. In 1990 they showed a young nun kissing a priest and a black stallion mounting a white horse. If prodded, Benetton is likely to say that they were statements of tolerating differences.

So be it.

Digvijay can go smooch Anna.

Slogan Time

2011-11-14T05:06:00.000-08:00

Fingers Crossed. Nations youth icon, who takes baby steps holding Diggys fingers has launched his election campaign in UP. Dimpled Baba’s slogan is, ‘Utho, Jaago, Badlo’. Eh? Funny him telling us! I thought we were supposed to say that to him – Utho, Jaago, Badlo.

After riding the ‘Jai Ho’ campaign in 2009, Congress realized that ‘Jai Ho’ will not work this time. But we can’t expect them to say, “Galti ho gayi maaf karo, Rahul ka raasta saaf karo.”

So the Congress slogan goes like this, “Ghar ki luti laaj ka, dum todti sans ka, patri se utre vikas ka, ab ek ek baat ka…..Jawab Hum Denge.”

Hello ji. When? Jawab kab doge?

And considering Madam, Manmohan and the dimpled one prefer to keep finger on their lips, Jawab kaun dega? Diggy? Thank you but no thank you. We do not want his pearls of wisdom. That reminds me of an interesting tweet. A signboard in a conference hall said – please keep your phone in Manmohan Singh mode.

The news is that Congress’s UP campaign will be handled by three agencies, Percept, Crayon and JWT. Why spend money on these agencies? Congress should have initiated an on-line campaign for slogans. Many jobless people like me would have happily obliged. Free of cost.

But can one do anything about creative bankruptcy in politics? Not to mention the intellectual and leadership bankruptcy. Since it is a ‘do or die’ campaign for Rahul, his guardians want to play safe. So they hired three professional agencies. Apart from Raj Babbar, who is giving creative inputs for the young scions war cry.

If others want free advice, let me take an imaginary leap here.

For the BSP however the slogan can be:

“Congress ki phat gayi. Maya behen dat gayi.”

Behenji can also say, “Tum mujhe tax do, mein tumhe haathi waale park doongi.”

The BJP however need not spend any money on campaigns. They can simply say:

“Darne ki kya baat hai, Anna hamare saath hai.”

If they really want a slogan then here it is.

“Jo UP mein aata hai, wo hi desh chalata hai’

Madam par nishana hai,

Rahul to bahana hai,

Maya ko bhagana hai,

Advani ko laana hai.”

The joke goes that when Congress says, “Hamare paas Sonia, hai, Power hai, Sibal Hai, Pranab hai…tumhaare paas kya hai?”

The BJP sniggers back, “Hamare paas Kejriwal hai.”

Oh, I completely forgot that Mulayam Singh is also in the fray. The pehelwaan is down but not out. He can negotiate a ministry in case of a hung parliament. And since vengeance has to be played, indignant Samajwaadi loyalists can say:

“Rahul Gandhi par Akhilesh Yadav bhari hai,

Amar Singh to chale gaye par Jaya Bachhan hamaari hai.”

The elections are three months away, but the excitement is palpable. The sad news for the voter is that they have to choose between the devil and the deep sea.

Utho, Jaago Badlo.

(The height of sycophancy:A slogan by A Congressman which was later withdrawn - Mata Bimaar, Mantrimandal lachaar, Rahul ji, netritva karo sweekar. Gosh...so much pressure on Baba)

Twattleground

2011-11-09T23:33:00.000-08:00

The story goes like this. While visiting America, Winston Churchill attended a buffet luncheon where cold fried chicken was among the dishes served. A delighted Churchill returned for a second helping. "May I have some breast?" he politely asked. "Mr. Churchill," his hostess replied, "In this country we don’t say that, we ask for white meat or dark meat."

Churchill apologized profusely and the following morning sent the woman a magnificent orchid with an accompanying note. "I would be most obliged," it read, "if you would pin this on your white meat."

Those were Twitter-less times. Or else Churchill would have tweeted this witty note. And his hostess would have tweeted back an equally interesting repartee. And while the two celebrities engaged in one-upmanship, the world would have had a tripping good time!

Twitter continues to be a tool for instant information; a tool to talk to the world. But for celebrities it has become a prolific twattle-ground. On a personal note, I am not in favor of taking potshots in public. I simply vent my anger against establishment on my Facebook status. A few comments from friends reassure me that my anger is not misplaced. And my anger stems against establishment. Against governance. Or the lack of it. It is never personal. Most responsible citizens are doing just that. Using twitter to express angst.

Why then are celebrities clawing each other on twitter? Why has twitter become twicious and twasty?

It all started when Modi and Tharoor engaged in a bitter twattle and ended up being vanquished by their own tweets. Then Sonam indulged in a twicious war with the writer and columnist Shobha De. I call it twicious for the comments were not merely below the belt; but between the legs.

“Guys pls don't take Shobha De seriuosly. She's a fossil who's getting no action and going through menopause.”

Just when I was about to send my first tweet to the world Salman Rushdie and Taslima Nasrin started micro-clawing each other in Twitterland.

“Be aware of Salman Rushdie! He wants to get girls in his ‘whipped cream’ range”, tweeted Nasrin.

Rushdie tweeted back, “Somewhere in the distance I hear the envious miaow of #Taslima-Nasreen being catty about me. Tut, tut, Taslima. #Shame #Lajja.”

Needless to say that Salman Rushdie and Taslima Nasrin made a spectacle of themselves, hurling virtual twitballs at each other. But Taslima did not learn her lesson. She went ahead and tweeted about Priyanka Chopra’s father. “What an uncouth idiot man.” Why? Because senior Chopra had simply said, “Priyanka is like a son to me”. Taslima found this innocuous comment derogatory for women. The father in a fit of emotions simply praised his daughter. He perhaps did not have women’s liberation on his mind at that moment. And even if Taslima thinks his comments were derogatory, why call someone’s father - uncouth?

Just when Chetan’s new book was about to be released, he slammed Narayan Murthy for running a body shop. It was too much of a coincidence. The timing of Chetan’s tweet smacked of cheap twensationalism.

Recently Suhel Seth has been sued by ITC for Rs 200 crore for defamation. His crime? Suhel had tweeted, “Yogi Devesh will teach the insider trading course at Tihar School of Business.” If one repeatedly bad-mouths in public, people are bound to retaliate.Also if celebrities cannot reign in their thoughts, what about lesser mortals? We live in exciting times where the tweet about Ms Sawant insuring her privates makes news.

Like any other, twitter as a tool, has two sides. It can be used to disseminate information, to share ideas, to convey thoughts and to express angst. Flip the coin and you can engage in twattles, twensationalism or twipmanship. The choice is yours tweeples. Have fun. Out in the open!

Black Beauties

2011-11-06T00:11:00.000-07:00

If you ever wanted to grasp the tenets of social science, human psychology and disaster management, without actually going to college, then all you need is a ride on Gurgaon’s blazing black beauties – the shared auto-rickshaw called ‘Vikram’. It is a gift from Italy; with love.

At the end of World War II when most Italians lacked a mode a transport, Enrico Piaggio came up with the idea of a three wheeler for commoners. In the twenty first century India, visionary Rahul Bajaj introduced the shared auto as economical means of transportation. Fret not; Gurgaon will have Pod Taxis soon. Till then it’s ‘Jai Vikram’ for the cattle class commuters.

Going by their reputation, I was repeatedly cautioned by the husband and son to stay away from a shared auto. No matter what.

Because the infernal agony of finding space in the perpetually overloaded smoke spewing monster, reminds you of the erstwhile ‘fevicol’ advertisement. “Thoda adjust karo,” slogan is an awesome metaphor the Black beauties. A student from the north-east, a laborer from the east, a techie from the south and a trader from the west; all coexist in harmony reveling in the marvel called Gurgaon.

The innards of the shared auto are a place to savor, an assortment of aromas with an eclectic conglomeration of Indian diversity on the topsy-turvy roads. Once you are settled, there is no reason to sniff disparagingly as the black beauty ferries flatulent jerks, tipsy travelers, decrepit dudes and stinking souls. All with equal felicity!

The undulating ride can be a molesters dream come true. The damned potholes provide the adrenalin surge. With the predator and the prey snugly sandwiched, the black beauty expedition is an inescapable nemesis for single working women.

Even though the antiquated black beauties are synonymous with agony, they are the preferred mode of transport as they drastically reduce commuting expenses. So what if the black beauties create a dent in the veneer of sophistication for the residents with deep pockets? They can keep their BMW’s. And their Mercs. And their chauffeurs too!

The auto drivers of ‘Vikram” are an equally condemned lot. It is said that they fleece, they cheat, they over-charge and they misbehave. In short they are alleged to be ‘Haryanavi ruffians’.

One drizzly evening, when the husband was not in town and son had vanished with the car, I had to fetch test reports from the nearby nursing home. The idea was to walk the short distance, but the drizzle came in earnest. The husbands caution, “I will get the reports on my way back, don’t venture out in the rain,” did nothing to stop me. You know what? Rain does strange things to people; it brought the teenager in me. I did exactly what I was told not to. Simply, for the heck of it! Or was the writer in me looking for some adventure? I am not sure.

To start with, flagging a shared auto on the road is an art in itself. One has to shed all inhibitions, disregard the traffic mavens, and stand in the middle of the road for effective signaling. Patience, perseverance and providence, all help.

I was fortunate enough to flag an auto. And within minutes too! After promptly seeking blessings from all the God’s in the pantheon, I jumped in. I was fortunate enough to be the lone passenger.

On that particular day however, I realized that stereotyping seriously warps our judgment. Because my auto driver refrained from ferrying any other male passenger in order to make me feel safe. On reaching destination when I realized that I was short of change, the guy sheepishly said, “koi baat nahi madam, next time,” and drove off.

That I got an earful from both, my husband and son is another matter.

Need for Perpetual Excitement?

2011-10-30T04:40:00.000-07:00

What is it about car racing that attracts the male species? Is it the thrill of taming sleek monsters? Is it the excitement for sheer speed? Or is it about controlling mean machines? Perhaps, all three! Psychologists say that it is the need for constant excitement which has men going Gaga over car racing.

I am not questioning the need to spend millions on an elite and dangerous (Two deaths on the tracks in a month) sport.It is debatable. Other than the skill and courage of the driver, Formula1 is a multi billion dollar enterprise. A top driver can make up to $ 30 million dollars a year and more from sponsorships and promotions. Also when 600 million viewers watch the thrilling technological sport on television, surely, there must be something.

But where does the thrill come from? Not merely from racing. If it was only about the thrill of racing, Kerala’s Boat Race would draw similar enthusiastic response from the urban crowds. What if Mittals and Mallyas combine their marketing skills and promote ‘Airtel B1 Boat Challenge’ with foreign contestants, in God’s own country and invite Madonna to perform? The scene could very well spice up. But it won’t be the same.

More than the speed, the thrill comes from the lurking danger. A thirteen year old boy who had come to catch a glimpse of his icon Schumacher thought that the thrill of speed was phenomenal, but was upset that he could not witness a single crash.

Imagine what would happen if Asha Bhonsle or a younger Sunidhi Chauhan were performing at the inaugural event of F1 racing. Would the urban crowd shell out Rs 15,000 for the tickets and other Rs 1500 for the parking? I doubt it. It is Lady Gaga’s esoteric antics which they wish to see and not staid boring Indian singers. So what if they never hum Gagas meaningless songs?

What is good for the west should be good for us too. After the success of ‘Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara’, Bangalore and Mysore celebrated ‘Tomatina’ festival by pelting 6200 kgs of fruit pulp. I am surprised some ingenious soul did not get the idea of organizing Pampolina Bull Run. It was easy. Assemble all the stray bulls loitering in the sabzi mandis, request Mallaya to sponsor it and Wohooo…Spain could come to India. What are a few broken bones in between Spain and India?

Sorry guys, the idea is not to deride the thrill and excitement of car racing. In fact, it is good that Indians are being exposed to a sport other than cricket, the concept of speed other than Brett Lee and the concept of thrill other than twenty over cricket. My intention is to simply delve deeper and find what is it that excites racing enthusiasts?

I mean, don’t Delhiites drive everyday to office? And given the road rage incidents, I am sure they hate it. Perhaps it’s the heady concoction of sleek machines, the silky smooth track and thrill of speed. Psychologists also say that it is all about the thrill of doing something new, something different. Like the thrill of doing it in the dirty kitchen than the comfortable bedroom. Or like the thrill of making out with the ugly girlfriend rather than the beautiful wife.

The eighty one year old F1 empire head Bernie Ecclestone says, “In India not more than two percent of the spectators have witnessed such an event, so it is about the novelty factor”. A new sport. A new track. A new race. Lady Gaga first time in India. All encourage dopamine rush and the need to be in a perpetual state of excitement. Vroom!

Spilling The Beans

2011-10-20T23:34:00.000-07:00

The crisp air holds the promise of a chilly winter. It reminds me of evenings, especially chilly ones when I indulged in hedonism with a cup of cardamom tea, a good book and my favorite piece of music.

Sadly the humble tea has fallen from its perch, and atop pedestal is a concoction of cocoa beans, which the malls love to serve in all its variants; leaving the tea guzzlers at the mercy of road side vendors. The humble tea’s decadence has been taken over by the whiff of compelling coffee leaving one with a feeling of Déjà brew: the feeling that you’ve had this coffee before. So I was greatly amused by the inauguration of ‘Wagh Bakri Tea Lounge’ in a Delhi mall.

I am not a coffee or a tea person. I oscillate between the two, depending on the weather and my mood. But have you noticed that lately coffee tastes bitter and roasted?

Let me spill some beans here. A lot can happen over a cup of coffee but a lot is happening in the cuppa too. The roasted ground root of Chicory plant is replacing expensive Arabica coffee beans. Why? One kilo of pure coffee powder gives hundred cups, but a blend with 45% chicory can give two hundred cups. Since the moral of the market is to make money, chicory rules.

In his ode to the beverage a coffee lover said, “As coffee falls into my stomach, straightway there is a general commotion. Ideas begin to move like the battalions of the grand army in the battlefield. Things remembered arrive at full gallop, ensuing to the wind.” It is therefore natural to surmise that any stimulating conversation needs crushed cocoa beans swirling in expensive bone china for that much desired grey cell activation.

What began in the US with the popularity of Starbucks has become a trend in urban India. Almost anything that fancies the well-travelled and the high-heeled, even if sold at a premium, evokes interest from the desi globalised citizen. Like the Congressmen of yore I sense a hidden hand of South American market forces in conspiring to overwhelm the humble tea lover. Brazil and Columbia, one of the largest exporters of cocoa, after enticing us with their beauties have conspired to hook us to their beans.

As I write, the latest research absolves the market forces and claims to have identified a gene which plays a role in how much coffee people drink. The study says that caffeine protects us against diseases like the Parkinson’s. I can sense the market forces at play again.

That explains why forty percent of the coffee consumed is now gourmet and why the besotted guzzlers find coffee as the best option to douse the sunrise with. But if coffee prices zoom ahead, the Costa Coffees will face stiff competition from price sensitive Indian consumers, who wouldn’t mind venturing in a ‘Wagh Bakri Tea Lounge’. Yes, irrrespective of the quote - "Coffee, choclates and men - some things are better rich."

We live in stressed times where our frazzled nerves need constant comforting and as long as the ideological shift from ‘tea time’ to ‘coffee breaks’ helps in holding the yawns and forty winks, there will always be too much blood in our caffeine system.

Motorised Circus

2011-10-14T00:08:00.000-07:00

Dear Mr Advani,

I thought I should congratulate you for undertaking a 7600km long arduous Jan Chetna Yatra at the ripe old age of 83. Or is it 85? Whatever!

But Mr Advani why do you think that my chetna is dead and you need to awaken it by your motorized circus? FYI, I am alive, aware and informed regarding the ills plaguing this nation. I struggle with them on a daily basis.

How I wish I could own one of your air-conditioned raths. Heard you have many. Since one got damaged, you ordered a new one. But who pray, is providing you with these high-tech chariots? And diesel? Oh, I forgot that Yeddy and Reddy have amassed enough to pay for your diesel bills.

You are lucky since no one is asking uncomfortable questions regarding BJP, because Anna is with you. And a jittery Congress ki to wat lag gayi hai.

Mr Advani, why did you start this yatra from Chapra, the birth place of Jai Prakash Narayan? Was it political symbolism or political tokenism? Honestly dude, it doesn’t matter. Today’s youth cares a damn for both. How difficult is it for you and your freaking dinosaur brigade to comprehend the fact that archaic symbolism is dead for us? And while others are debating, your protégé Uma behen Bharti has already endorsed your name as the future PM.
How can I forget her, "Ek dhakka aur do" historical comment uttered shamelessly a decade ago. Can you?

Honestly, tell me Advani ji. Dil par haath rakh ke boliye. Do you really wish to be the PM? The other day I saw you on TV saying, “I do not wish to be the PM, but if the party so decides, I will abide by the party.” You know Advani ji when you say that you remind me of any B grade Bollywood actress who harps on the cliché and says, “I will strip only if the role demands.”

And what is with this fetish for garlands and headgears? Perhaps because Modi got several headgears during his sadbhavna farce, you thought why not me? What do you do with all the fancy headgears? Forget all that, tell me why were your party men caught distributing cash to journalists in MP? Such desperation? You thought you wont get a positive coverage, hai na?

Finally tell me if you are not awakening my chetna and you don’t wish to be the PM then why the ‘rath circus’? Why not sit in a room with your arch rivals and work on a few legislation's which will benefit the nation.

But why am I even writing this letter. You won’t get it, will you? You just got inspired by Anna and Modi and wanted to do something. Another fast would be juvenile. So another yatra. Aren’t you trying too hard to get noticed? As your well wisher; let me tell you that your yatra is much doo- doo about nothing. If anything, it is a colossal waste of time, money, energy and diesel. And it ain't taking you anywhere near PMs gaddi. Modi and Rahul will make sure of that.

Truthfully yours

And The Award Goes To.....

2011-10-08T08:44:00.000-07:00

Corporate houses have had their day. Rough neck squads are an embarrassment. Grass root workers are dead. The brahmastra for political resurrection is 24/7 media coverage. Don’t agree? Well, didn’t media support catapult a mild mannered septuagenarian to an alleged Gandhi reincarnate? And a 24/7 coverage did bleach stains off Modi’s pristine white kurta.

So it made sense when the ministry of Information and Broadcasting decided to smooch the media mavens by felicitating them. The Editors in Chief of various television channels, and the other hoi-polloi with the mighty pen and mightier mouth were invited.

A leggy bimbo who kept forgetting names was announcing the awards. Here are a few excerpts.

Leggy Lass: We start the awards ceremony with not one, not two but three awards ‘Conscience Now’ ‘Morality Now’ and ‘Angel Now’. All the three awards go to A G. No, it is not a pun on his initials. He is Almighty God. Please welcome him on stage, the Editor in Chief of ‘Your Channel’.

The recipient had discarded his suit and blue rimmed spectacles and looked different in a blue tee that proclaimed ‘I am Trouble, See you in Hell’. His raven locks were freshly shampooed and gave a huge complex to all the women present in the hall.

AG: “Well…Thank you ladies and gentlemen for the TRPs of ‘Your Channel’. Tonight, in two minutes from now, I wish to thank several dignitaries without whom it would be impossible for me to neuter my rivals. I wish to thank Mr. G Parthasarthy for Pak bashing, Mr. Maroof Raza for China bashing, the civil society for UPA bashing, Mr. Ravi Shankar Prasad for Singhvi bashing, Mr. Singhvi for Advani bashing and on days when we couldn’t whack anyone, Mr. Suhel Seth for punching the air.

My special thanks to Ms. Renuka Choudhary for grimacing, rolling her eyes and thereby adding a dash of wit. I have to salute her amazing intellect. Above all I wish to thank Dr. Subramaniam Swamy for providing enough fodder for all of us to chew. In two minutes from now I have to be back on ‘Your Channel’, so thank you.

Leggy Lass: The next award is called the ‘Award that Wasn’t’’ goes to the gentleman from the Congress News Network who had to face the nation for ‘cash for vote scam’… I wish to invite him and his pretty wife on stage.

Editor in Chief of Congress News Network: As you know I commit but later shy away. Can’t reveal much…Thank you.

Leggy Lass: The ‘Breaking Today’ award goes to aaj tak ki best headline, I simply love it - ‘Saas and the City’. Anyone who came up with such a title deserves an award. Hai na audience? Please give him a big hand.

A short, bald gentleman with a smug grin came on the stage to receive the award. Heard he was caught cozying up with Big bro Mukesh.

Bald Guy: He..he..he. (Grins) I so enjoyed ‘seedhi baat’ until my ‘seedhi baat’ was tapped and made public. Anyway, MJ Akbar is doing that show but he is not as acerbic as I was.

Leggy Lass: Our next award the ‘Sensational Sawant ’ award goes to my favorite channel. Arre wahi…. which airs the courtroom drama called ‘Aap ki adalat’.

A gentleman who had painstakingly combed his hair over the bald spots and sported a cheesy smile that stuck right through the evening came on the stage.

Hair Transplant Guy: Thank you for not getting scared by my horrifying news programs. I try my best to terrorize the audience. The other day we aired a show, ‘Sikkim mein aaya bhukamp. Ab dilli ki baari hai,” but none of the Delhites got terrorised. I wish to thank desperate wannabes like Rakhi Sawant and Poonam Pandey for all the spice and muck we churn out day after day.

Leggy Lass: Finally ladies and gentlemen, he…he… the ‘Greenathon Lifetime’ award’ goes to Dr……‘Big Daddy’ of television.

A gentleman sporting a beard came on stage. He doesn’t tom-tom but he happens to be the first cousin of Arundhati Roy – the new cheer girl for the hatemongers. Along with Big Daddy came his faithful protégé in cropped hair. Poor girl was so conscious. She fell from the heights of Kargil to the depths of Radia, perhaps that’s why.

BIG DADDY: It gives me great pleasure to see children, borne of my womb bag all the awards. But there are times when parenthood seems nothing but feeding a mouth that bites you. (His eyes well up.)

Even those who are nothing but tabloid level melodramatic hot air have received more awards than me…sigh. But the buck stops here. I would rather be a BBC than a Breaking Today.

I wish to thank my protege who keeps the flag flying…except for an occasional tape entanglement. As you all know I feel uncomfortable in this new fangled bitchiness on television. I don’t wish to be the referee when politicians fight like cats and dogs on television. Thank you all.

(Ms Chaudhary whispers in Ms Soni’s ears, “I got it. He is calling me a cat. I don’t mind being a feline if Prannoy is calling the BJP canine. Don’t they sniff power and bark their lungs off like hungry mongrels?)

“Arrey…bas karo this is not a TV studio,” shouted someone from the audience.

(At a fictional award function)

Cheers!

2011-09-30T00:25:00.000-07:00

Let me at the outset say that the certified drowner of sorrows and the uplifter of spirits – alcohol, is a subject of personal informed choice. But a certain contradiction has been brewing in my head for days.

The recent point blank killing of a toll booth employee by a drunken youth stirred up terrifying images of Jessica Lall who was also killed for refusing to serve a drink. Tippling and temper do go hand in hand. A few swigs and voila, one is either all bindaas and euphoric or angry and irrational.

But the paradox is that there are innumerable liquor shops on one side of the highway, and cops waiting to pounce with the deadly breath analyzer on the other. News is that Pizza Hut outlets will soon offer beer and wine on their menu. Good. With fast-food outlets, pubs, and neighborhood liquor shops, all offering an array of intoxicants, every gulp in a public space is weighed with some sense of responsibility. Some recognize the fact yet some don’t.

Do not drink and drive says the sign board. The million dollar question is, “who then drives the car home?” Hire a driver you say. Well, while the sahib was guzzling away, what stops the driver from some merry making?

I wish to share an anecdote here. In an Emirates flight my fellow traveler was served unlimited drinks by a smiling air-hostess with all the professionalism at her disposal. The tipsy gentleman perhaps got sozzled after a few shots and in a fit of inebriation repeatedly winked at the air-hostess. As soon as the flight reached Mumbai he had to undergo an alcohol test. After testing positive he was handed over to CISF. Fine, the guy transgressed the line by a mile but why serve unlimited drinks in- flight?

Eight out of ten times, offensive behavior is attributed to in-flight alcohol consumption. It is like offering the traveler unlimited porn (American Airlines) and then expecting him to regard the woman next to him as a nun.

Imagine the air hostess asking, “Sir what will you have? Some coffee, tea, wine or porn?”

How many lone travelers would come up with, “I would prefer some lime juice. And only family channels for me sister.”

Air-France has an all male crew on duty in the first-class section when Dominique Strauss Kahn is travelling. Statements from Air-France said that this decision came after an intoxicated Kahn had propositioned several women crew members.

This inexplicable mindset cannot be attributed to illiteracy, unemployment, frustration or age. It transcends all barriers. Again some are responsible drinkers yet some aren’t.

According to an article in ET, a study by Harvard School of Public Health researchers analyzed preventable causes of death in the US and they found a mixed bag of results. First the good news. Tippling allegedly averted 26,000 deaths each year from heart attacks, diabetes and strokes. No, don’t go for that glass as yet. Flip the coin and the redemption becomes damnation. The same data was offset by 90,000 deaths due to liver diseases, accidents and other ill effects of liquor.

Dorothy Parker, a poet said, "I love to drink Martinis/Two at the very most/Three I am under the table/Four I am under the host." The key word seems to be moderation.
Dorothy Parker also said, “Drink and dance and laugh and die, Love the reeling midnight through, for tomorrow we shall all die”.
It makes sense but where, when and how much remains equally significant. When the ex IMF chief can transgress all lines, lesser mortals intoxicated with false notions of power have extra responsibility to drink but not get drunk.

But my question remains. Who steers the car away from the cops safely back home?

Virtual Venom

2011-09-19T10:25:00.000-07:00

Letter writing is dead. The sleek mobile has been toppled from its perch. The formal e-mails have had their day. Cyber space, the new canvass for communication with varied hues now provides a platform to sneer and to cheer alike.

Of all the seductions of web, perhaps the most enticing for the angry user is that it allows fury to be funneled via the virtual tunnel. And since controversy sells, the shortest route to fame is put your foot in your angry mouth, albeit in style. A fuming damsel from the south became the uncrowned queen of blogdom, when she threatened to shove coconuts down the Delhi boys until coir sprouted from you know where. Having initiated a slanging match on her blog, it was easy to lure the argumentative ones in a free for all. The national daily rushed to publish the blog post in an attempt to fuel the controversy and make hay while the angry opined.

Come to think of it, it is the abuser who falls from the high pedestal, not the abused. That brings me to the question: Is cyber rage aiding in catharsis, or is it creating an abusive intolerant society?

Like any other the web is not infallible. More so when one is entering a world of strangers, and is not quite ready for it. Two thirteen year olds living in a metro typed, ‘What’s up?’ to initiate a chat with their Principal. After a while, they ended the chat with, ‘F***k off’ and ‘Go to hell’. A furious Principal suspended both the boys.

Lately, cyber space has become a favorite arena for anonymous abusive punches and slanging matches. The web becomes even more precarious when it provides a platform to shout the loudest without any accountability. Rewind the reel to your hostel days when we considered thrashing the warden by throwing a blanket on him, under the cover of darkness. Veiled in a mask, it is easy to vent anger against establishment. That explains the ugly graffiti staring at us from the innards of elevators, monuments and public toilets. The scribblers cannot be held accountable even though they draw graphic anatomies with the names of their lusted or hated ones. The lack of accountability provides a fillip to coward frustrated souls.

The cyber anger is mostly directed against celebrities, powerful and of course the favorite whipping boys – politicians. As a simple mortal I am yet to receive a malicious comment or abuse, but then I have carefully avoided contentious topics. The sweet bouquets will almost immediately become toxic brickbats if the topic of discussion is controversial. No matter what I write on the ‘reservation policy’ in education, or on religion, a section of readers is bound to get offended. Dissent is acceptable but abuse is not. Take the most recent events of deification of a mild mannered but strong willed Gandhian. If you are not in agreement with the popular sentiment on the street then you will be doused with vitriol in cyber space.

The anonymous acerbic voices become the judge, jury and the defendant and have moments of collective catharsis on the web. Even at the risk of bristling like an old crow, I am concerned about the age of rage. Abusive slanging matches on twitter, blogs, and chat rooms are signs of an ailing society. Above all it has to be said that anonymous abuse is the weapon of the vulgar; not the civilized.

Cupid Strikes

2011-09-16T00:04:00.000-07:00

(With several hate-mails doing the North-South rounds, it’s time for some fictional love across the borders.)

Hello sweetheart,

When two fearless and single souls engage in an endearing war of words, then surely it is destiny playing cupid behind the scenes. Please don’t trample my tender outpourings with heavy boots…err sandals of reason for this letter comes straight from my heart.

Living under house arrest here in UK, I have been watching many Hindi films with English subtitles. Sorry, but it took a Hindi movie for me to recognize your feelers veiled in threats. You see, while watching, ‘Pagla kahin ka’ I realized that an archetype of a Bollywood coy heroine, before falling head over heels (that reminds me of your sandals) in love for the hero fondly calls him awaara , paglaa, or deewana. Ahh...so you called me mad out of love.

So far my exposes have evoked either a silence or a denial, but not a single soul organized a press conference to label me a mad man. Thank God you did! For that’s when I saw you on TV.

The smoldering eyes, the enviable duskiness, the olive skin, the cropped hair and the pink dress have resulted in many a sleepless nights. I toss and turn as I imagine myself slipping sandals on your dainty feet. People call me a whistle blower but honestly for you, I am ready to blow the whistle until my last breath.

I have missed much in life as I did not have a companion but now I am smitten by your adorable anger. I promise to taste food, water and air before every morsel you eat, every sip you take and every breath you inhale. I sense a fire burning on both sides. Why else would you want me in Agra mental asylum, in Mayaland?

Together we will expose your opponents, strip them and make sure that they are writhing on a mat before you. Together we will create a proud Aussie Dalit legacy, one sandstone elephant at a time. Together we shall travel in your private jet and collect exotic footwear from around the world.

Quite coincidentally, as I write this letter the music wafting from my TV has a baritone voice reciting, “Kabhie kabhie mere dil mein khayal aata hai, ki jaise….”

Longing for the next opportunity to meet and hoping for an asylum. Even the mental one will do for I am madly head over your celebrated heels.

Ever yours,

Mayasmitten

Julian Assange

Maa, Maggie and Mangoes

2011-09-10T11:03:00.000-07:00

According to a survey by Virgin Atlantic, the back-packs of Indian students enrolled in foreign universities are stuffed with Maggie noodles and mangoes. Ready to pay excess baggage fee for them, students are willing to leave books and clothes behind. Other favorites include pickles, jaggery, bhujias and ghee. One creative soul insisted on carrying the traditional broom. Rightly so! What a broom can, a vacuum cleaner cannot. And old habits die hard.

If you have ever lived in a hostel, then rewind to the golden years. When I went to a hostel, my mother insisted on packing umpteen boxes of saccharine savories. On days when the mess food was despicable which was a norm, those very delicacies came to rescue.

Decades later nothing has changed. My son has similar issues. Always on the day of his departure the house is engulfed in a mist of emotions. As the packing starts, the mist thickens. The father in a somber mood finds solace in mellifluous Rafi or a voluminous book. The grandmother finds refuge in the kitchen. Dishing delicacies for my mother is the measure of her emotional connection. If truth be told, kitchen is not my favorite place. I am in-charge of packing all the food items and making space for the same in the backpack. Space being inadequate, a silent altercation ensues.

For the young man gizmos, wires, hard drives and books are like oxygen cylinders. Naturally space for all the food stuff is limited. But ‘ma ki mamta’ knows no limitation, does it?

Both parties stick to stated positions and the tension escalates. Suddenly a firm voice of his father breaks the impasse. “Take all that your mother has packed. Throw it if you cannot eat it.”

End of the discussion.

Poor boy shoves all the ghee dunked delectable’s made by the ladies of the house at the cost of his favorite clothes and gadgets.

Three days later I receive a call from the young man after dinner.

“Mom… hungry.”

“No food in the mess?”

“Yuck, it was horrible.”

“ Finished all the food I packed?”

“Yes.”

“Dry fruit?”

“Yes.”

“In two days….? Did you throw the stuff or what?”

“Friends finished everything.”

The fact that a few souls had their fill gave some solace.

After the call , like any other mother, I found my dinner insipid, only to be informed the following day that the boys raided the canteen that night and had their fill of aloo parathas.

So if your child is going abroad, where chances of hogging aloo parathas at midnight are bleak, then surely all the ready-to-eat packets and bhujias make sense. The broom makes sense too. After all one does need familiar things away from home.

Badle Ki Aag

2011-09-05T01:30:00.000-07:00

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge? William Shakespeare

So you thought Anna was our nemesis. You thought you could hold a gun and force us to make suicidal laws according to your whims and fancies? And worse! You mocked us, belittled us and tarnished our bedaag reputations. Now that the movement is over and you have had enough fun at our expense. It is payback time folks.

That puny little Kejriwal, the angry young man will rue the day he initiated a movement against the state. The state which gave him a job and a loan of 80,000 rupees for a computer, can also give him sleepless nights. We have sent a police team to his village to unearth his past wrongdoings. The police have discovered that age sixteen, Kejriwal had once winked at a local girl. The police are framing charges against him for misappropriate behavior.

And that theatrical ‘ghoonghat act’ by Kiran Bedi! She is looking for a role in a Yash Chopra movie or what? If only she was in service, she would be transferred to a place where no media has ever gone before. Bahut ho gaya, masti mazaak. It is time for reven….sorry; it is time for law to take its own course. The governance might be in deep freeze but the revenge machinery (IT, CBI, ED, and Police) is working overtime. Behind the cultivated stoicism of ours, lurks a brute force. A force which forgives but never forgets.

What irked us most was the tipsy actor who called us ‘Ganwar’. We are not sitting ducks that any common man can come and spit on the spotless starched khadi. We have set up a committee to research the Hindi lexicons. The submission report tells us that ‘Ganwaar’ is a crossbreed of country lout and country bumpkin. That is beyond derogatory. All the mumbled apologies from Om Puri will not save his face (from being re-arranged).

Just like Salman, we let our fists do the talking.

And very soon that winky wonky Baba will disappear on his island in Scotland. Never to be seen again. Hasn’t his trusted aid vanished in thin air? Being lawyers, the Bhushan duo are tough nuts to crack. The CD controversy has managed to tarnish the saints, and don’t be surprised if more such CDs come out from Amar jis potent arsenal.

What we are doing is not undemocratic. Remember what the biggest democracy in the world did to Julian Assagne, the father of Wikileaks? They slapped charges of rape. So what if the lady who was raped was sleeping? A charge is a charge. And ever since the guy is running from one hiding to another.

But we are not America. We do not stoop to such levels. We play fair. We will do nothing to the writer of this blog post. Only send teams of ED, CBI, IT, Police and Army at her doorstep. If you do not find her on the blog next week, try searching Tihar.

Chiptease

2011-08-23T23:15:00.000-07:00

Yes, the title is designed to do exactly that – tease. And no, it has nothing to do with the word it rhymes with. Well, chiptease is the latest entry in the urban dictionary. What does it mean? You buy a bag of chips thinking that it will be full of chips, but when you open the bag it is barely full, is chiptease. Over promise, but under deliver.No wonder then that nothing weighs lighter than a promise.

Don’t we get chipteased in every walk of our lives?

Politicians, builders, and advertisers all chiptease us when they promise the earth and the sky. And eventually we realize that all the tall promises were a bagful of air.

How about going for a guy who promises the least? In all probability, he will be the least disappointing.

But, why blame others. When it comes to advertising we conveniently dress in hyperbole. Ever wondered how all the girls in matrimonial advertisements are fair, tall and beautiful? By some strange logic most boys are tall, well placed and handsome.

Marketing is all about teasing. The clever jugglery of words and phrases like ‘up to 50% off’ and ‘conditions apply’ are all marketing chipteasers. The moment you close eyes to the ‘Up to’ tag, you are in for a big hole in the pockets. Large enough for Harbhajan’s balls to pass through. Clarification. I am referring to the ball bearings he made in an alcohol advertisement.

The recent chiptease cleverly executed by master chipteaser Kapil Sibal and supported by his cronies has resulted in mayhem on the streets. Only this time his chicanery was caught by the people and the government stood exposed. Just like Shakti Kapoor in his underpants! The chiptease became striptease. Finally the cameo role was allotted for the mighty Pranab da, the official counselor of disputes.

This decade has redefined more than a few words so that modern writing has become cryptic. The new words become a part of our lexicon only if they remain relevant like twitter and Bluetooth. In my earlier post I had written about new words like sofalize( Socialise from the comforts of home) and coffice( Having coffee in office) but both have become irrelevant due to lack of usage. And English is a funny language. From chiptease to striptease, it is all about relevance and usage.

**********************************************************

Here is my humble attempt at poetry in Hinglish. You will appreciate it only if you have heard the latest Airtel jingle. Imagine the pauses and the drumbeats at appropriate places.

DESH JO CHAHE, DOOR LE JAAYE

Jaise ship ke liye …..captain hota hai

Aise desh ke liye…. neta hota hai, par har ek neta zaroori hota hai!

Koi subah 7 baje arrest karaye, koi midnight dande barsaye

Koi fascist koi anarchist hota hai , but har ek neta zaroori hota hai!

Koi har deal mein paise banaye, koi many times foreign trips lagaye

Koi psycophant koi communal hota hai, but har ek neta zaroori hota hai!

Koi jhoot bole aur hamein behkaaye, koi silence se hamein pakaaye

Koi grassroot, koi crown prince hota hai, but har ek neta zaroori hota hai!

Koi desh ko bech khaye, pakde jaane par victory sign dikhaye

Koi immoral, koi 86 hota hai, but har ek neta zaroori hota hai!

Kis kis ke naam par desh roz rota hai, par har ek neta zaroori hota hai.

Madam, madam.......

One Depressed, Another Delusional

2011-08-17T23:52:00.000-07:00

PATIENT NAME:Congress

OUT PATIENT SUMMARY: The patient shows clear signs of anxiety, fatigue, and loss of interest with suicidal tendencies.

CVS: NAD

HEAD: Swollen

ABDOMEN: Over-stuffed

EXTREMETIES: Jerky

TONGUE: Slippery

DIAGONOSIS: Subclinical Depression

MEDICATION ADVISED: Prozac 80, Alprax 0.50mg, Restyl 0.50mg TDS

We are unaware of the malaise afflicting Madam, but her party has been diagnosed with sub-clinical depression.

The art of politics is tested in times of dissent. The Grand Old Party is on slippery grounds. Each of them is falling with twice the thud even before the previous runner has had a chance to get up and shrug off the dirt. They are collectively in a firm grip of chronic depression. If you are medically inclined then you must be aware of the symptoms of depression exhibited by each one of them.

Dry Mouth, unexpected silence and fatigue: Dr. Manmohan Singh- He cannot speak or take action even when a daylight robbery takes place right under his nose.

Drowsiness, slurred speech: S.M. Krishna – He is awake only when he is shaking hands with Ms. Hina Rabbani Khar. He shook hands with her for so long that he ended up with a dislocated shoulder.

Epileptic Seizures: Mr. Digvijay Singh – On days he forgets to take Prozac, he sacrifices all virtues on the altar of power.

Acute mania: Mr. Tiwari - Power is an aphrodisiac and it seems he took an overdose of Viagra leading to extended arrogance. From head to toe!

Flip-flops, megalomania: Mr. Clever Sibal – He refuses to take his daily dose of Prozac. No doubt he thinks that all the brickbats he gets are bouquets. So he keeps shoving mud in the eyes of a nation semi-blind with sleaze.

Delusion: Mr. Rashid Alvi - He imagines a foreign hand which is forcing and mobilizing people to come out on the streets.

Sweating, Blurred vision: Ms. Renuka Chowdhary - When the nation is debating the method and means of Anna, she tells Arnab to go and watch Peepli Live, implying that the present outpouring on the streets is media created, and that Anna is Natha of Peepli Live. God, someone please tell her to stop wiping make-up from her ostensibly botoxed forehead.

FOLLOW UP: Patients condition to be checked frequently. Optimal level of medication should continue as withdrawal of medicines might lead to suicidal tendencies.

As imagined by a delusional neurologist.

We all know that Jan Lok Pal is not a panacea for all evils. The anger spilling on the streets is not only against corruption. It is against scheming ministers, lack of communication, rising prices, political arrogance, lack of leadership, lack of opportunities and uneven distribution of wealth.

The pent-up anger has simply found a vent via Anna.

Rahul Gandhi has also squandered a once in a life time opportunity. Instead of arresting Anna he should have gone and met Anna at his residence, come up with a compromise solution, and introduced the compromised version as a private members bill. That would have ensured a halo on his crown.

Personally for me the anger is also against BJP for piggy riding the Anna wave. They are simply fishing in troubled waters. When the time comes to act in the parliament they will make sure to thwart a strong bill. Who wants to axe his own foot?

The Congress’s weakness is BJP’s strength. In reality they are two sides of the same coin. If the Congress is suffering from depression the BJP is suffering from delusions of smelling an opportunity in unstable polity. And with both parties in the sickbay the nation is on the streets.

It All Adds Up

2011-08-13T00:09:00.000-07:00

OF A, B, C, S and P's

There are three kinds of people; those who can count and those who cannot. No points for guessing that I belong to the second category.

And I thought my misery was over after school. No mathematics. No tension. But the A’s have come to haunt me again after decades of peace. As a child, I was most anxious about my mathematics grades. Being realistic, I never hoped for an A+ but a decent B+ was always a face saver.

I agree that it is idiotic to compare a nation’s report card with that of a child, but the comparisons are compelling. The downgrade of US economy from an AAA on long term debt to an AA+ has taken me down the memory lane. To add to my agony the ratings agency, Standard and Poor’s sounds like my strict math teacher Sister Paula. Anything below a B+ warranted a piercing stern look, “You need to work hard, my child.” And anything below C was a clear signal for an ominous parent-teacher meeting. In school a mathematics downgrade, meant work harder. Interestingly for the US too, it essentially means work harder - less spending and more earning.

Not many would be aware of the musical group, ‘Blood Sweat Tears’ which popularized a phrase, ‘what goes up, must come down’ in their hit song Spinning Wheel. Yes, it must and it does. Poor Obama, his fiftieth birthday made history. In one stroke Standard & Poor’s stripped Amrika of a seventy year old exalted AAA status. Obama’s optimistic ‘Yes we can’ has become ‘Yes we might’. And the irony is that the S&P President, in the eye of storm is – Dey-vein Shaar-maa an Inn-di-haan.

To be fair to the US I would love to know the accountability of these rating agencies like S&P, Moody’s and Fitch etc. I mean with weird names like Moody’s, how the hell does one trust their ratings? Yankees, please do not take offence, but it is a fact that average intelligence levels of Americans has arguably been B+, but as providence would have it, they have enjoyed AAA; life and ratings both. Regardless of being poor mathematicians, every equation in their life added up brilliantly! So far!

You have to hand it to the Americans who are bravely trying to laugh off the downgrade blues. The comic chat show host, Jay Leno quipped, “This is how bad our credit is now. President Obama just asked China for another loan and they won’t give it to him unless his mother-in-law co-signs.”

Coming back to my struggle with numbers a research says that math ability is inborn – either you have it or you don’t. Thank you researchers for easing the load of guilt I carried for years. But any downgrade hurts. The latest one of the United States has already caused me a substantial loss on the stock market. I hate this. Why should their follies and their report card affect my life? A sneezes, B catches cold, C lands in the hospital, and D almost dangles between life and death. We are one big family where economics is concerned.

At the end of the day it is the ordinary people who have to pay back the huge debts some governments picked up. All of us have to collectively pull our socks to survive or Sister Paula might give us a good spanking for the downgrades.

The Changing Face

2011-08-10T04:04:00.000-07:00

Legendary Charlie Chaplin sans his trademark Moustaches

Peter Parker is dead. A new younger Spiderman is going to sling his web and fight crime. It is just not a new teenager climbing Manhattan buildings but Miles Morales is half-black, half-Hispanic American who saves the world after the death of Parker at the hands of the Green Goblin. Making Spiderman black is keeping with the new trend and times, it is said.

I smell either political tokenism or an attempt to reach out to wider audiences rather than starting a new trend. The only colors I can associate with Spider man are blue and red.

But hello? Isn’t the new trend about the fair and lovely man? Yes, the fairness obsession has transcended barriers and is haunting men. Back home Shahid and Shahrukh, are endorsing fairness creams for men. And whatever happened to the Mills and Boon ka tall dark and handsome hero? The machismo of M& B hero was directly proportional to the rugged features, a scar on the face and day old stubble.

The tall and dark has given way to fair and short brigade led by Ranbir and Imran who are ruling the roost. The thick bushy moustache too has given way to day old stubble. Not that I adore hirsute characters but why the notion that a face with moustache does not reflect the urban face of globalised India?

I guess, to each his own but I grew up watching Kamal Hassan with moustaches in” Ek Duje ke liye” and sans moustache I fail to connect with him. The joke goes that the earth did not revolve on its axis but on Rajnikant’s single strand of moustache. And wasn’t Rajni saar looking weird minus moustache in Robot? No wonder the earth shook after the release of Robot.

I remember when I was a teenager, several friends had huge crushes on Ravi Shastri and Anil Kumble. Okay do not screw your noses in disgust, Shastri used to be a dude once upon a time before ravages of time blew his hair and moustache away. Both sacrificed their moustaches perhaps to become a part of the international scene where cricketers and international sportsmen are mostly clean shaven.

Ha, ha…. I just imagined Obama and Beckham in a bushy moustache.

Have you noticed that none of the legendary super heroes have sported a moustache? Now that I rack my brains, not many Indian mythological heroes sported a moustache either. Beards yes but moustaches, no. However, the urban super heroes like Spiderman and Phantom are happy to use the razor daily. But the angry young ones who dare to defy the system and thrash the baddies do not shy away from a moustache a la Robin Hood.

And of course, our very own Chulbul and Sing-ham pasted thin moustaches since they were thrashing baddies.

Coming back to the fascination for white, it is sad that advertising professionals are forcing the fairness obsession on men, when the world is downgrading the ratings of most ‘fair economies’. We know that the malaise runs deep when a Namrata Randhawa aka Nikki Haley, the Indian American Governor of North Carolina lists herself as ‘white’ in her voter registration. Political convenience or colonial mindsets, you decide.

The scales however are slowly tilting towards yellows and browns. The whites have had their time under the sun. Time to unshackle the white obsession and upgrade the brown ratings!

Wake-Up Call

2011-08-02T00:59:00.000-07:00

Normal delivery? Nah! This blog was born after much melodrama and suspense. Let me share how it came into being. No, I am not spinning yarns about Adam and Eve or dishing out scintillating details regarding birds and bees. I am simply rewinding the writing reel. Slide by slide.

August 2007.

The emotional fool that I am, I penned a heartfelt piece after my only son left home for college. Friends being friends appreciated the article, and in a fit of delusion, I mailed the piece to the Times of India. Hope bloomed and I was the first to wake up, sprint towards the door to grab the newspaper. Days passed but my article never appeared. Over time hope diminished, life took over and I forgot all about it.

A few months later while I was vacationing in Kerala I received a call from a friend. “Is it your article in today’s paper?” Since I was unable to grab a newspaper in a far off resort, I asked her to read the first few lines of the piece.

Yes!

Remember when Shah Rukh motivates his ‘Chak De’ girls he says, “Yeh sattar minute tumhari zindagi ke sabse keemti hai, yeh tumse koi nahin cheen sakta? Those six hundred fifty odd words catapulted me from a perceived contrite homemaker to an acclaimed cerebral writer. Funny! As if having extra grey cells was a preserve of working women. Dolly Bindra is a working woman. So?

Anyway, I was a woman who had shot her literary bolt. Having tasted blood, my fingers tap danced on the keyboard like a women possessed. Unfortunately, other than my letters to the editors, not a single word got published. I had no literary moorings but the trigger for enthusiasm, if any, was the appreciation I got for that one article that reached a million homes. Naturally, dil wanted more.

Slowly my prized newspaper cutting was reduced to a piece of yellow parchment. The thought that many would have eaten samosa’s with grimy chutney on my article at various road side stalls added to the disappointment. The inner voice said, read more write less. As a result writing sustained, albeit at a slow pace; only for sanity sake. But I never mailed any of my articles to newspapers or magazines.

August 2010.

The house was swarming with relatives who had thronged to meet my brother and his family on a visit from the US. Just after dinner the phone rang. It was from the Times of India, Gurgaon office. A girl named Pooja was on line.

“My editor liked your article in his mail box and wants to meet you tomorrow morning. Can you make it?”

Of course! I can come right away to meet your editor in any corner of the world, is what I wanted to say. I was that gob smacked. Which article was she talking about?

The family huddled like Dhoni’s men. As if one meeting and tada….the editor will vacate his seat, bend on his knees and say, “Where were you all these years? In my entire career I have not met anyone as gifted as yourself. We are firing Jug, Bachi and Shobha…even Chetan. Henceforth only you will write for us.” It was as if I had won a gold medal or a Miss India title. My date with destiny was near and everyone chipped in.

“CV,” said my son. “Mom do you have a CV?”

“No.”

“What if the editor wants hard copies of your articles?”

Poor husband went out at night and managed to get some prints. My sis-in-law pitched in with her precious inputs on my CV. Suddenly my six year old niece raised the mother of all questions. “Bua, what will you wear?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does,” was the chorus.

Finally it was decided that I should wear black trousers and a white top. Worst fears came true. The trouser did not fit. My mom strained her eyes to alter the dress much after midnight. “I could manage only half an inch. It’s a matter of few minutes. Hold your breath until the meeting is over. This is where your daily pranayam comes to rescue.” Only my mom can come up with witty ones in tense situations.

Next morning was all about ‘All the bests, do well, don’t be nervous’ and all that crap which makes you even more anxious. The supporting better half that he is, my husband took a day off and went along with me to the editor’s office on the MG road.

To my surprise the receptionist said, “Madam, the editor is not in. He is in Delhi. There is some misunderstanding.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I got a call from this office.”

Flustered, I called up the editor.

“Who? Oh.. …..yes I was to meet you. Sorry, I am busy today. Why don’t you mail a few short pieces and we shall see. Not more than two hundred words. We don’t have space, you see.”

I couldn’t see anything. I was holding my breath. Remember the trousers? And most awful was facing the expectant faces at home. What will I say? That my meeting was so inconsequential, the editor forgot? As reality dawned, I wanted to slink away like mist.

When I broke the story at home my brother came up with the idea of starting a blog.

“Call it Freebird. No word restrictions, no editing, no running after newspapers,” said my son. “Your own space. Fly free. Soar Higher.”

And Freebird was born.

Shed Your Own or Rip Theirs Off ?

2011-07-30T23:28:00.000-07:00

My Guest Post on 'The Unwise Prevails over the Wise'

A preview -

Also, for girls to shed clothes one has to arouse passions. Dirty minds, I am talking about nationalistic passions here. Just the way Dhoni and his men did on the eve of the World cup. The patriotism reached such a crescendo that a certain model was ready to bare all for the World Cup winners. Of course, it’s debatable whether the proposed act of generosity was for self promotion or passions; patriotic or otherwise.

Coming back to Putin, his campaign took off with a bang. Young pretty women made a lingerie calendar with personal messages for their beloved Putin and sang songs, “I want a man like Putin”. It is tough to imagine Indian girls doing that for Manmohan or Advani?

Click here http://prateek-bagri.blogspot.com/2011/07/crazy-about-man-mohan-are-we.html

Marriage Commercials

2011-07-25T01:06:00.000-07:00

I had read about matrimonial commercials but never gave much thought to the new trend of self advertising. A well placed, decent looking cousin of mine has been bride hunting for the past three years, without any luck. His last resort was a matrimonial site. The dot com guys declared that the prospective groom was not exciting enough to make a dent in the marriage market. He needed to strut his stuff in an on-line video to advertise his attributes.

Thank God I am not a part of the present day saturated marriage market. Days of bio data’s, auntyji’s and panditji’s as match makers are long over. We live in a world where we think and remember with the help of Google. Cupid now travels the World Wide Web to strike via bits and bytes.

That set me thinking. If I were to make a video to sell myself today I would never get hitched for life. To start with, I would have serious issues with shooting my matrimonial commercial. Imagine being shot while stirring a pot to demonstrate culinary skills or kicking a football to demonstrate sporting abilities?

Rewinding the nostalgic reel, I remember when my parents announced that a prospective groom’s family was coming to ‘see me’, I revolted. There was a big furor. As someone has said that at twenty one your angst is unique and earth shattering. It’s like acne, everyone’s got it and it’s not that bad. Coupled with my angst, was a scene etched on my mind, courtesy films.

That the girl always dressed in a sari enters with a tray and the girl’s mother says, “Please taste this, hamari Meena/Reena…whatever ne apne hathon se banaya hai.” The girl’s father is humility personified, ready to drop his pagri any moment. The boy both twiddles his fingers and shuffles his feet not knowing where to look. Or he gawks at the girl, all pop eyed. The boy’s mother is always obese and never forgets to ask the girl to strut just to make sure that the girl is not lame.

Several tantrums later, my parents were forced to arrange a meeting away from home. What happened that day was entirely different from what I had assumed. Of course, I got married to the same person who came to ‘meet-me’ and not to ‘see-me’ that day.

But in present times what are the girls looking for?

The decent homely ones are booked in advance. With fixed ideas, the modern working ones are in no hurry. My bride hunting cousin recently acquired a decent small car. One prospective bride refused to proceed because she thought the boy had a tacky boring car. Someone with a bike would be more exciting, she thought. Another girl thought that the car was much below her status and that the boy was too soft and genteel.

Guys if you don’t have a girlfriend whom you plan to marry or an auntyji who can fix you, tighten your seat belts for turbulent times. Start shooting a self video on your handy cam. Strum that guitar lying idle in your room, strut your stuff, and don’t forget to build your abs.

As for girls looking for conjugal bliss the trick is to strike the right chord. If the groom is besotted with adventure sports and gaming then a visual of the future bride operating Playstation Portable or enjoying Counter Strike might catch fancy. A few shots of huffing and puffing on the treadmill will do no harm either. What if the boy is a Hindi movie buff? Then a hair blowing in the wind and a flying chiffon saree moment can set off wedding bells.

At any cost your matrimonial commercial has to create ripples in the marriage market. So either spice it up or hope for divine intervention. Those who are grinning because they are already married, thank the Lord that ‘hamare zamane mein to yeh sab nahin hota tha’.

WHY

2011-07-19T01:36:00.000-07:00

Mr. Terrorist,

I think you have got it all wrong. Please don’t get angry, I am only trying to understand your cause. I am sure you have a motive behind the great pains you take to conduct blasts. What exactly is your motive?

To kill innocent men, women and children?

To challenge the Indian state?

Is it revenge ?

Do you wish to attain Kashmir by acts of violence?

Or do you simply derive sadistic pleasure over gory scenes of blood soaked bodies strewn all over? What is it?

I am sure you are intelligent enough to comprehend the fact that killing innocent people is not helping your cause. You can continue the mayhem and achieve nothing for the next hundred years. That’s clear isn’t it? So what exactly do you want?

Of course if you wish to abuse someone feel free to use the word - resilient. It has become an invective. You see, people have no choice. What does one do when hit by the biggest calamity in life? Rebuild and restart. The cowards of course have the option of jumping on the train tracks or hanging from a fan.

If your aim is to challenge the Indian state, your idea stems from a basic misconception. The Indian state does not value human life. It’s the cheapest commodity available. And in plenty. When you execute an attack, you simply provide fodder for the two main political parties to indulge in their favorite sport - tu-tu mein mein. It is time for them to see saffron and green hues in red - the color of blood. I sometimes wonder what color blood flows in their own veins. Is it saffron or green? Perhaps there is no blood. Only disgusting, toxic and polluted politics flows in their veins.

I know that you derive strength from the fact that a majority of politicians and policemen in Maharashtra are not hand in glove but hand in pocket with the underworld. As long as the powerful are safe in their security bubbles you have a free run. And even if you get caught, you can lead a safe, protected life in jail where the home minister will come and ask you, “kaise ho bhai?”

If your aim is to stop the foreign investors, then also your strategy is not working. I am sure you are aware that the sensex rebounds after every bomb attack. Why then? But I would be very interested to know where your funds flow from. Who wants to see India’s growth story dying a natural death? Whoever it is need not worry, our leaders have done a great job of smothering the ‘India Story’. The world no longer talkes about China and India in the same breath.

If you aim to take revenge then also this method of random blasts is not working. An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind. Also in random attacks you are not sure that the body being ripped apart is that of a saffron blooded citizen or a green blooded one. Can you?

I doubt if it’s your love for Kashmir which makes you indulge in such acts. Money maybe! So if you want, money please target the Swiss banks. I have heard there’s loads of cash stacked there.

Finally if you are a sadist and love to see gory scenes, why not play some video games. There are plenty of them available easily. This is a request, please spare the common man. He is already dead managing daily stresses of life and two square meals a day. Why kill him again?

The Loo Factor

2011-07-12T22:07:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Delhi Belly ‘Shit’ is a Hit. And since human excreta is the flavor of the season ….oops, I mean the current topic let me declare that this post is all about yucky muck. Continue reading at your own peril, only if you are willing to face the stinking reality.

Wonderful. The water and sanitation minister Mr. Gurudas Kamat has resigned even before assuming office. Who needs drinking water and sanitation ministry? It’s like being the nation’s top sweeper. How degrading! Since we already have wonderful standards of hygiene the focus for most ministers is on meaty ministries like the civil aviation or the railways. And they then slowly proceed to milk them and kill them the way a former aviation minister smothered Air India.

Last week while I was waiting for a friend at the New Delhi Railway station, a whiff of stench shook me in more ways than one. The stench wafting from the excreta on the tracks was a distressing enough. In a matter of seconds I went from exasperated to nauseated!

Indian Railways, which proudly associated itself with the CWG as the largest sponsor, showers human excreta across the length and the breadth of the nation in dollops. The efforts to create bio-toilets are yet to see light. Forget clean water, fresh food or a clean blanket, fecal aroma is guaranteed! Yes, the problem is compounded due to sheer volume of passengers. We couldn’t do anything in five decades. As a result the juggernaut continues to spray muck on the tracks.

Railway ministry is a wonderful tool to cultivate and nurture constituencies. Hygiene and safety can take a long holiday. Another great opportunity is a railway accident, like the recent Howrah Kalka Mail. Like vultures to bodies, Rahul Gandhi, Rajnath Singh, Uma Bharti and other sensitive souls, all feasted and burped at the victim’s plight, some at the accident site while others at a Kanpur hospital. How did the vultures know that the state is going to polls soon? Shameless creatures! Vultures I mean.

A curious case of misplaced priorities is visible all around. I live in a place touted to be the Singapore of India – Gurgaon. Only, I was not aware that Singapore had long power cuts, cratered roads, piles of garbage and no sewage system in place. After the malls and skyscrapers have mushroomed, the city is grappling with waste disposal. Complexes with exotic names like Malibu Town are pumping sewage in their own rainwater harvesting plant constructed by the residents. Swirling sewage alongside roads is an open stinking reality. Let’s have Pod taxis on the lines of Heathrow; who needs sewage disposal?

Reading an article in the newspaper I was aghast to read that in Delhi, the national capital, forty percent of sewage flows untreated into the Yamuna. Along with it goes toxic medical waste. What are we drinking? Exactly what Morarji Desai prescribed for a long life, so why bother?

A documentary called ‘Fecal Attraction’ based on death of Yamuna had its producers asking random people two simple questions, “Where do you get the water from and where does your shit go?”

“I guess the water comes from the Yamuna. And the shit goes there only.”

“Hain shit? It goes somewhere automatically man…”

India generates 38, ooo million liters of sewage every day. And guess where it goes, untreated?.

When you say ‘it goes somewhere automatically man’, remember it goes to the water we drink and the carrots we nibble. Pardon me for taking the crunch away from your carrots.

The paradox of our times is that we do bigger things, but not better things. Hell, lay those sewer lines and build those waste disposal plants before expanding the infrastructure any further. Before building skyscrapers, elevated corridors for Pod taxis and before visiting Mars….

And don’t degrade the water and sanitation ministry Mr Kamath, the nation needs it more than any other.
If you thought drinking water was below your dignity, I am glad you resigned even before taking charge.

The Secret Diary of a Crown Prince

2011-07-09T07:40:00.000-07:00

My guest post on Cyber Nag

KOHL LINED EYES

2011-07-06T04:51:00.000-07:00

A bird trapped in a room fluttering with fear, or an eagle keen to soar with blood on her claws?

The stoic face revealed nothing. The kohl lined eyes remained expressionless. The eyes had witnessed a ghastly killing. At that point did they widen in horror? Or did they narrow with hatred. Perhaps the vision blinded with shock.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a0yu2tQ6zBo

Did the hands shudder while buying a butcher’s knife? Fingers which might have ruffled the young man’s hair at some point, did they quiver while shoving him in a sports bag?

Did those black stilettos worn at the press conference realize they were treading on a grieving mothers heart?

When she bought a perfume to remove the emanating stench, she did not realize that it will never go away.

And as for drama, there was that too. The girl’s lawyer organized a press conference to inform that the young boy was not hacked into 300 pieces but only 5 pieces. And in all his wisdom he thought that the fewer number made Maria a good girl.

The wannabe who was so desperate for a small role in a television serial that she was ready to sleep with the boy who she later disposed off in a sports bag is now being offered lead roles in movies. How ironical!

Then we have Mr. Ram Gopal Verma who loves to drool over human loss, vicariously feasting on human grief satisfying his creative cravings. Immediately after 26/11 he had visited The Taj, the scene of death and mayhem. He wanted to make a film based on the terror attacks. Now he wants to play with the emotions of parents who wait for some sense of closure. Similarly a certain nobody called Kamal Khan had announced a movie on the Arushi murder case depicting the parents as killers, even before judgment had been pronounced.

Forget RGV, the intellectual twiterati are finding humor in the case. A newspaper from Mumbai has published a distasteful war of repartees. I don’t find this wrestling of intellectual superiority funny at all.

Suhel Seth tweets: “Now that the devilish Maria is free, she could endorse some brand of knife!!!”

To which Pritish Nandy quickly replies: “Lesson#1 for @suhelseth: Do not call any woman devilish simply because you can’t handle her.”

Seth suggested that Nandy try casting Maria in one in one of his films but “just make sure there's no couch...she'll take Bobbit to another level!”

Nandy replies: “Maria can only be cast as Maria, as of now. And she has shown that her surgical skills are far better than Lorena Bobbit's.”

Firstly it was Jerome who allegedly hacked the young man and Maria was an accomplice. These Bobbit jokes are not helping the cause anyway. Do we not feel anything for the hapless parents of the murdered boy? The judge has ordered Maria Susairaj to pay Rs. 50,000 and Emile Jerome Rs. 1 lakh to Neeraj Grover’s parents as fine. Why insult Grover's family with any amount?

The only silver lining in this gory murder case is that a section of media is providing a voice to the victims (Priyadarshini Mattoo, Ruchika Girotra, Jessica Lall) and highlighting the injustice done.

What is unfortunate is that we love to reduce everything to tabloid level tamasha. Am I indulging in the same crime of sensationalizing the issue? I hope not. The aim is to sensitize and not sensationalize.

One man’s tragedy need not be another man’s entertainment.

The Item Girl and Her O Moment

2011-06-30T21:50:00.000-07:00

It is simply a sensational headline to draw you in. Now that I have your attention let me reveal that ‘O’ here stands for President Obama and not what you think. Sensationalism sells!

Is Obama’s charisma beginning to thin? Does he need a Jalebi Bai to bolster his poll prospects? Or is it the other way round? I close my eyes and what do I see?

Times Square, Town Hall, New York, 2012. The President has started his re-election campaign. With the microphone in his hand and a spring in his step the Prez is serenading Ms Mallika Sherawat and crooning, “Maiya maiyya.” Ms Sherawat of course is shaking all she’s got and the crowd goes, “Yes, we can”. The theatrics over, Prez and Ms Sherawat enter the Air Force One and zoom to the next destination.

I open my eyes. This can’t be happening.

Stuff Happens.

(On looting and raping women in Iraq, Donald Rumsfield the then Defence Secretary had said – It’s not uncommon. Stuff Happens)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RY9l73Yo9Pw

Mallika's latest Hollywood movie, ‘Politics of Love’ is ready for release. In the movie she plays an Indian American Democratic volunteer, who campaigns actively for the US Prez for the forthcoming elections. Since she plays a Democratic loyalist in the movie, she plans to jump from her reel role to a real one.

“We are planning a premiere in Washington DC and I have told the President that I want him to be present. He very graciously told me to make sure to send the invite across. The rom-com movie will make such an interesting watch for the President,” she says. Sure.

After movies like Ugly aur Pagli (?), Ms Sherawat aka Reema Lamba went on to play the role of a princess in ‘The Myth’ opposite Jackie Chan. At Cannes, she promoted her movie ‘Hiss’ with a live python around her neck. Unfortunately the movie bombed even though she did a Full Monty as a nagin. Undeterred she went a notch higher and is now publicizing her proximity with Obama. She sure has spunk and attitude. Acting skills and beauty? I am not sure. PR skills - definitely!

That brings me of another singer with ‘now present - now absent’ horns on her body - Lady Gaga. Pardon my ignorance but I have not heard her music. I know her for her esoteric dress sense, her meat dress and the fact that she allegedly siphoned money from a charity event. And to imagine that Taiwan will now celebrate Lady Gaga Day is as bizarre as it gets. Stuff Happens.

The situation is akin to Digvijay Singh hogging all the limelight by acting as Rahul baba’s male nanny. Who cares about others working at the grass root level but will never appear on TV as they are not interested in pillion riding the Crown Prince? Stuff Happens.

A shortcut to fame entails a marriage with any of the following - money, controversy, sensationalism and sycophancy. So Delhi Belly is releasing on the first of July 2011. Will I go and watch the movie? I am not sure. But I know about the movie as it has crass yet catchy songs and a crazy tag line – Shit Happens.

It sure does.

ALLS WELL THAT ENDS SMELL

2011-06-25T00:23:00.000-07:00

Decision making has always come easy to me. No dithering, no confusion. However selecting gifts for friends and relatives leaves me puzzled.

For years, books have been my best bet. I am known for gifting books. It’s a friend’s birthday next week. Now this friend is more into make-up than books. After much brainstorming I decided to buy a perfume. At the end of the day I did buy a perfume but the confidence in my decision taking abilities was badly shaken.

You see, I have a heightened sense of sound but a subdued sense of smell. And when options are numerous, then my olfactory prowess gets further anesthetized.

For some reason the young sales girl was interested in selling a deodorant. “It is better than a perfume maam. It has been recently launched. Haven’t you seen Bipasha In the advertisement?” The girl had a nose for selling.

“No deodorant or anti-perspirant please. I don’t want my friend to -think – that - I - think – that- she - stinks. I want a perfume, one which is applied on pulse points and not the one sprayed on hairy arm pits.”
I mean I did not exactly say that, but you get the drift.Ok, what I meant was show me perfumes and nothing else.

The girl continued. “Floral, woody or oriental?”

“Eh…”

“Okay maam, is your friend male or female?” she said with a suggestive smile. Hello?

“Well…female.”

“Then do not go for woody, spicy or citrusy ones. They are for men. Go for floral ones….” She placed an array of exotically packed boxes from an aromatherapy range. “Is it for the summers or winters?” “Summers.”

“What would your friend like? Lavender, Rose or Sandalwood?”

“Well, I don't know.”

“ Isn't she your friend?”

Now I was steadily losing it. My patience that is. I was behaving like an indecisive confused woman.

I asked her for some known brands. A few moments later my pulse points were emanating a dozen fragrances, and my olfactory confusion reached its zenith. Decision time!! I closed my eyes and picked a known brand which snuggled in my budget.

“Don’t go by a budget maam. If you sniff the test spot after an hour and still like it, only then you should go for it.” And how do I spend that hour Mona Lisa incarnate?

The enthusiastic girl dispensed some extra gyan. “Maam, fragrances are like notes. They have top, middle and base notes. A top note is what you smell first. As the day progresses the other notes take over. The lighter notes evaporate first and the last ones to evaporate are the heavier oils.” A big smile. Bigger than UPA’s bungling. This girl should get the ‘sales girl’ of the year award or something.

By the time I emerged from the counter, I smelled like a bouquet of jasmine, rose, lavender and sandalwood. The cocktail effect was not quite heaven-scent. Forget any ‘Axe type’ effect, people heaved a sigh of relief as I moved away from them and entered a coffee shop.

A hot cuppa would surely calm my smelly senses. The waiter came smiling. “What would you like to have, maam?”

“One hot coffee please.”

“Latte, Cappuccino, Café Breva, Americano, Flavoured or Espresso?”

Did I say that decision making came easy to me? I was winging it. Big time!

GENDER GIVEAWAY.

2011-06-18T23:57:00.000-07:00

Wow! I scored a respectable nine out of ten. Honestly! Okay, fine two were wild guesses. Nevertheless it is a decent score.

The UK paper Guardian offered an on-line quiz challenging readers to guess the author’s gender from a single paragraph. It all started after VS Naipaul provoked fury by suggesting that women writers are 'sentimental' and 'unequal to me'. He also claimed that 'I read a piece of writing and within a paragraph or two I know whether it is by a woman or not.'

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/quiz/2011/jun/02/naipaul-test-author-s-sex-quiz

The score compels me to go on a gender guessing spree each time I pick up a magazine. The fact is that while reading articles in the papers and magazines, the gender distinction is just about impossible. However when the genre is fiction, the mist disappears and the genders become relatively distinct.

Another writer Manu Joseph had made a similar claim when he said that the Upholstery Moment gives the gender away. The moment a writer starts describing the color of the curtains, the drape and the sofa set, rest assured it’s a woman. It also holds true when women are describing characters, especially men. I believe that women writers definitely have a beautiful way with words where emotions, facial expressions and colors are concerned. Men though tend to be more straightforward and practical.

I was discussing the topic with my husband and for fun sake we decided to play a game. Both of us had to describe Shahrukh in less than forty words and forty seconds. Not because I am a SRK fan, but simply because SRK was smiling from the magazine I had held in my hand.

HIS description – A super star sans conventional good looks. His appeal transcends boundaries of age and gender. He has the right mix of intelligence, class and charm. If charm was to ever take a persona, it will be the face of Khan.

MY description – His disarming smile, naughty cleft in the chin, thick mane hinting at rakishness can melt woman of any age to mush. His fawn colored eyes, rapier wit, and devotion to his wife push him high on the desirability list!

Pretty obvious, isn’t it? However if we change the muse from Shahrukh to a sports car, it would be another story. The husband has no patience for my mind games. That he would be more lucid and passionate about the car, I am certain. So the gender distinctions become distinct depending on the genre.

Women writers who pen chic-lit are obvious and they make no bones about it. For example : When all the snooty ad people think Karol Bagh types they imagine a pushy wannabe in a chamkeela salwaar kameez with everything matching- matching.

Now the above lines are by Anuja Chauhan and no prizes for guessing the writer’s gender. Also I doubt if any man will ever write something like, “She was waspishly waggling her eyebrows and looking daggers at me.”

But this one has to come from a man - ‘Dependable absolutely, faithful no doubt, but romance is as foreign to me as giving birth.’

Mr. Naipaul was being smug or perhaps courting controversy when he said that he has a nose for whiffing the gender within a para of reading. It is a possibility but not a surety. Women have a flair for emotions and facial expressions making them mistresses of those smaller, softer moments. Men however write in their signature stealth style without bingeing on facial and color details.

What do you think? Not that it matters but are you able to guess the writer’s gender after reading a post?

LIES IN A GUISE

2011-06-15T21:35:00.000-07:00

Liar liar, pants on fire! No, Mr. Liar’s pants are not on fire. In fact most liars are making fortunes by selling alternate reality. Times have changed and we no longer have the face to tell children, “It’s bad to tell lies.” The truth about lying is that it has become pandemic.

The biggest liars are the advertisers who promise the earth and the sky. Their claims never cease to amaze me. When a nondescript university screams that their placements are better than IIMs, is it not a lie? When a deodorant claims that dousing Zatak will have women all over you, is it not a lie? Then, my cynical mind looks for those *** the asterisks, the little stars printed in small fonts which reveal …map not to scale, ….sale on selected items, ….or conditions apply!

But the advertisers will not accept that they are molesting the Truth. They simply indulge in smart deceptions imperative to attract attention. Fine!

Even smarter are the pollies who guise their lies in the wizardry of words. In the parliament the honest head of the most corrupt government admitted to the CVC appointment as an ‘Error of Judgment’. Dr Singh, I am sure you know that ‘Truth’ is not violated by lies, but outraged by silence. When Barkha Dutt was caught on Radia tapes she lied by clinging on to the same phrase – ‘Error of Judgment’. I am not sure how far this jugglery justifies a lie. It erodes faith for sure. Bill Clinton lied under oath about his romp with Monica, Nixon lied but was not impeached, but the cake along with the cherry on top goes to President Bush who initiated a war citing large stockpiles of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq!

A survey declares that ordinary people lie three times a day. And ordinary people do not include politicians, scribes, lawyers or movie stars. According to a book, “Born Liars’ penned by Ian Leslie, most of us are born liars. As we grow up so do our lies. From harmless white lies to necessary social lies, to the dangerous dishonest lies.

I am not above board when it comes to fibbing. But mine are social lies, intended to please and compliment. The conscience is clear and intentions sincere. No offence meant, none taken. I do say, “Ready in five minutes”, knowing well that I will take another twenty minutes.

When my host asks, “Hope you enjoyed the party?” After a jaded evening and oily food, I do oscillate between sach bolu ya jooth…. “Oh…absolutely. Thank you for a wonderful evening.” A harmless social lie! However, I never lie in print, unless I am attempting fiction. Readers are unforgiving when it comes to fibbing in print. At times, the social lies can be taken to another level when one artfully drops names or conceals ones age.

My initial lies were perhaps in school. Once we returned late after attending a cousin’s marriage. Consequently, the following day I missed school. My father, a doctor, refused to sign on the medical application, “Go, and tell the truth.” As a result, I had to stand for forty minutes with my ‘hands-up’ by a merciless teacher. “Where is the medical certificate? Disciple is discipline,” she roared. So next time I missed school, I made sure that dad signed a medical certificate saying that the child is suffering from ‘low grade pyrexia’. Fever was too lame an excuse. The teacher couldn’t comprehend the term ‘pyrexia’ and gave me a sympathetic look… “Tsk, tsk..Hope you are fine, my child?” she cooed. Needless to say, my day was made.

More forgivingly put, social lies are necessary for our existence. However one falsehood can spoil several truths.

How about you? Are you above board? Honestly, haven’t you ever faked illness while remaining glued to the telly, watching that final. Or faked a smile and said that your mother-in-law is a wonderful cook! But then these are not lies, are they? What would you call them? Innocent misrepresentations of facts, harmless half truths, errors of judgment, little white whoppers, necessary fibs or plain and simple lies?

FAST FORWARD 2014

2011-06-10T09:58:00.000-07:00

It is June 2014 and a new government is to be sworn in. After a yearlong ‘relay fast’ the BCS (Bharatiya Civil Society) has taken over, and the previous government has been ousted.

Preparations for the swearing-in ceremony are on. The Gandhian leader, Anna Hazare’s name has been proposed for the position of the President of the country. The biggest hurdle in the government formation is that no one is willing to be the Prime Minister for the simple reason that the post is under the purview of the Jan Lokpal. The party President Baba Ramdev does not want power, they say. But the news is that he wants the coveted remote control left over by the previous government. Most are so enamored by the idea of power without accountability that they are refraining from taking any post except the post of the Party President. With the remote of course! There is a strong rumor that Ms Kiran Bedi might be the future Prime Minister and Mr Kejriwal the Deputy Prime Minister.

The mass satyagrah has resulted in a food grain surplus and food prices have touched rock-bottom. Consequently many women have attained size-zero. The emergency wards were inundated with famished janta, hell bent on fasting. The ‘fast and fury’ has spread like a wild fire. School children are also on a hunger strike demanding more holidays and no homework. The pressing need of the hour is to construct several jails, Tihar-1, Tihar-2, and Tihar-3 to accommodate offenders. DLF and Unitech have ventured into building modern jails, befitting the status of the high profile inmates.

So what about the ousted parties?

Well, the BJP has taken over Patanjali Yog Peeth at Haridwar and is religiously involved in making ayurvedic medicines. Baba Advani gives pravachan every morning at five followed by Sadhvi Uma Bharti. Ms Sushma Swaraj is now a judge for a reality dance show, “Ab Nachega India”. Since Arnab joined the BCS, Mr. Jaitly has take over Times Now and is conducting debates on prime time.

I know you are wondering about Rahul, the dimpled one. Well he has recently signed Ra-2, a sequel to Ra-1. A few obsequious party men still run after his car when Rahul Baba ventures to the studios. It was Diggy, his personal secretary who bagged the role for him. The lead heroine has not been finalized. The gossip mills say that a young new face will be launched opposite him. Ms Renuka Chaudhary is likely to play the role of his screen mother.

Madame has moved to her native place Orbassano, Turin just outside Italy and is successfully running a chain of pizza outlets. Of course with the help of loyal ex-Congressmen! Each time Diggy visits Italy, he tries his favorite ‘Foot in Mouth’ Pizza with extra punch…oops cheese! Considering his penchant for meddling with public sentiments, he also runs his own popular radio-show called, ‘Chiggy Wiggy with Diggy’.

Grapevine has it that a certain lawyer in the previous government who thought that 2G was a ‘zero sum loss’ is taking math tuition s at home. And finally the man of less words and lesser action has moved to the US and is writing a book, ‘My Experiments with Silence’.

This post is a figment of my lopsided imagination. Have I gone crazy? Don’t blame me. The recent theatrics can have that effect on any sane person.

BIPASA Rants and Raves

2011-06-04T02:41:00.000-07:00

At any social gathering, rather predictably, given the Indian predilection I used to be the topic of discussion. And now this ‘corruption’ has become a hot favorite. I am used to being discussed and talked about among men. Not by the way of being an erotic symbol but by simply being a necessity. Of all my seductions, the most enticing is my indispensability. Forget Bengal, the entire nation is struggling to come across me. And I continue to be an enigma - teasing, evading and completely disappearing at times. I inspire, I promise, I stun. Yet I remain elusive. A dream.

On a scorching summer night when you return home yearning to rest that aching back on your soft pillow, I can leave you breathless sweating and panting. Asking for more! So what if I am dusky, I am a must after dusk. For a nation obsessed with Bollywood, I am an inescapable nemesis. Imagine yourself on a long drive in my search and a mere glimpse is a refreshing teaser.

So you scratch your head and wonder- why do I come easily for neta log? In fact I call them personally and say hello. A phone call and I am available - like fully man! And for free. That I cater to Amar Singh’s basic instincts is known. The fact it is in public domain. But I do not wish to be a politician’s fantasy. I want the attention of the entire nation.

You go to the blessed state of America and you find me all over…In fact I am all over in South East Asia. Why not back home? There is simmering resentment among people. Six decades after freedom and yet I remain elusive? Why? Will the entire nation have to go on a fast- unto-death to have me? Will people have to crawl in their dreams to seek me?

After paying hefty taxes, should I not be available to all? Now that the world has promoted us as an emerging Super Power, I don’t wish to be discussed any more. I simply need to be accessible. A given.

Before you chew me into bits for denigrating women, let me tell you that I am Bipasa – ‘Bi’jli ‘Pa’ni and ‘Sa’dak and not John Abraham’s ex-girlfriend.

TRAVEL TRAVAILS

2011-05-29T22:55:00.000-07:00

All right tourists of this world, from Uzbekistan to Udaipur, let me give you some insight into the no-go territory for your forth-coming vacation. If you truly wish to enjoy holidays, stay away from – fussy toddlers, honeymooners and flatulent jerks. Don’t tell me that you weren’t warned. The intention is not to hurt any community but to state the facts. Honest, hand on my heart!

Go to any destination and the first thing that strikes you is that the resurgent-middle-class is on a vacation spree. Do not be surprised to find fellow Indians experiencing a National geographic moment in a Zambian bush lost in a herd of hippos, or clicking pictures in a meditative pose at Po Lin monastery on far-off Lantau Island.

Ever since tour operators like the Thomas Crooks, Dupe Pauls and Con and Kings are competing, tourists are going places. And in hordes! I have had nasty experiences with Thomas Crook and accordingly I warn all travelers to be prepared for last minute itinerary changes, hotels in red light areas and cheap connecting flights. What is assured is a vegetarian meal. So I suggest that you trawl the internet, plan your own itinerary, select your flights and pick your hotels. This way you have only yourself to blame for surprises if any!

Since I wanted to get away from the concrete jungles of Gurgaon, I opted for a cruise holiday. As luck would have it, the ship was invaded by several families in group tours. Given that meals are included and people have paid for it, meal time is full paisa vasool time. Its good fun to sit and observe dispassionately. Some pile their plates to last for days, and wolf it down in two minutes flat. Appears as if it was their last meal on earth! Children amazed by the assortment of juices available, mix liquids and swirl glasses, spilling it on others. The mothers meanwhile strategize new ways of procuring beagles for the kid who overslept and couldn’t make it for the breakfast.

While travelling in a coach to a distant island, I had no choice but to sit next to not one, but two, honeymooning couples. Double the fun! Now, I had two options. One was to enjoy the live action and meander back to my hey-days decades ago. The other was to resign to my fate, close my eyes and doze off. I chose the second one.

When you are desperately trying to sleep during a long journey there are bound to be some noisy kids, who somehow never get tired. One huge family had two really boisterous ones, Jignes(h) and Somes(h). By the grace of God both were blessed with shrill voices. And to my delight they were playing antakshari. Honestly my head is still buzzing with a raucous, “Mein Tees Markhan che… Mein Tees Markhan.” And with the amount of snacks being shared in the family, I was ready for a Khakhra to fly over my head.Good fun if you are in a good mood.

Ahead in the coach was a cute little chap who just had to go every two hours. The mother was baffled, “Why does he have to go so often?” Well dear, if he is shoving cookies from one end something has to emerge from the other end. Right?

In our eagerness to rush we have forgotten to wait. Most will rush for front-seats, rest rooms and elevators. In fact we rush for everything. But the moment we have to wait, we become uneasy and start shuffling our feet. Why? In the elevator, my foot was stomped twice. When I had had enough I pleaded, “Maam your kid is standing on my feet.” Instead of reprimanding the child, the lady gave me a quelling look and stomped my son’s foot while on her way out.

And then on the return flight there was this mysterious flatulent jerk that kept purifying the coach with his Axe Effect. Towards the end I kind of guessed the culprit but couldn’t muster enough courage to ask the chap, “Hello, why are producing so much stink?”

It’s a free world after all.

Surprisingly the cruise was more a peek into the human psyche than any island or its culture. Irrespective I had a good time with family and enjoyed the refreshing change. With due respect to everyone, I hope we appreciate finer aspects of respecting fellow travelers. The ‘I me myself’ and ‘I got it first’ attitude holds a tiny-winy threat of sullying images.

KAHN Vs KHAN

2011-05-25T21:13:00.000-07:00

Away from television and newspaper my recent vacation was a refreshing break. Once back, there was this urge to find how the world had changed. Surprisingly nothing changed. Cannes continues to be in the news, Kalmadi continues to be in jail and the Sensex continues to hover around the same digit. The only new development has been the entry of two new members, Anne Sinclair, wife of ex-IMF Chief and Maria Shriver, wife of Terminator to the long list of CWWA (Celebrity Wronged Wives Association).

Allegedly the women were ignorant about the amorous dalliances of their respective spouses for decades. The truth is that the moment your spouse is up to some hanky-panky nine out of ten women will know. Men are no good at keeping secrets. And wives are smart enough to sniff it from a distance. Now that Dominique Strauss- Kahn (DSK) has been charged with sexual assault, media is reporting that he regularly made advances on flight attendants with comments like, ‘Quel beau cul’(What a nice a**). Surely his wife knew that her hubby was repeatedly transgressing borders. Yet, from Hillary to Sinclair to Anupam Ahuja, most stand by their men proclaiming, “Oh, he cannot do it. He is being framed.”

Perhaps, the unconditional support is a face saver. The outcome might not be a messy divorce but when trust disappears, the cracks appear.

History is littered with stories cheating celebrities. Perhaps the initial member of CWWA was Picasso’s wife, Olga. Not for nothing was Picasso called Playboy Picasso. He went through women as he went through his paint brushes explaining that all women look like Rubik Cubes.

Richard Burton, Jacques Chiraq, Mike Tyson, Tiger Woods and Bill Clinton, all cheated on their wives who in turn became members of CWWA. I am guessing that when club members meet they dwell upon, “Why the housemaid?”, “Wasn’t I pretty enough?’, “Why did he have to get caught?”

The answer to the first one is because housemaids are readily available and powerful people think that loads of money can shut them up. Cheating has nothing to do with looks. Most ‘other women’ in history have been ugly and disproportionate. But ahh…the third one is tricky. Bad luck, I guess.

Of course, men have their own reasons for straying. No, it’s not the testosterones but a heady concoction of power, thrill and impulsiveness. Bill Clinton explained his indiscretion to Dan Rather on 60 minutes by saying that, “I did what I did because…..I could.”

Eh?

When Eddie Murphy was busted with a transvestite prostitute in his SUV in Hollywood, he claimed he had picked her up because she needed a ride. "I've seen hookers on corners and I'll pull over, and they'll go, 'Oh, you're Eddie Murphy, oh my God,' and I'll empty my wallet out to help."

The fairer sex need not jump on the high moral pedestal and start blowing the trumpet of virtuosity. A study reveals that rich successful women are as much willing to stray as their men counterparts. All for power! Power, I feel is more felt than measured. As Margret Thatcher once said, “Being powerful is like being a lady. If you have to tell the world that you are, you aren’t. But once your image is dented, power drains as fast as it came.” The sliding slope of decrepitude is steep.

Then are power and infidelity linked? Ummm…dunno! Manmohan, Mukesh, Sachin and Shahrukh are all powerful people. So far no news! After having declared that he does not ride women and horses, SRK is a role model amongst all the members of CWWA. Also ever since an ousted cheer girl has duly certified the Indian cricketers as unswerving, it appears that ‘Indian Celebrities’ are a faithful lot. Barring a Shiny here and there, are Indian men the epitome of commitment?

Be warned and get ready. Latest is that the firangs are heading India in search of that elusive rich, powerful, and ‘committed man’.

A Sari Affair

2011-05-10T22:29:00.000-07:00

The story goes like this. I was born on the loom of a fanciful weaver, who dreamt of a woman. The enigma of her gooseberry eyes, the secret of her smile, the texture of her moods, the shimmer of her tears, and the softness of her touch. All these he wove together. And he couldn’t stop. He wove for many yards. And when he was done, the story goes, he sat back and smiled.

And thus centuries ago, the enduring, lasting proof of a classic Indo-Western fusion was created. Yes, I am the Indian counterpart of the Little Black Dress. To women who label me as desi, I have outwitted you all in my designer modern avatar.

Casual cotton or breezy chiffon, elegant silk or intricate zardozi, traditional Banarsi or chic crepe, simple kota or conventional tanchoi……..The permutations are endless, but the nuances are critical. Connoisseurs can steal a glance and distinguish between one from Sarojini Nagar for 1100 Rs and one from Satya Paul for 11000 Rs. But the beauty is that both look equally elegant.

I have been on several women, from Cherie Blair to Naomi Campbell to Liz Hurley, and trust me they have never looked better. Okay, on Cherie I felt more clumsy than classy but that’s because she pinned and tucked me at the wrong places.

Honestly if you ask me, I love my cotton avatar. No, not the crumpled Ms Bannerji style. Mamta, can you please get me ironed once in a while? Interestingly, when politicians crumple me and make that extra effort to look ordinary, a-la Supriya Sule, know that those rumples hide more than they reveal. Cash not curves silly!

Contrasting the crushed cotton look is the starched handloom, Sonia, Shabana style. Umm…I feel all powerful, so graceful and oh-so cool. How about trying pastel chiffons Mrs. Gandhi? Lately extra starch is smacking of arrogance.

My counterpart the bodice is no longer a simple piece of garment. It is an ornate piece of art. But I have been deeply intrigued by the full sleeved blouses donned by our President. I respectfully want to know who her tailor is. Madam honestly, I feel kinda awkward on a beach. Baffled actually.

You know, I have always wanted to ask Ms. Swaraj, the secret of that jacket she dons on me. Perhaps she hides a few barbs in there. Once inside the Parliament she covertly throws them on one hapless blue turbaned gentleman.

Then on the other end of the spectrum is Bollywood. It aint easy covering-up actresses folks. The blouse is non-existent. Instead there are inadequate straps, a few threads and enticing knots. I tell you, when these Bollywood types decide to take the sari route, they leave me red-faced. My corresponding garment, the blouse, is designed to reveal the silicone so painstakingly implanted. But I don’t grudge them. Thanks to them and K serials, I am alive and kicking!

I have an axe to grind with Nitaben. Once a regular, she has now discarded me in a rusty dust-bin and emerged as Nita babe. Okay, sport and saris do not go together. If you want to run faster than Usain Bolt, leave me alone! Breaking shackles, Pune Warriors at the IPL have decided to drape their cheer girls in traditional dresses but ask the janta what they prefer. The hypocrites will say. “Yes, yes, sari is fine. After all, it is our national dress. But how about Katrina style?” (What they want is a wet Kat, under a waterfall types and not the Rajneeti style covered Kat.)

My worst nightmare is when men go for me in an attempt to evoke laughs. There are plenty of them these days on Indian comedy shows with stuffed blouses, jiggling beer bellies, ostensibly jesting away and inducing laughter. The outcome is ghastly and suicidal. I would rather jump in a coffin and close the lid.

But you know, when prima donnas turn up at award functions or memorable events, reveling in the thought of being a woman, they underline the feminine quotient by donning me. All of seven yards! Yes, because they know that one can never go wrong with a sari.