Why Indian cricket is so entertaining

Not because of Virat's swashbuckling strokes. Or Dhoni's helicopter shots. Certainly not because of the creative ways in which Sachin has managed to get out before he can complete that damned century.

It is the one and only (*drumroll) Kris Srikkanth. Watch as he loses his cool during this interview. The words just seem to stumble out of his mouth, looking for something to hold on to. He can give most comedians a run for their money. A sample.

Close behind him is Arun Lal. Magnificient how he manages to bungle up. Twice. Or maybe it is a ploy by the BCCI to ruin yet another competitor. (*suppresses laughter*)

Third would be Sanjay Manjrekar. Some of his commentary gems.


He's one of the best drivers in the game. On Virat Kohli's cover drives.


Interesting that Mahela still has only 3 men outside the circle even after the bowling powerplay is over. What do you think Wasim? Is it still powerplay? Ladies and gentleman, apparently it is the batting powerplay now. We missed the umpire's signal. Somehow, that picture wasn't shown to us. That's why there are only 3 men outside the circle.


But in the end, we know who the real winner is.

RIP Amit Saigal

Black background. Red font. (Or the was it the other way round?) That was how the Rock Street Journal website looked when I first visited it in 2005. I got hooked to the band demos that were uploaded on the website. Everybody and anybody with access to a recording studio or a computer had put out their music. As I had nothing to do, I went ahead and listened to almost hundred songs that ranged from downright horrendous to supremely awesome. Through some friend of mine, I chanced upon GIR - VIII. Questions were asked. Who are these bands? Where are they from? Do you have any other songs? Any other albums? Where do I download them from? GIR V, VII, IX followed suit but others were much more reclusive. I was addicted to Indian indie - to Zero, Pentagram, Moksha, Liquid Groove, Thermal and a Quarter, even Orange Street (I never really liked them too much) and many others. That's when I picked up a guitar and started playing. No classes, no tutorials. Just listen and play. Of course, Guitar Pro wherever tabs were available. 

It has been seven years (!) and Indian indie has grown by leaps and bounds (to use the cliched expression). We've had various band hunts on television and countless others on ground, with everyone offering big moolah. We've just had two editions of the absolutely stunning NH7 Weekender, but Great Indian Rock (GIR) and Independence Rock laid the foundation for rock festivals in India. Amit created GIR, which was hugely popular and showcased the best bands in the country. GIR brought good international acts to India (Freak Kitchen, check them out). The shows in Bombay boasted of passionate, crazy and maniacal fans and was one of the most awaited dates in the rock calendar, along with Independence Rock and Mood-I.

As a fledgling musician myself, it was a dream for our band to participate in GIR. Winning didn't even figure in the plans. We just wanted to be shortlisted. Sadly, we never took it seriously. I studied in Nagpur and I used to curse my college for its schedule, because it would always clash with GIR and all other festivals. I used to forage Youtube for any videos of the festival (especially by Zero) and observe how the 'good bands' performed. I distinctly remember reading through the 'Backstage Pass' section of RSJ. I could never apply because of my academic commitments, and hence could also never jam with anyone or reply to any 'Musician required' ad posted on the website. As I was stuck in a city that respected only Pantera, Metallica and Iron Maiden covers and Himesh Reshammiya, RSJ and Gigpad were the only things that connected me to the 'scene'.

Then came Pubrockfest. By some stroke of luck, Pubrockfest went really big in the year 2008. They covered around 15 cities in the country and Nagpur was one of them. We got a chance to open for Rachelle van Zanten (we had never even heard of her), but we didn't care. It was our first real show, the first gig that wasn't a college competition. It was a gig where we didn't have to worry about rules, judges, time limits and prize money. We played our hearts out. I did manage to fumble during my solo when we covered 'Killing in the Name of' but we had fun.

I never subscribed to RSJ because I didn't have money, but I regularly visited the site for news, songs and concert updates. I read a couple of copies at Furtado's when I visited the store. RSJ was the first Indian print magazine dedicated to rock and has seen the rise of the independent scene. 

Thank you Amit for what you did for Indian indie. That too from the unlikeliest of places - Allahabad. Your passion and commitment have played a huge role in making Indian indie what it is today. We will miss you sorely. Wherever you are, I'm sure you're starting something cool there. 

For those who want to listen to old GIR albums, go here and here.

Sen-Sibal Screenings

Hello Mr. Kapil Sibal,
At the outset, let me confess that you were one of the few politicians (along with Mr. P. Chidambaram) whom I respected and sometimes, even looked up to. Until I came upon your exemplary skills as a mathematician. And the masterstroke - your move to 'pre-screen objectionable content on the Internet' so that any incendiary content does not trigger off communal riots.

Allow me, sir, to explain how the Internet works. ___________. That's it. Nobody knows. It's a completely new world, a developing ecosystem that is growing every second. New hands, new feet, adapting and changing as time passes. No one can tell what it will look like a few seconds later. That's what works for people. It's a world where inhibitions are thrown out of the window, where social codes and ethics are what you make of them. It's a world where this has billions of views and there are forums and groups dedicated to cats. No, not cat welfare, just pictures of cats. With clever slogans. So, sir if you wish to enter with a seemingly well-intentioned motive of trying to infuse morality and a sense of order, here you go.

What has ticked off a lot of people (and me) is the reason behind your sudden concern - a hate page dedicated to your party supremo. What gets your goat are not the hundreds of hatred pages on religions, thousands of pages on making bombs and other such explosives but a silly little page that professes its hate for Her. It's rather unbecoming of a St. Stephen's - Harvard alumnus to succumb to such sycophantic behaviour. 


That is where Mr. Sibal, lies the true difference between you and most of the Internet users (read: the average Indian). Politicians are no more the demigods who occasionally graced us with their presence during elections. In today's information-led world, you are just another person who is supposed to be doing his job. If you do it well, we give you a pat on the back. If you don't, well we just hate you. Because if you botch it up, it affects our lives. Having been brought up in an open environment (as compared to your times), we may seem rude, insensitive and downright obnoxious. But our standards of morality are different than yours (remember this line?). The Internet brings out the animal in everybody and no one knows how to stop it. Try it and you'll see the point.

This is what we do, Mr. Sibal.

Till the late 2000s, most of our hatred was confined to friends and relatives, office conversations and the dinner table. Nothing that reached your ears. The Internet provided an escape - an uninhibited space where we could unleash our wrath without any consequences. That, you cannot disagree, is a beautiful thing. See Mr. Sibal, on the Internet one hates everything. Hate is a currency that fuels it, an economy that doesn't collapse because no one takes it too seriously. It is momentary, for we all have go back to work the next day. The only people who have the time to transform this hate from its digital form into a living being are the fanatic elements associated with...wait for it...a political party. You see Mr. Sibal, even if a common man finds something extremely objectionable, rarely does he go out onto the streets and start burning and killing. It is too much to ask from him. Sitting in front of a screen in the warm comfort of his own home, he's too  lazy to do that. We are like hay in a barn. Someone needs to strike a match for the barn to erupt in a huge ball of fire. 

History has proved that most communal riots were set off by anti-social elements with a clear motive in mind. There always has been  objectionable content - whether it is print or in digital form. Who burnt copies of James Laine's book on Shivaji when they couldn't digest its content? Shiv Sena workers. M.F Hussain's paintings? Again, political workers. We've all seen his paintings online. Did we ever march to Jehangir Art Gallery? The '92 riots? Again, politically motivated. Gujarat riots? Politics. What about the '84 riots? Who is responsible for that? In some way or the other, your brethren (by virtue of profession) have been the perpetrators. It doesn't absolve us of our own crimes, but we are not the only ones committing blasphemy.

Are you seriously surprised by the hate? CWG. 2G. Inflation. A complete lack of governance and shoddy, incompetent policies. Your government has left the country in a complete mess and you're just halfway through your term. Then you give yourself salary hikes and adjourn the parliament. With your latest move, you've given us another reason to hate you. Notice that the Congress website was hacked only after you raised this 'pertinent' issue. Another thing, Mr. Sibal. This is more of a personal opinion, and possibly an illusion. Our generation is increasingly growing tired of religion. It has given us nothing, and asks a lot of us. We've realised that it's not a match made in heaven. So we're okay with the blasphemy on the Internet. Don't take it away from us.

As a human resources minister, you should be worried more about the development of the millions of Indians who don't have access to even the basic needs, forget the Internet. So please try and work on that. And while you're at it, please enjoy this.

Image: Google

Tum itna jo muskura rahe ho...

I was never a Jagjit Singh fan, per se. I was born in the late 80s (almost early 90s) and by the time I could reach an age where I could comprehend the sheer depth of his music, the Internet had taken over our lives. To me, he had always been that bespectacled gentleman who never spoke much and always sang sad, poignant songs (not that I knew what poignant meant either). Forgive my blasphemy, but for a 10-year-old, Dexter's Laboratory and Swat Kats figure much higher on the priority list. 


I do remember going to a music shop to buy a cassette (for those who do not remember, this is what it looked like). Given the steep prices at which they were sold (Rs 125 for an album required a lot of cajoling to get an approval from the High Command at home), I narrowed it down to either Backstreet Boys or a Jagjit Singh compilation. Having heard from a friend that Jagjit Singh was a 'good singer' (I know, I know), I held the cassette in my hand and looked at the cover art. It bore the picture of an old man with a gentle smile on his face, against a pale yellow background. On the other hand, there was Black and Blue, something which everyone thought was cool. I picked the latter. 

I have a decent singing voice and my music teacher at school would always choose me for the solo parts. He too suggested that I try out some songs by the Jagjit Singh, and I dutifully obliged by successfully deciphering the lyrics to My Name is Slim Shady. Ditto in college. A friend (he is perhaps one of the best singers I've ever known in my life), who'd learnt Hindustani classical music for many years told me why he liked Jagjit Singh. I heard what he had to say, tried out a song or two, but somehow couldn't see the point. 

Yesterday, when I read that Jagjit Singh had passed away, I was strangely disturbed. There was a bit of uneasiness, and when I read through all the tributes in the newspapers and on the Internet, I finally made up my mind to listen to his songs. And I got hooked. The mellifluousness  in his voice and the simplistic beauty of the words had me awestruck. I was drifting along gently on the river of music. Each song was a small island, delighting me in its own unique way. The river itself culminated into the sea of musical mastery. When Tumko Dekha Toh... came on, I closed my eyes and saw a beach. It was a calm evening and there were only two people on the beach, staring into the sunset. The waves knocked on the sandy doors of the beach and scurried away like a truant child, before the door was answered. The cool breeze sighed softly. There was nothing else. And no one else. 


Tum itna jo... reminded me of a Shelly poem we had in school: Our sweetest songs are those that tell of our saddest thoughts (I think it was Ode to a Skylark). The words make their way to the deepest corners of your heart and sit there, waiting patiently for you to take in the true essence of the song. With the fading strains of Woh Kaagaz ki Kashti, I was trying hard not to let a tear fall onto the keyboard of my father's laptop and spoil it. Childhood memories make me very emotional. I think I'm still trying to let the music sink in. 

So, this is an apology to Jagjit Singhji. Sorry for having ignored you and called you a man who always sang sad songs. I thought you were "that man who occasionally surfaced with a music video" that my father liked. I took you for granted. I'm sorry I dismissed your music so offhandedly. But now, I'm glad I didn't listen to your songs at an age when I couldn't appreciate what they meant and stood for. And now that I've begun to understand some nuances of your music, I curse myself for having let go of so many chances to see you perform live. 


Maybe I didn't deserve to. 

   

I Believe...

That I will be able to come up with better titles than this one. Pardon me, but it's been a long time since I wrote something here. All four of my readers must be very angry with me. Ha, how I delude myself. Anyway, things have been pretty decent. Apart from the fact that on weekends, I still get awfully bored. In fact, just before I sat down to write this, I was watching a show on TV. It's been one of the longest and most watched shows in the history of television. And why not? It has fantastic scripting (the dialogue writing is of the highest calibre), beautiful production design, the highest level of detailing and some fabulous acting. I'm talking about the Miss Universe pageant. Hey, come on. Don't be a cynic. It's a show that stands tall as a beacon of hope. A child of innocence in this world full of rabid monsters. A show that stands behind your beliefs, pats them on the back and says, "Anything can happen. Just look at me." Because if Miss Universe can change the world, our time is not far away. 

Yes, I believe there is still hope for the few good men, so to say. I believe there is still hope for all of us non-drinkers (all three of us). I believe that there will come a time, when we don't have to watch the waiter snigger when the entire table orders a round of drinks and we are the only ones to ask for Coke. And we won't have to say, "Boss, sirf Coke. Not rum and Coke." Or suppress the urge to punch him in the face when when we ask him, "Veg mein kya hai?" or when we order two dishes (with the shapes of paneer being different of course) and he smiles. Or when we are the only ones who don't seem to smoke, and are left at the table to stare at each others' faces, while the rest of the gang has gone off to the smoking room, flirted with a girl or two, snogged one of them, made sweet love to the other and come back laughing and happy. And when you ask them what the joke was, the answer always is, "Arey bohot lambi story hai. Baad mein bataenge."

No unlucky brothers, we shall not be the ones to fight to a valiant third place, only to know that there was no cash prize for the third place. We shall not be the ones to send millions of text messages to contests and never win. We shall not be the ones to get into a top B-school of the country and graduate from it, straight into recession. I believe there will be some stocks and mutual funds in the market, which when you start investing in them, do not go into losses despite the fact that they were doing remarkably well for the last five years. No, there will be a time when you decide to buy a car and the government doesn't decide to hike the price of fuel. Or when you buy a house and the interest rate increases and you have to sell one of your organs to pay the EMIs. 

All of you weary travellers. Worry not, because there will come a time when the government decides to spare some change and fix the single lane bridge that connects two highways. So you don't have to watch the signal wink at you (red-green-red-green), as your car stays motionless on the road. The potholes shall be fixed. No you will not have to worry about your tyres putting in their papers and simply walking off in exhaustion. Nor will you have to smell the sweet goodness that is someone's armpit when you've had enough and decide to travel by train. 

There will come a day, when we shall not get caught on the one day we decided to travel without a ticket, just because the line was too long. There will come a day when we shall have a lady sitting right beside our seat in a train (or a plane, God bless). And no she shall not be a grouchy old woman who views you as a spoilt brat and a member of the much maligned 'modern generation'. Nor shall she be a mother of a (surprisingly) attractive young lady who, on seeing that a young lad of this vile generation had managed to acquaint himself with her daughter while she was not around, immediately swaps seats with her. Or if by chance, you happen to meet a young lady alone on your journey, she shall not assume that you are a serial rapist, when you smile and try to make conversation. And if the blue moon that is conversation doth show its face, it shall be meaningful and fun. Not like the time when you pretended to be cool and rebellious and the girl turned out to be the exact opposite, demure and reserved. Or like the time when you decided to be your simple self and the girl turned out to be Kurt Cobain's reincarnation (although it is ironic. Get it?) and concluded thus that you were gay and decided to ignore you for the rest of the trip. One day, you too shall be able to boast of how you were able to woo this girl (into giving you her phone number), like your other thirty-two friends.

And when that day does come, you too shall be able to smile and say, "Hmm. This seems different. Is it a dream?"

Bhaag DK Bose, and Grow Up On the Way

First of all, Delhi Belly spokespersons who are going around saying that DK Bose is 'just another name;, lose the charade, please. Do not insult our intelligence by pleading innocence. At least have the courage to accept that you did it on purpose. If it was just another name, why not you choose Ananthanarayan Ramaswamy or Warnakulasuriya Patabendige Ushantha Joseph Chaminda Vaas? That would have been more fun now, wouldn't it?

There's been a whole lot of hullabaloo over the raunchy, in-your-face lyrics in the above mentioned song (and some others, particularly the one where the beautiful Deepika manages to look like a character from Evil Dead). Frankly, if you don't like the lyrics, just don't listen to it. Lots of people are bothered by the fact that there will be 6-year-old kids who will go around singing this song (I'll be a treat to watch the expression of horror on the parents' faces though). Then again, kids see a lot of material on television which, when we were kids, was considered taboo. And if the kids want to sing it, let them. It's not like they know the intended meaning is it? Anyway, kids have been singing songs that are much more offensive than just an expletive. Don't believe me? 

We all fall down. And never get up.

Go back to your innocent childhood and try to remember some of the nursery rhymes you were taught. Ring a ring o'roses? Brings a smile on your face? Can you see your little self whooping with joy, holding someone's hand (possibly a girl, let's make it even better) while going around in circles? You've been singing about the Great Plague. The Great Plague in 1665 threatened to wipe out half of Europe (the next one was called Hitler) and this song is a reference to the plague and its symptoms. You know what the 'ring of ros(i)es' are? They are the red rashes that used to appear on the body of the victims. Posies were herbs used to ward off the smell of the disease (they didn't have super qualified doctors or Munnabhai in those days). Nor was there Ashok Kumar. The husha husha (or whatever sound effects that our teachers taught us) are sounds of the final coughing and sneezing. You can guess what the 'all fall down' means.

Aww, how cute. Now burn!

Wait, there's more. Remember Three Blind Mice? That's a poem about the killing of three Protestant bishops by Queen Mary I of England (whose hobby was torturing and murdering people). She also burnt 300 other people because they didn't conform to her religious beliefs. Three of them ended up in a children's poem. She is also referred to in Mary, Mary Quite Contrary. Do read up on her. She seems to be quite a character. 

Jack and Jill Went Up the Hill is another one. That's a song about the execution of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette - the fools who ruled France in the 18th century, and were completely oblivious to the poverty around them. "Jack fell down and broke his crown" refers to the um, losing of the head and Jill, well, came next. 

(Side note: After people were beheaded, the head was held up in front of its former body, apart from showing it to the crowd. The head apparently has consciousness for 7 seconds and then dies. Imagine seeing your own body wriggling in front of you. That is perhaps the cruelest thing I have ever heard or read in my life.)

Baa baa black sheep needn't even be analysed. The lyrics have Gunda-like subtle references to slavery (Baa baa 'black' sheep, one for my master is a dead give away). Maybe I sound like a conspiracy theorist but you have to put into consideration, the time during which these rhymes came around. Writing always reflects the time it is written in, so it isn't really that hard to put into perspective. Also conspiracy theories make the mundane more interesting. 

Have I ruined most of your childhood for you? Wait for more. London bridge is falling down is perhaps one of the sweetest tunes that my muddled memory can recall. History suggests that it's about the burning bridge of London after the Vikings set fire to it. There is also another, more morbid angle. Apparently there was a superstition that a structure wouldn't last until a human sacrifice was made and used in the construction material. London Bridge seems to have children underneath it, but there is no evidence as such. Humpty Dumpty is supposed to be a cannon that was used to destroy castles. But it somehow collapsed from its support and was too heavy to be lifted by 'all the king's men'. What the horses were doing there, I have no idea.

So we have been happily singing and dancing away to murder, pillage, burning and we're worried about a song? If you're thinking, "Hey, I didn't even know this, so it doesn't count", think again. Remember 'Aand paand teri maa ki ****d? Remember what came after? Ram doot, teri MKC? We were committing religious blasphemy at the age of 11. And we happily laughed at it. Hell, it can still coax out a little laughter. What about Raghupati Raghav Raja Ram in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai? Had it been released today, I'm sure some sangh or dal would have filed a PIL barring the film's release since it hurt someone's sensibilities. And I'm not only talking about a song. I'm talking about general loss of our sense of humour.

Who is anyone to decide whose sensibilities anything hurts? And if it offends you, don't watch it. Don't listen to it, ignore it. So what's with all this outrage suddenly? Why is it that when we grow up, we lose all our sense of humour? Isn't growing up supposed to mean that you become more mature? Ironic isn't it, that we cussed religion and tossed it around like a football when we were children (and supposedly immature). Now that we're all 'big' in every sense of the word, we blow our top every time someone makes fun of us, or doesn't conform to what we think is right. So grow up.

If I'm getting a bit too preachy, sorry. There have been far too many cases of people losing their temper over the silliest of things, and it just plain irritates me. It hurts my sensibilities if you will! This outrage has to be relevant. I don't want it to stop, because that's your right (and it also provides entertainment). So good people, take up cudgels, not against the lyrics of this song, but against the mind-numbing repetitiveness with which it's being played across the country - like a woodpecker's rap on the brain, chipping away a small piece every time it hits. 

Image courtesy: www.nursery-rhymes.info and Wikipedia.

Shaitan + Pyaar ka Punchnama

We went almost two months without any decent releases, thanks to the World Cup and the IPL (which I'm still miffed about since both my teams lost). May was a month of duds, dedicated to some truly disastrous and horrendous films like Haunted, Luv ka the End (which from the trailer seemed a lot like John Tucker Must Die) and Ready. But I managed to catch two nice ones (films I mean). The first, is Pyaar ka Punchnama. Which is hilarious, and awesome. Especially for all ye guys. Although I have absolutely no experience in romance area, it was good fun. Yeah, yeah, female bashing and stereotyping and all that jazz. But watch it to blow off steam, or bitch about your girlfriend or whatever. More related to that in another post.

Second. I've just come back from watching Shaitan. Having heard only good reviews about it on Twitter, I was going to watch it, come what may, in the theatres. It's about five friends who are totally wild (and sometimes appear deranged) and how one accident changes their lives forever. But man, are those kids totally crazy! The number of complete outrageous and sometimes frightening stunts that the kids manage to pull off is mind boggling. When the kids get into trouble, they have to pay off a cop to cover up the mess their badassery has gotten them into and to do that, they end up digging even a deeper pit for themselves. The flatness of the story aside, what you need to watch the film for, is the sheer brilliance of the camera work. It takes you through a dark, murky world - a world where despondency and chaos is the order of the day, and there are no rules or a moral fabric that holds it together -  a world I'm sure most of us can only dream of knowing. There are a couple of sequences that are executed so well (the corporator scene for instance), that it makes me want to go and fall flat at the feet of the DOP and the director with reverence. Some scenes were so powerful that I wanted to leave everything and break into the movie. Then I remembered that I was too fat to fit into the projector. *laughs at stupid joke and mulls over how fat he has become*

You know that feeling you get sometimes when you just want to throw everything away and unleash? Or punch someone in the face? Or just scream at top of your lungs till the very  end of the world hears what you have to say? Shaitan brings that feeling back. The background score is magnificent (there's also a song by Bhayanak Maut). The characters? Kalki is very likable despite her rebelliousness and cocaine addiction. Shiv Pandit as Dushyant Saha is definitely a good find. Watch out for KC - insane at times, weirdly indecisive and meek at others. I don't know what Nikhil Chinappa is doing here, but he's okay. There's a pretty funny sequence with a cameo from Rajat Barmecha (Udaan) but I think the writers just got carried away there. 

But the best of them all is the macho cop Rajeev Khandelwal. The street chase, the bone-crunching kicks, the head-smashing punches - this guy carries an extra dose of mean wherever he goes and uses it to full extent. The shootout at a Bhindi Bazaar building is jaw-dropping. Few years back, he was the lead role in an Ekta Kapoor show. I hated him (partly also because all of my female friends kept gushing about how good-looking he was). Now, I have newfound respect for him.

I could identify several influences in the whole film - the gory fights with a sweetly remixed version of Khoya Khoya Chaand reminded me of Guy Ritchie. There are several montage sequences a la Ritchie. And the shoot out is a bit like the scene from Chan-wook's Oldboy where Oh Dae Su takes on around ten men at once. Mix in a bit of Danny Boyle and Tarantino. It's fantastic. I'm too lazy to even think of a better adjective for the film. The only thing I didn't like? Kalki's memories of her mother, totally unnecessary and also reminiscent of The Ring. Other than that, it's a cracker of a film - a rollercoaster ride that I wished never ended. 

All in all, watch it. In the movie theatres. It's brilliant. And yes, I suggest you leave all your morality and social codes aside. Because the film has none. 

PS: Kirti Kulhari is hot!