Freak Press Journal

RIP Amit Saigal

2012-01-07T00:00:00.000+05:30

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

2011-12-10T19:26:00.001+05:30

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 it. 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 alumni to succumb 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 screw 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?). 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 the dinner table, office conversations, friends and relatives. 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 but no one takes this hate seriously. It is momentary, for we all have go 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's 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 it 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 the crimes, but we are no more 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 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. The Congress website was hacked only after you raised the 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's 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...

2011-10-11T23:54:00.000+05:30

I was never a Jagjit Singh fan, per se. Well, 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 songs, 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). Forgive my blasphemy, but for a 10-year-old, Dexter's Laboratory and Swat Kats (real cartoons and not the horrible cartoons that kids watch nowadays) 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), 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 was a simple, pale yellow background with the picture of an old man with a gentle expression on his face. On the other hand, there was Black and Blue, something which everyone thought was cool. I picked the latter.

Since I had a decent singing voice, my music teacher at school would always choose me for the solo parts in songs. He too suggested that I try out some songs by the man, 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 about 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, on Twitter, Facebook etc., I finally made up my mind to listen to his songs. And I got hooked. The mellifluousness his voice and the simplistic beauty of the words had me awestruck. The playlist was on repeat mode, and the songs were like waves - each one delighting me in its own way, each different than the previous one, yet each one arose from the same sea of musical mastery. When Tumko Dekha Toh... came on, I just closed my eyes. I don't know why but I just saw a calm, serene beach - completely empty but for two people sitting beside each other and staring at the sunset. I don't know who they were and why they were. I just know they were there.

Tum itna jo... always reminds 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 comfortably until you can actually take in the essence of the song. By the time Woh Kaagaz ki Kashti faded out, I was trying not to let a tear fall onto the keyboard of my father's laptop and spoil it. Childhood memories and reminiscing makes me very emotional (yes, it's possible). I think I'm still trying to let all 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 can't believe that I let go of so many chances to see you perform live. Maybe I didn't deserve to.

I Believe...

2011-09-18T01:24:00.000+05:30

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

2011-06-20T00:12:00.001+05:30

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

2011-06-12T00:39:00.000+05:30

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!

Rubber Dinghy Rapids, Bro!

2011-05-10T23:45:00.001+05:30

I just finished watching an absolute treat of a film. It's called Four Lions, a superb, politically incorrect black comedy film on jihad and terrorism. Yes, that's right. In the wake of all the recent sensational revelations, I just happened to come across a mention of this film while ~~wasting away my time~~ getting inspired on the Internet. While the timing and the nature of the whole operation cannot help but fuel the cynic in me with countless and meaningless arguments, he certainly is dead. He's gone to hell. Let him.

But I did manage to catch Shor in the City last week. I've frankly been very surprised at all the rave reviews it has been getting for what can only be called an average execution of a good script (the advertising terms are kicking in now). Though made on a low budget (another advertising term), there was certainly scope for betterment in many departments of the film. Some scenes felt completely unnecessary. Also the Telugu cricketer angle left me completely baffled. Enough of that. I read somewhere that Shor... bore a resemblance to Four Lions. Hence it was, ahem, procured.

Four Lions is the story of five British jihadists (there is a reason why it becomes 'four') who dream of teaching the Western Imperialists a lesson by, well, blowing up something. The only problem is, they can't decide what to blow up. Omar leads his dim-witted brother Waj, the bellicose White convert Muslim Barry, Faisal and wannabe rapper Hassan. The writers weave in a nice bit of irony in the characters, where the liberal Omar is the jihadi and his extremely orthodox brother is a peace-loving man. The typical dry British humour writing makes for some hilarious sequences. The bumbling buffoons that they are, they can't get anything right. After making their way to a terrorist training camp in Pakistan, Omar and Waj try to take out an American drone with a rocket launcher but end up launching it in the opposite direction and wiping out their own Arab camp. Watch out for the resolution of this scene at the end. And remember that this was written in 2010, and just admire the situation. I won't say more.

Back after their misadventures in Pakistan, Omar and co decide to put their plan into action in London. Again, they stumble across London trying to get their hands on explosives, and then trying to avoid blowing themselves up. One of them tries to blow up a building by attaching a bomb to a crow. While the film is largely funny throughout its run time, it also brings to the fore, the narrow-mindedness of the terrorist and their convenient interpretation of Islam to suit their needs. Look out for Barry's arguments on all the things in the world that are not Islam. So utterly inane are the foursome that the madcap bombers end up wearing huge costumes while on their way to completing their task. Not a very intelligent choice if you want to blend into the crowd.

With all the idiotic rapping (uber-funny that too), rib-tickling situations and paranoia of the terrorists, the other side of the coin, the police isn't left too far behind. They manage to raid the wrong house - a sad indicator of the times we live in and how we tend to slot everyone in pre-defined places in our minds. Stereotyping, however sensitive it may be, tends to be funny, and the film uses plenty of it to its own advantage.

The comedy of errors in the finale leads in to a sad reality of our times. So why the strange title? It's the loveable terrorist (what an oxymoron) Waj's version of heaven - where he won't have to stand in a long line to get into the Rubber Dinghy rides at Alton Towers, an amusement park in London.

The one question that popped in my mind was this: Is religion (be it any religion) really worth all the trouble we are taking for it?

Image: Wikipedia

Goodbye, Uncle Pai

2011-03-01T00:36:00.001+05:30

It was the month of May and the hot summer sun was beating down on no one in particular. A young boy, around seven years of age was standing on the platform of a railway station with his parents. He was happy. The horribly monotonous ritual that was school had just gotten over and he was waiting to go to the only place on earth where there would be absolutely no repercussions (or beatings) for his actions. In fact, it was a place where his mother would get scolded more often than him. His grandmother’s village. But a whole day of train travel was a prospect that he didn’t fancy too much (AC seats were very expensive, you see). And he’d made his displeasure clear to his mother right from the beginning. How? By whining and unleashing a barrage of questions upon his mother, who was already tired at having to take care of the boy’s little brother.

Seeing this, the father sprinted to the nearest bookshop and bought a couple of magazines. He ran back to the train and slid the magazines through the window and told the boy, “Here. Take this. It’s a very good magazine. And keep quiet.” The boy picked up the magazines and looked at them. On the cover was a motley assembly of monkeys, crocodiles, foxes, a king and his minister and a hunter whose hat had completely covered his eyes. The boy read the title: T-I-N-K-L-E. ‘That’s a strange name’, he thought. He dived into the book, having nothing else to do, and never came back.

That little boy was me. As you might have read, the founder of Amar Chitra Katha and Tinkle, Anant Pai, fondly known to us children as Uncle Pai passed away recently. Anyone who has grown up in the ‘90s and has a reading habit will have read Tinkle. The beauty of Tinkle lay in its simplicity and its endearing characters. Tantri the Mantri was a genius when it came to plots and we never failed in our enthusiasm to find out how his plan would be undone. Shikari Shambhu (coward that he was) always was the hero. The Suppandi strips were like little children themselves – good, clean and loveable. Kapish the monkey always amazed us with his cleverness. The awesomely funny pair of Chamatka and Doob-Doob is perhaps the one of the funniest characters I’ve come across. Then there was Nasruddin Hodja, Pyaarelal and the rest of the gang.

My grandmother’s house is an old mansion (it’s a big house really, but it’s my blog so I will call it a mansion). The whole area is a bunch of houses with terraces so close to each other that you can practically jump across from one terrace to another. Just behind our house is a house that is more than hundred years old. Its roof has caved in, and I could see the courtyard and the old rooms. Having just read an Ajay adventure in Tinkle, I jumped from my terrace into the old house. Like Ajay, I didn’t break any bones, but unlike him, I got what every child in our generation got for not following orders - a couple of slaps, an audio cassette’s worth of screaming and a stern warning of more of the former to follow if I fooled around anymore.

Tinkle was not just stories. It was educational. There was Tinkle Tells You Why – something that explained science in an easier, cooler way than the textbooks. There was the geographical tour feature that took you places – I remember a travelogue comic of sorts on Nagaland – precisely because it showed the rich culture and landscape of Nagaland, which till that point of time (for me) was a place where people with straws in their hair shouted ‘Humabalala jhingalalala’ and danced around in circles. There were the Tinkle fun projects (from where I lifted one project and secured an ‘A’ at school). There were puzzles and we competed for the princely sum of Rs 50 (I think) and getting our name featured in the next issue. I sent in many entries, but never won a prize. But I did get some stickers. I’d also sent in entries for ‘It Happened to Me’, though never got published there (I only tried once).

Uncle Pai also gave us Amar Chitra Katha. It all started out when he saw on DD, a quiz where the participants answered questions on Greek mythology but couldn’t name Lord Ram’s mother. We all owe our mythological stories to two sources – grandmothers and Uncle Pai. Say the name Ram and the first picture that comes to mind of anyone from my generation will be the yellow-blue-red-green shaded cartoons from ACK. I was a decent quizzer at college and won a quiz by answering a question on mythology, thanks to my copy of ACK.

Mind you, Tinkle got me into a lot of trouble. There were many a chiding sessions for reading it while on the dinner table, for spilling food while reading it on the dinner table, and for ignoring all other chores and errands while reading it. I remember getting scolded by my grandmother (a rarity) for reading it while my aunt was getting married in our house. What could I do? When you are ten years old, you are too young to be of use to anyone, and too old to be of entertainment value. You are hence a hindrance wherever you go.

After that fateful train journey, it became a family ritual. Whenever my feet touched the platform of any damn railway station in the country, I had to be bought a Tinkle. And I always got the fortnightly copy, since it was for ten bucks. Only after shameful begging and coaxing on the platform would the larger digest make its way into my hands. It was for 25 bucks you see, a huge amount to be spent on a kid in those days. I only recently gave away my old copies of Tinkle.

I will scour the cupboard this weekend and I’m sure I have some copies left.

I regret having never written a letter to Uncle Pai. I should have done so. Uncle Pai replied personally to most of them (from what I’ve heard). So here is a short one.

Dear Uncle Pai,

This is my first and last letter to you. Tinkle is what initiated me into reading and it's a habit that I will never change. Ever.

Thank you uncle for all that you have given us and done for us. Thank you for all those beautiful summers and those wonderful train journeys. Thank you for all the delightful stories that drove away boredom and taught us many valuable lessons. Thank you for all those times your magazines came to our rescue when we just wanted to escape annoying neighbours when they came over.

A big thank you for making Indian mythology cool, simple and entertaining.

But I have many unanswered questions. Will Tantri ever become friends with the Raja? Will Suppandi ever learn? Will Shikari Shambu ever get away from trouble? Please do answer these if you can.

And thank you again for shutting me up.

A loving fan

Saurabh

PS: It was my little cousin’s birthday in December and I went to buy him a gift. Being the idiot that I am, I had no clue what to get them. Kids these days are so cool that I feel like a Neanderthal amongst them. So I decided on the safest bet. I got him a Tom & Jerry DVD.

It was a mistake. I should have bought him a Tinkle instead. Or an ACK.

Write in your thoughts on Tinkle and ACK. Do share this tribute if you like it :)

The Secret Justice System

2011-02-12T22:20:00.003+05:30

Be nice to people. Not because you wanted to be treated nicely as well. Because there is a secret justice system that is observing everything that you are doing and keeping a record of it. And when the time comes, it will all come back to you in equal measure.

No, but sir, you never, no...but..no..

Kids, every time you are rude to someone, or are naughty, your parents will automatically want you to show your dance moves in front of Kapoor uncle. Every time you shirk your homework and watch TV, your mother will make karele ki sabzi on a weekend (both dinner and lunch). Don't make fun of anyone lest you want that childhood photo album of you dressed as a princess shown to everyone. Don't trouble your teachers too much or the system will have Arnab Goswami as your examiner for your viva voce instead. Teachers don't be too hard on your students or you will have him as a student instead.

Even when you grow up, the law continues to hold. Be very careful. One small mistake and boom, your friends will have made a plan to watch Tees Maar Khan after college. And you have to pay.

\m/

Every time you mock someone, that girl you really like will turn out to have a mouth like Sonam Kapoor and a brain like Kareena Kapoor.

Whenever you make fun of people, the justice system ensures that your girlfriend gifts you sunglasses that make you look like Karunanidhi. Whenever you are snobbish, you will find yourself choosing from the following directors to have a movie made on your life - Sajid Khan, Madhur Bhandarkar or Priyadarshan. One more wrong step and Vivek Oberoi will play the lead role. So be careful, okay?

Neighbours, every time you compare your MBA son's salary with a non-MBA person's salary, the system makes your son audition for Roadies, where he gets selected, loses, auditions for Dance India Dance, gets selected, loses again but decides to keep the haircut he got on the show. Whenever you make someone else feel small, your daughter will join Splitsvilla, and spill all your secrets on national television. Be careful not to be too vain about your wealth, or flaunt it shamelessly otherwise Mayawati will personally visit your house and perform a havan fuelled by money. Don't let success go to your head or your wedding card will designed by a bunch of baboons using a pirated version of Photoshop on Windows Vista. The same bunch that churns out political hoardings in Mumbai. The system will ensure that.

Guys from the corporate world, every time you claim your 'expenses', your family will want to eat a "traditional, Rajasthani thali" at the mall. Double price, eating food that looks like an elephant took a dump (tastes like it?), sitting on chairs where there are other people glaring at you for not eating fast. It's almost like prison, except here, you have to pay to get in. Stay away from office politics or the system will ensure that your career advisor is Sania Mirza. Don't try to put anyone down or the secret system will ensure that Ashok Chavan invests in the housing society you just bought a home in. Don't vent your spleen on the driver or the waiter just because your job sucks, because you might just end up having to work at a telecom company where your job is to ask people to switch over to your network. And don't use your cell phone while driving or show off your BBs or your wife's cell phone number will be forwarded to Shane Warne. And if you are a woman, it'll go to Raja Chaudhary.

Actors, every time you lie on camera or the system will see to it that Suresh Kalmadi (make that SM Krishna) reads out your achievements on the day they felicitate you with a lifetime achievement award. How, you ask? He will. Wait and watch. And Charu Sharma will host the show. The secret justice system has a counter with a beeper on it that goes red whenever you act smug when it comes to your acting skills. Don't do it or you will have to admit on the same talk show that you use a particular brand of skin rash cream. Let's see how you do that with a straight face and maybe then your vainness is justified. Try and pull a publicity stunt on a charity event and you will have Digvijay Singh as a director for your film. And Amar Singh as the playback singer.

Filmmakers, the next time you try to claim a rip-off as an original, the system will personally send Rajnikanth to remake you. And throw it in the dustbin.

It's either Khali's voice or you

News people, turn down the shit knob on your channels or you will find yourself in a Saw-like situation where you have to do either of these two things - transcribe Khali's audio interviews or die.

Cricketers, please concentrate more on the game or else you'll have to host a talk show on DD with Atul Wassan and Saba Karim.

Every one else who I'm too lazy to categorise, my apologies. Be good, because in this crazy world, you never know what can happen. I believe in the system. Do you?
PS: The system doesn't work on politicians.

Image courtesy: Google

Seen and Heard

2011-01-30T16:51:00.001+05:30

Almost two months. I'm completely stuck on what to write here. I don't think I qualify for the term writers' block, since that usually involves people who have written at least 200 pages worth of reading material (key word is 'worth'). Talking about reading material, I've bought quite a few books, and have a lot of reading to catch up on.

I finished a book called The Indian Clerk by Stephen Leavitt some time back. It's the story of Srinivasa Ramanujam and GH Hardy, told through the eyes of the British mathematician. The book traces the relationship of the pair, right from the day Ramanujan wrote a letter to Hardy, asking him to take a look at some formulae he'd been working on to the day Ramanujan leaves Hardy and Cambridge forever. The author has taken creative liberties in creating characters and situations, but the gist of the story remains mostly true to history. What is interesting is that it also explores the elite English society and their opinions of the First World War. Famous names - D.H Lawrence, Wittgenstein, Bertrand Russell (who according to the author, was brilliant but had foul mouth odour) are mentioned in passing.

What I saw was a good glimpse of the genius that was Ramanujan. Most people only know Ramanujan as "that south Indian guy who was good at maths and died early." The book tells you why he was so (although in a much romanticised manner). For math geeks, this book should be a good read. It is a bit long (500 pages) and there are tedious portions which you tend to skip. The author is gay, so almost everyone seems to be gay at Cambridge (which is weird if it was true). GH Hardy comes across as a very cold person though. I loved the part about Ramanujan's mother. She's the 1920s version of the south Indian mother. Most south Indian grandmothers would be like her, only less creepy.

Meanwhile, TV seems to have something interesting. Koffee with Karan (yes, I watch it) seems to be the new bitching hub for the film fraternity. Ranbir Kapoor got pwned by the Sonam and Deepika. Deepika kept her cool for most, but Sonam just let it all out. She was probably shooting for Aisha when brains were being made. And not just her. Mr. Anil "I have enough hair to make a furcoat" Kapoor let out some secrets too. And then there was Kareena Kapoor. If brains were bartered for objects, Kareena would probably only get the Ravalgaon 25p orange toffee. Or maybe half of that. Because she seems to have none. She can act well and all that jazz, but she doesn't know what she's talking about. According to her, 'quintestinal' is a word (not quintessential) and Led Zeppelin's favourite song is 'Stairway to the Moon'. Poor Saif had a hard time defending her utter stupidity. He must have thrown his guitar out of the window when he went home to vent his frustration.

And enjoying all this is the bitch of Bollywood, Karan Johar. Sexual innuendos, fake laughter, fake kisses, and emotions that make Pamela look a hundred percent real. Karan Johar seems to have taken it upon himself to make people pour their heart out to him. Like a confession booth. Which is even more appropriate, since on every episode, he makes it a point to say at least once, that he's never been in a relationship with a woman. Maybe it's his way of coming out of the closet. And with the new Nescafe ad series, he only has to announce to the world that he's gay. Everyone probably knows it, and are just playing along. Like in Superman, when he takes off his glasses and no one can recognise that he is Clark Kent. Or Spiderman, when Peter Parker is the only person in the world who can get Spiderman's pictures. Without spycams, secret tapes, mobile MMS or anything that today's voyeur uses, mind you. And whatever happened with SRK that no one wants to be with him on the show? Ra.One? Really?

King Khan gone bust so soon?

And for those who have been following the bullshit on media, here is some more (It's old but interesting). They issued an apology later. How can you ask Delhi for inputs on the superstar, sorry, SUPERSTAR? You can write a whole book on Rajnikanth jokes (which are copied from Chuck Norris jokes ironically). How stupid can you be to steal an article in the Internet age? No no. How insanely foolish do you have to be to copy an article on Rajni from a foreign magazine? I never did like India Today, and Outlook is just for sex surveys. The Week seems to be okay. Open seems to be the new Tehelka. They were the only one who carried the Radia tapes. Other print media followed soon. There was a media blackout for almost two weeks on the case. After Barkha Dutt and co got abuses like they give out chocolates to children, the mainstream channels and newspapers finally decided to cover it. And now it's forgotten. Almost. Like the CWG. #youremember?

Ah, the joy of the interwebz. Follow me on Twitter. It's fun.

PS: Watch 127 Hours. It's excellent. Forget the Rahman mania. Watch it for the cinematography. And James Franco. The soundtrack is good, and peaks towards the end. Watch out for the last 30 minutes. Brutal.

Vital Lessons # 1

2010-12-04T12:33:00.002+05:30

As mentioned in the previous post, there has been a lot of knowledge that has been imbibed during the last one and a half years on the job. Here are a few pointers.

1. 'Mango' is not a stationery store. Rather it's not only a stationery store. When I was at JAM, we'd got an invite for a store inauguration at Phoenix. My colleagues, knowing that I'm like Sarah Palin or Lalit Bhanot when it comes to fashion, asked me if I'd go to the event. "Why would we want to cover a stationery store?" I asked. A million gasps, shocked faces, subsequent laughter (and me trying to forget I ever said such a thing) later, I was told that Mango is a fashion store. Google told me that it was "fashion for the young, urban woman." Hey, where I come from, Mango is also a stationery store.

2. Zara is not Preity Zinta's name in that YRF film. Well not only that. Fashion came to haunt me yet again. When I confessed that I had no clue what Zara was, and there was a collective gasp that can only be matched by a stadium when Sachin Tendulkar is dismissed. Apparently, I still had a lot to learn.

3. Global Fusion is not a genre of music. It is also a restaurant in Bandra somewhere. Though I've never been there, the reviews tell me it's an awesome place to go. Unlimited food, desserts, soft drinks. In my defence, Thane to Bandra is way too weird to travel, and I'm lazy too. I'm going there soon.

4. Jimmy Choo is not an expletive cut short. Neither is it a safe way to hurl abuses at Jimmy (No, not even when it is this.) It's an uber-expensive fashion store (shoes, handbags and the likes). The shoes are supposedly hand-made, and the store was started by a Malaysian-born designer of the same name. The shoes are terribly expensive, and if your girl, or someone you know wants to buy it, you might have to sell or lease your house to buy it. The website tells me the shoes are around 500 euros on an average. That is around 35k. I've seen only one store at Nariman Point. Note, I've seen only one. That does not mean it is the only one.

PS: I only saw Inception three weeks ago. Yes, you can all stare at me in shock. I missed it in the theatres, and I'm sure it would have been ten times better there. Anyway, it's a pretty good film (Captain Obvious!).

Nothing more. You tell. What's up on your end? Someone tapped your phones lately?

No Action Replay

2010-11-13T23:32:00.003+05:30

After a pretty long period no? Seriously, I'd gotten lazy and had somehow lost my will to write. Not because of any particular reason. I just didn't know what to write about. When I was at JAM, I used to travel a lot, and used to get into awkward situations that made for some fine reading for all the three people who read this blog. Like the time when I'd gone to interview Priyanka Chopra or when I took (not 'gave') various MBA entrance exams.

But now that I'm at this decent, comfy job, there's nothing to write about. Except for the fact that I am now learning to think like a woman. You see, I'm on two women's brands. So I, an engineer, who until May 2009 had only rarely had a glimpse of women in his college life, have been catapulted into this convoluted world of beauty products.

And let me tell you that selling beauty products is a tough job. Why? Because there are many limits which women set for themselves that we men cannot even imagine. Many a times, I've come up with a script which I thought was pretty cool but had to redo it because it was offensive to women or because women would not react the way I thought they would (or both). I once had to write a script asking girls to send their pictures and the ones which had would be put up on billboards.

My line of thought: Girl on billboard -> People will look -> will be overwhelmed by her beauty -> will cause problems at signals since they are busy checking her out.

My script: A driver is getting a scolding from people since he forgot to move when the signal turned green (he was busy looking at the billboard).

My boss' thoughts: Girl on billboard -> People will look -> will be overwhelmed by her beauty -> will cause problems at signals since they are busy checking her out -> who are the ones checking her out -> rickshaw and taxi drivers -> Laughter ensues -> Back to the drawing board.

In hindsight, it seems pretty logical. But logic doesn't often help in beauty products, and I as an engineer am getting used to it. I have to be a woman on the inside. And I'm learning a lot. Which means that I now know about women more than all of you guys. Muahahaha. I shouldn't be boasting too much though. Because (as many of my friends have been noting recently), my 'love life' is the same as ever. Zero. "Kuch baat bani ki nahi?" is what I've been asked. All I can say is 'meh'. Why? I have no clue. I haven't tried at all, and logically, I should be best placed to do so, since I "know women better now" and all. But truthfully speaking, I really don't know. Anyone willing to help me out is welcome. But I'm very well placed to help you guys out (giving advice is easier!). So any time you need any help, call me. I charge 1000 bucks per hour for consultation. *evil Mandark laugh, then realises that Mandark's love life sucked. Feels stupid*

I just watched Action Replayy last weekend. I feel cheated and robbed. And I paid 300 bucks for the worst movie I have ever seen in my life. We walked out after the first half, and hogged on pav bhaji. Felt much better. Absolute lack of story (not too uncommon), no plot (again normal), hackneyed dialogues and forced school-level humour(starts to irritate a little), and really loud dialogues (head bursts).

Here's a summary of the first half. Akshay and Aishwarya are married but unhappy and always bickering and fighting. The son decides to put things right by going back in time (!) with the help of a time machine which travels through time by breaking the, wait for it, sound barrier! Yay, complete science fail! No matter. After copying Back to the Future, he arrives in the 70s where he is the only one dressed differently, and still no one notices. Dad Akshay is an idiot, and mom Aishwarya is a badass girl (Ooh, scary). She and her gang of friends (Rannvijay and Rajpal Yadav) spend their nights and days, hatching plans to steal, wait for it, (too much HIMYM) a bunch of rose plants from Akshay's dad Om Puri. By the way, both Akshay and Aishwarya (whose mom Kirron Kher overpowers Om Puri) live in palatial mansions right opposite VT station. Yes, right where the BMC building stands. Then it's Holi time and Om Puri gets smothered with water balloons by Rannvijay. Then they steal his roses. They smother Akshay too, who retaliates with a balloon filled with air (Nal mein paani nahi aa raha thha Babuji). Then they make a prank call, and steal roses. Then Aishwarya dances and struts around in a mini skirt (which no one finds shocking or revealing) and then they steal roses again.

The son, meanwhile, is trying to hook up his mom and dad. Dad Akshay is an idiot, and is called a gadha by his father every 5 seconds. The volume turns 5 notches up when he does so, and then suddenly there is a song. Then there is a scene with Aishwarya, and they steal Akshay's dhoti this time (they'd had enough roses) to keep up with the tradition (they'd done it to his father too.) Then Aishwarya dances in the streets and I start stabbing Aishwarya. No wait, that was when I fell asleep. I woke up to find "Intermission" written on the screen and we all walked out free men. It felt good. For 2 minutes. Then we realised that we'd paid 300 bucks. Damn it, we should've been paid to watch this movie.

Anyway, I'll write more from now on. The offer still stands to all the men who want women-related advice.

Rs 1000 per hour. I take cash only. No cheques/credit cards. Aamchi shakha kuthe hi nahi. Thank you and enjoy this.

Smart phone – is it really smart?

2010-10-04T23:35:00.001+05:30

Technology. What you're always hearing is that it makes life easier. Wrong. It makes life much more difficult. Now now, don't judge me too soon. Hear me out. I too had a smart phone. I had the Alcatel One Touch Net Phone. But ever since I lost it, my life has never been the same again.

For starters, I miss the neat display that the phone had. Ah, those beautiful moments I spent looking at those wallpapers of ~~beauties~~, natural sceneries still linger in my mind. And then there was the 2 MP camera. I cannot but resist and tell you how useful it was. One click, and that was it. Your creepy smiling picture was on my phone. I'd once used it to scare my cousin who wouldn't go off to sleep. It's still there in his bedroom. I'm kidding. No I'm not.

And those poses you threw at the office party when you had a little too much to drink? Yes all of them. Those made their way to the phone too. Now you know why I don't drink. But I'm a good friend, and I only showed it to the secretary, and all the other people who sit beside her. I was as safe as the Liverpool defence. With the huge 8 GB memory the phone had, I had a lot of space to capture exactly what I needed (read: something to use as leverage to extract favours. And treats.) I loved updating my Facebook album with pictures (sometimes even the ones which you objected to). Yahoo! Social Pulse, you are what got me addicted to this monster called Facebook.

Here is a picture I took while on the road. Hilarious, no?

And then there was Twitter. All I had to do was to watch the CWG coverage live on DD and follow certain other geniuses on Twitter, who had taken it upon themselves to kill some people through laughter that night. I laughed so much while reading my phone that my folks thought I had (finally) gone mad (after spending four years in engineering college). And with an optical trackpad as smooth as Deepika Padukone's skin, there was no stopping me. I was the browsing king, the Rajni of mobile browsing. One flick of a finger, and I would riding along like only the Thalaivar can do in his films. All that was needed were the sound effects. Sigh, Yahoo! didn't provide that. But I'm not one to complain.

And if I was every bored, I would ping someone on the Yahoo! Messenger. I'd done it several times in a meeting. It was fun chatting with the person sitting right beside you, and the boss had no idea what was going on. Tee hee, such evil things I've done!

During my travel, music was my refuge. You see, I had to travel to some remote places, where internet wasn't available. But the music player provided respite. Have you ever experienced the joy of FM radio? I have, while sitting in the last seat of a bus in a small town near Pune. The joy of listening to AIR while jumping in your seat like Jeetendra has possessed you (without the white suit and shoes) is a heavenly feeling.

I still remember going back to office after a meeting, and the boss wasn't quite happy with me. All I'd done was correct him. And he was wrong, and I had the Yahoo search feature on the phone to prove that. But no. He wouldn't listen. He warned me, and gave me a dressing down in front of his secretary. Poor boss! He thought he owned me, and I let him have that feeling. At the very moment he screamed at me, I knew it was time. I sold my company stock through the Portfolio Manager and instantly made a lot of money. I could have bought him you know, with the money I made.

And texting? I could hide my text messages. You can only surmise how much mischief that can cause, eh! Naughty naughty! 'Twas fun though.

But all that is gone now which brings me to the point of the post. I cannot correct my boss, fool around with my friends or do any of the above things.

Is it really a smart phone if it's absence leaves you helpless? I feel completely bereaved after losing it, and am unable to cope with the loss. How smart is that on the phone's part?

The Roots of Music

2010-09-22T20:29:00.000+05:30

The other day, while we were idling away after work, discussions started out. As usual, they started with the more ‘serious types’ i.e USA and it’s arm-twisting tactics, how the media is used as a tool for propaganda, religion etc. But after a while, even they seem boring, and hence, we moved on to meatier territory.

Like how frustrating it was for us to overcome our social ineptitude, thanks to our engineering education. And how we can barely manage to talk to girls. When we spot a beautiful creature, it’s a joy not unlike a miner who spots a diamond in a coal mine, or a wildlife lover who spots a dodo. But we reached a unanimous conclusion that we would end up as spectators as all the good girls get "swept off their feet" by those Arts types who know how to talk to girls and not stare at them in a hypnotised state. So we moved to a topic where we wouldn’t embarrass ourselves. Music.

That’s where the funny part begins. The evolution of one's musical choices is a sort of ritual that every youngster in India has to go through. Where is the funny part you say? It’s almost the same for every kid of the same generation. Now, now don’t bring out your weapons yet. I know music passes from generation to generation, but you’ll see the flow soon. Take my generation for example. We grew up in the ‘90s on Kumar Sanu, Udit Narayan and Alka Yagnik. My family was (still is) as middle class as it gets. We had a two-in-one for which we used to buy cassettes once a month. I still have the cassettes of DDLJ, Aashiqui. Even Hum Aapke Hain Koun, which to my knowledge, had 17 songs (including one that went Chocolate, Lime Juice sung by a 27-year-old Madhuri Dixit). Yes, we had real fun during those simple times. Then it came. The assault of the boy bands and girl pop idols. Yes, when we moved to the seventh standard (also when the calendar moved closer to the millennium), we were exposed to the Backstreet Boys, N’Sync, Boyzone and Britney, Madonna and (shudder) Savage Garden. Come on, don’t be such a snoot. We all know we listened to it. Confess that you used to love the weird electronic sounds that were part of all Britney songs. You wanted to kill Nick Carter because he, along with the Backstreet Boys, used to make girls faint instantly when they appeared on TV while you hadn’t even managed to borrow a pen from your crush. Yet, in your secret lair (bathroom), you imitated them; you wanted to be like them. You grew hair like them, but you ended up looking like those 80s shock metal bands, (hopefully) without the lipstick and make-up. Ronan Keating was oh-so-cool when he sang I love it when we do but you never bothered to discern the lyrics. In fact, you didn’t even know that the song was called Life is a Rollercoaster. I still remember listening to Larger Than Life by Backstreet Boys, and I had no clue as to what they were singing. We had a common walkman, and during the rains, we would listen to one verse, and stop the tape and then ask each other, “Kya bola? Kuch samjha kya?”

Do you remember watching the music videos? I’m sure you remember watching them for ‘objectionable content’. I still remember watching the one where J Lo takes off her shirt. The song was horrible, but hey, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. I still remember murdering Enrique Iglesias (in my mind) when he kissed Anna Kournikova while I stood in front of the TV unable to do anything.

You must have surely sung in a girl’s voice to imitate Darren Hayes of Savage Garden. Admit it, you sang Truly, Madly, Deeply causing your parents to run to the doctor in shock that you had decided to, um, move over to the other side, if you know what I mean. You danced to the Animal Song, and you reneged against your parents, ironically, by singing Affirmation. And then there were the rock bands. Your first taste of blood. Linkin Park. Don’t you remember trying to shout out like Chester Bennington, only to wake up your parents who thought that you’d had a nightmare? In fact, when I was trying to learn Crawling, my mother came running into my room because she thought I was puking. But there was also Eminem. I still remember a guy rapping Lose Yourself. At our school farewell, to the combined horror of all teachers and parents. Rap and rock fought a huge battle for supremacy, because one day, despite all my mothers’ protests, I bought an Eminem t-shirt. On the joyous occasion of Dussehra. It was the Hindu equivalent of the Apocalypse, at least at my house. The next day, I borrowed a Linkin Park cassette and played it at full volume. My clothes too were mixed. One day, I would wear rapper attire, with loose baggy jeans and long tees (not very long though). The next day, I would be back to normal. It was a difficult time, but I got over it soon. Thanks to Pink Floyd.

Now, in every person’s life, there comes a time when you have to shut up, and listen to Pink Floyd. I did that in college. Pink Floyd remains etched in my mind forever, but my listening list has expanded. I don’t listen to pop much. I don’t rap at all (for fear of embarrassing myself). But whenever I hear someone saying how rock is cool, and pop music is for losers, I laugh silently at them, because that’s how we all began, didn’t we?

As Take That said, Never Forget Where You’re Coming From.

I wrote this as a story for JAM, but rewrote it and sent that draft instead. I've gotten very lazy, so just picked it up from my drafts.

Someone tell me what to write here!

2010-08-24T19:05:00.001+05:30

So you can see that I can't quite come up with anything to write. CWG is just too boring. And most of the Kalmadi jokes have been done with. Otherwise, life has been pretty nice. Work has been going on well, and I've recently bought a whole new set of books from the book exhibition. I plan to read and finish it all very soon. Now you're already thinking of closing the page :)

I recently attended an office party. It was pretty good - I had a lot of fun. It's good to see the "un-office" part of people once in a while. I got introduced to the whole team, and met some new people who I wouldn't have spoken to, otherwise. We have his grandson in the team as an art director ( I suppose). Poor guy got his leg pulled a lot, and had to put up with a lot of jokes. To be fair, he took it all in his stride (it seemed to me at least).

In other news, the Indian media "Paid news" scandal just got brushed under the carpet. Read P Sainath's article here. The original report had named the culprits, but the PCI decided to modify the report two days before it was to be released (or something of that sort).

Don't know that paid news is? Some links for thee. Google the rest, and enjoy!

Link 1

Link 2

The published report is on presstalk.blogspot.com for those who are interested.

Some days, I'm just afraid of what to believe and what not to on TV and in newspapers. I've stopped reading the newspaper all together. I just skim through the headlines and read some stuff online. ToI is just hopeless (more news, but ridiculous reporting), HT has nothing except blue colour and big font, and DNA is well, not for my DNA. I do read the sports and edit page religiously though (even if it is Chetan Bhagat).

Hmm, all that apart, how many of you filled in your mobile numbers for the 'backup security' option that Google asked for? Nice way of accumulating a database for the advertiser network no? Google is very smart. With their sweet talk, they bully the people into doing what they what it wants, and the people don't even realise it. I think Google's monopoly is going too far, and is going to hit back at us one day. Same with Apple.

Bah, I sound like an old grandpa cooking up conspiracy theories. What about you? How have you been? Tell me your stories, please. I want to know. Comments section open :)

"Annoyisha" vs "Peepli" of India

2010-08-14T10:20:00.002+05:30

First of all, Peepli [live] is simply beautiful. I haven't seen satire so well executed in India, and that too without someone taking offence to it. Drop all your plans for this weekend and go watch it. It's hilariously depressing. Journalists may not particularly like this one, especially the TV journos. Watch out for the take on Deepak Chaurasia. The best part of the film is that the characters are well sketched out. None of them seem to have more/less screen time than required, and the plot carries a consistent pace - never too fast or slow.

Anusha Rizvi has pulled off a stunner of a black comedy and probably the best film you will get to see in a long time. Upcoming attractions include We Are Family (Karan Johar productions), Action Replay (Vipul Shah, who made Singh is Kinng) and Lafangey Parindey (YRF, with the gorgeous Deepika trying a mawali accent). I just realised that it's got an 'A' certificate for a few cuss words. Thank you censors, for not allowing those below 18 to be aware of the issue, and that too in an entertaining way. Why couldn't you have just censored the cuss words? Like this, you i****s. B******s.

Anyway, I caught Aisha last week, and it was exactly how I thought it would be. Bitchy and annoying. Someone on Twitter had said, that Aisha is for girls what Dil Chahta Hai was for boys. To be fair, it is, to a certain extent (girls, please add on if it is). The boys in DCH talked more about friendship, love, life, death, and the girls here (Sonam to be precise) talk ONLY about weddings. It's basically an adaptation of Emma, which I now have a good mind to read to find out if the protagonist was as annoying as Sonam.

The film is basically about Aisha Kapoor, a rich spoilt Delhi girl, who thinks she has been born to make people fall in love and get them married. She supports animal rights, but eats meat. She judges people by the brands they wear, and almost prevents her 'friend' from marrying someone who obviously loves her because he's too middle-class for Aisha's taste. In short, it's her business to nose around in other people's affairs and 'help them out'. Well, that's how the character is, and if I hate it so much, I guess Sonam has succeeded to an extent. But as compared to DCH (which was also about rich kids, mind you) Aisha comes across as superficial and shallow. There isn't any depth in the plot, and progression of scenes somehow seems shaky. And it is too long. Someone forgot to edit a song or two. And don't take my word for it. Everyone in the hall was waiting for it to end. When you have the most emotional scene of the movie laughed at, you know there is something wrong with your film. Most of all, Sonam completely butchers some of her lines. She also has an accent, but rich Delhi girls somehow have them. I swear they do. Weird but true. Debutante Amrita Puri is loveable as the Haryanvi behenji Shefali, and so is Ira Dubey (who sounds just like her mother Lilette, and whom we had spotted at IIT-Chennai). But the life saver of the film is Abhay Deol. Cool as a cat, he walks through the film with style, and as most would say, "woh to DUDE hai." Sonam Kapoor gives competition to Miss "My Teeth are for Advertising" during most scenes. Amit Trivedi's music is peppy and nice though. Especially the last track.

On the other hand, I've been reading quite a lot. Here are some books you should read. Yeah, maybe they are old, but I'm sure you haven't read all of them.

The Great Indian Novel: This one by Mr. Shashi Tharoor is a cracker of a novel. It's the story of the great country of India (get it?). Okay, it's basically the Mahabharata set in the context of the Indian independence movement. It's an absolute treat to discover how Mr Tharoor gradually draws parallels between the epic and our epic struggle for freedom. Forget his Twitter feed, read this one. Especially those of you who liked Raajneeti.

I promise you won't be disappointed.

Animal's People: An extremely funny take on the Bhopal Gas Tragedy. The book is a must-read, for it's writing style. It's written in the voice of a boy who has been mutilated due to the gas leak, and has been walking on all fours since 'that night'. I know it sounds really depressing, but the book is very funny. I read it during my train travels, and people thought I had gone mad when I used to burst out laughing reading it.

It's written by a former copywriter Indra Sinha, whose writing carries the force that can move mountains. I still have to get over the cliches. :)

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo: It's a mystery crime novel based in Sweden. Pretty fast, and nicely written. It also deals with violence against women in Sweden, which was new to me. Sweden is one of the most advanced societies in the world (from what I've heard). Obviously not advanced enough. It's a brilliant read though, and it's a trilogy. See if you can get your hands on a copy, or borrow one from me.

I've decided to buy a book a month. My dream of owning a library of my favourite books has started materializing :P

Image courtesy: Google. I don't own the images.

How I landed my advertising job

2010-08-07T21:03:00.001+05:30

Kids, when I...nah! Phew. I finally get the time to write something. Don't get me wrong, though. I'm not SO busy that I can't find the time to even eat or sleep. On the contrary, I've quite settled into the new job. A lot of people did ask me this, "How the hell did you land up at an advertising agency? Did you apply? Was there a test of sorts?" So I decided to write about that. Wow. I can't even find a topic to write about a lot :)

I was always inclined towards advertising somehow. I used to watch a lot of old ads, and I watched all the funny commercials in college (which I now realise is the same folder circulating in the DC++ networks of the entire country. Even my brother has it). And I had always wondered how it was to be in an agency. Plus, journalism was starting to get confusing, since I could not figure out what beat I wanted. And with the print medium dying (slowly but surely), the only option left would have been TV journalism. I need not say anything more. So, through a common friend at JAM, I met a copywriter at DDB Mudra. I showed him my portfolio. A portfolio contains some spec ads (ads of one's own), ideas for some ads etc. And to be fair, my portfolio sucked. But he was really nice, and asked me to work on it some more, and keep bouncing stuff off him. So I did. I had started looking in March, and over the period of 4 months, I kept writing ads, took feedback and rewrote them. It was extremely helpful.

DDB had no openings for freshers, so he gave me some numbers of some other people. So there I went again, showing my work to them. I went to Saatchi & Saatchi and there too, I was told to apply to a bigger agency, since they would have the time and scope to include freshers. From there I landed up a number of a JWT guy, but he was out on a holiday. So I went to Contract Advertising, and then to TAPRoot. Somehow it didn't quite work out and I landed up at Mudra West.

There I showed my reworked portfolio again, and that was the 'Aha' moment for me. He thought I had some good stuff, so that was an encouragement (and some relief that I wasn't on some mad quest). He gave me a copy test (basically a set of advertising problems) to work on and asked me to get back whenever I felt I was done. Also in a single sentence, he explained to me how a campaign was worked out. It's basically one insight/idea, which is extended to all media. So I worked on a campaign and kept it ready. That is where I got really lucky.

For the first time in India, Portfolio Night was held. It's basically a "portfolio review" platform where aspiring juniors get to meet creative directors from different agencies and show them their work. It was 1500 bucks, but was totally worth it. I paid with a friend's credit card, and landed up at Westin, Goregaon, the building where Ogilvy was situated. Juniors got a golden chance to meet the likes of Piyush Pandey, Balki, Prasoon Joshi in person and get valuable feedback. I met some really awesome people, and got good feedback from them, and more importantly, their numbers. I called up one of them (who's now my super, super, super boss) and he passed me on to his team. I showed my work to them, and they asked me to wait for a week to figure out with HR as to how they could fit me in.

I'd started to panic a little, since everyone was asking for experience. And if no one took me, I wouldn't have the experience.! I even said this at Ogilvy when I met my current creative directors (which probably was a little bold, now that I think of it). I called up the other people I had met, (one of them was again from Ogilvy), so I interviewed at Ogilvy again, but results were delayed. In my panic, I called up my friend from JAM, and she gave me the email ID to a guy from Lowe. I interviewed at Lowe too - correction, I interviewed at Churchgate Hotel, where I was fed biryani and offered alcohol. He liked my work but asked me to wait for a week, since he had to check with HR. The big H had struck.

Suddenly one day, I got a call from Ogilvy (from my current boss) asking me to show her my work. Since I already had some campaigns ready, I first went to Mudra West, and showed him my work. Then I told him about my Portfolio Night experience, and how I had to go to Ogilvy next to show my work. My current boss turned out to be a friend, and he told me to present my ideas to her, and that he would speak to her too. I did, and got a verbal confirmation of my first advertising job. But the "pay" was still to be worked out - you see, in advertising, freshers rarely get paid, and those who do, get paid in laughable proportions.

The family had already started panicking since "I was refusing an MBA offer (from IMT, Nagpur, which I had refused to go to when they had asked me in the interview) and I wasn't going anywhere in particular." Shifting from a job with a pay, to getting paid nothing would have let off a nuclear bomb at home. One was supposed to go the other way (from no pay to some pay). But finally, after all the mandatory HR procedures were done with (which took only a month and a half), I was offered a job. And a one with pay! woot!

My first day was supposed to be July 5, but thanks to the BJP bandh, I went a day late. The HR had no idea I was joining that day (happened to two other people), so after waiting for an hour outside, I landed at the creative floor, still wet from the heavy rain. I spent three whole days filling forms and taking signatures. And my transport problems were solved, since there was a bus which plied from Thane to Goregaon. There are two buses in the evening - one at 6 and one at 8 - for free! So everyday, I sleep in the bus, and shiver in the office since the AC is on full blast.

I think there should be an extra introductory note for new employees at Ogilvy asking them to buy a jacket. I'm on some pretty cool brands. No, I'm not on Vodafone, Cadbury or Fevicol. I'm on ICC World Cup, The Economist, Future Generali, Lakme and Pond's. So don't be surprised if you find me talking about beauty products :P

EDIT: I just reread this and it reads like I was asked to write a report on how I got my job. Sheesh!

Houston, we have a problem?

2010-07-10T20:26:00.002+05:30

No, no. It isn't that huge a problem. But yes, I foresee it becoming huge. On my last job, I had two Saturdays working, and I was pretty busy on those. Sundays were meant for sleep, or meeting some friends. But now (at least in the initial stages), I have weekends off. Which brings me to my problem. I don't know what to do.

In my hostel days, I used to watch movies, and series and all that jazz. But now that I'm home, I suddenly don't want to watch them anymore. The Coen Brothers' movies I downloaded remain unwatched. The 21st season of The Simpsons is being watched in spurts of boredom and joblessness. I must confess that I am not a party person. Apart from the fact that I don't have the money to pay for the huge weekend cover charge and the petrol for the car (It's a small joke among Thaneites that if we have to go for a gig or a party, we either have to take along a car, or a sleeping bag), dancing isn't particularly my cup of tea. I don't drink, so I end up being the driver. That's fine, but it's not worth doing every weekend.

We live in company-owned flats, and people get transferred in and out. So most of my old friends have spread their wings and flown away, or to put it like sci-fi, they are out there somewhere. I have no clue where though. A few of my college friends are here though, and thanks to them, I move around, and "do stuff". If not for them, I would have been sleeping at home, or watching TV. Thanks guys!

I studied in a hostel, so not many of my friends are in the city. Unlike my other friends and colleagues who have virtually spent their life in Mumbai, I have roamed around like a nomad for the first ten years of my life. During weekends, office people naturally chill out with their school friends. And I'm stuck in no man's land. Come to think of it, I'm to blame too. I don't socialise well. I'm horrible in fact.

But the main problem is that I don't know how to have fun. At least not in the normal way. I generally need someone awesomely peppy and upbeat to go along. I love to read, but you can't really involve your friends in it, can you? Imagine calling up people and saying, "Hey, let's read Twilight, I mean, LOTR together!" I like travelling, but one of my friend works in Sales, and as the saying goes, "Pocket (and somewhere else too) mein hamesha rocket hota hai." The others are too busy with work (they work in engineering multinationals, where the concept of the two-day weekend is unheard of). And the rest are no more in Mumbai.

What's that? Movies? Yes I watch them. But lately, we've been served with quite a humongous pile of crapola who can't even spell right. Last night I saw a film which competes with Ram Gopal Varma ki Aag. The Last Airbender will easily be the worst movie of the year. Cheesy dialogues, shallow plot, horrible editing, randomly thrown in 3D imagery. I slept throughout the movie. In fact, Tanmay, I'm having second thoughts about paying you back for the tickets :)

I enjoy long drives, and have taken quite a few all the way to Marine Drive! But again, it's passive fun. Not the "Yo dude! You rocked" kind of thing. I'm a sucker for old times, and I love ranting about how TV sucks nowadays, how school rocked, how Cartoon Network showed awesome cartoons (Dexter, Swat Kats!), and not Japanese manure.

My guitar is totally fucked, and I can't find my processor at all. That's 13k of hard-earned money. I haven't touched a guitar for more than a year. I haven't played on stage for a LONG time. To be honest, I don't know why I'm not going out and forming a band, just for the heck of jamming with people.

And I need a way to exercise. Gym didn't work out last time. Laziness is a virtue hard to let go off, but the fat content is overshooting avoidable limits. I need to do something fast. I need ways to keep me busy on weekends. And I need it fast.

Sorry for the whining.

Ogilvy & Datar

2010-06-22T22:33:00.001+05:30

Goodbye journalism. Yep. I've been sold. No, not like a slave (yet), but I'm moving on to advertising. Yes, I'm joining Ogilvy & Mather Advertising. Yes, I will be writing ads. Yes, you can blame me for ruining your reading and (eventually) watching experience. I couldn't care less though. I'm being paid to wile away my time thinking of random ideas, which will hopefully turn into good concepts to sell products successfully.

Most people love advertising since their work is displayed everywhere. I somehow will take pride in the fact that my work will also help store someone's bhel in it. Or to cover someone's textbooks, or clean someone's dusty table. I myself have used ads from newspapers and magazines (over which the writers/art directors probably slogged) to clean the monitor and keyboard at my office. Of course, it will also serve its true purpose of communicating important information (*tries not to laugh*), but there are incentives. Like meeting Deepika (*starts praying for the day to arrive soon*) and boasting to Bali about it. Of course, I've met/talked to my share of stars during JAM. Priyanka Chopra (2nd on the list after Deepika), Amit Trivedi, Paul Gilbert, Indian Ocean, Warren Mendonsa, Prachi Desai. Those are the ones I care about. No, not Prachi Desai. Don't remember the rest.

Downside? The office is in Goregaon. What a wonderful time I'm going to have travelling from Thane to Goregaon everyday, since erratic timings in advertising are as natural as flops to Tusshar Kapoor. I'm thinking of persuading dad to pay for my petrol so that I can take the car. Bike is out of question. Parents refused flatly. ("No bike, nothing doing. It is so far, and there is so much traffic!) Yes, I can finally drive the car (without damaging it). And I have the perfect excuse to ask for money, "Advertising pays so less, appa!"

For those who don't know, Ogilvy & Mather have done the Vodafone Pug/ZooZoo, Fevicol, Cadbury, Economist, Tata Sky commercials. Hopefully, I will be able to churn out decent stuff. I can't say I'm not scared. What if my ideas turn out to be crap? What if I can't think at all? These questions haunt me. But I guess there's no answering them until I go there.

PS: I might not be able to update this space as regularly as before. You know, with work and all. I will surely have stories to tell though. You can be DEADSURE of that. Will try and do whatever I can.

I still have a lot of stuff pending.

1. My PAN card perished when I went to Delhi. I had to show it at the airport for identification, and when I took it out, my photo was all mutilated. The policeman said, "Oh yeh nahi chalega ji. Isme toh kuchh dikh hi nahi raha hai," following which I had to show my driver's license with its geeky photograph. PAN card needs to be remade.

2. Sitting at home without any exercise has given me a certain amount of horizontal girth. I let my gym membership expire. Last time I visited it was before Diwali. It closed down for a couple of days, and I've been giving that excuse for more than 8 months. So body needs some exercise. I've been cleverly concealing it with appropriate clothing. Someone please come and play some football with me!

3. I want to re-read Hitchhikers'... Last time I read it was in an ebook format, since I didn't have the money to buy the expensive copy. Not that financial matters have changed a lot (or will be changing soon for that matter), but I think I'll squander away some of my blood, sweat and tears for it. Anything for a puff of logic!

4. Watch some movies left over on the comp. I got hold of some episodes of Family Guy. It's not that great as I thought it was. Writers can't maintain consistency.

5. Catch up with some friends, and call some. I have been using the 'sorting things out' excuse for quite some time. I promise I won't do it again.

Until next time. Wish me luck!

Hello, hello

2010-06-12T21:43:00.002+05:30

Hello blog. We haven't interacted for a long time, have we? You must be missing me no? Maybe there is too much going on in my life now. Please forgive me. I promise to write more. Or maybe it's because I read this article. Or maybe it's because someone just gave me a kind warning about what to write online. Or maybe it's because the FIFA WC is on.

I don't know, but after reading the article, I'm kind of wary of what I write. And of course, what I show to people on Facebook. Anyways, it's time you stop trusting social networking sites, and customise your privacy settings. Ironic though it may be, since you're on the site for networking purposes, you never know when you let go off steam somewhere and it comes back to haunt you .

I'm going to be very careful from now on. Very.

Rarest of the rare...

2010-05-04T15:09:00.002+05:30

The city of Mumbai is in turmoil yet again. And this time it's twin troubles. First, Ajmal Kasab's punishment is due any minute now. You can imagine how the news channels are behaving. Having heard the 'rarest of the rare' practically on every channel, I wonder if they all read out a script with a few keywords thrown in. I'm watching Hindi more than English channels, because somehow they seem to be more ahead on the news. Yes, that's right.

Somehow I have the feeling that he will be given the death penalty, and since he has one mercy appeal left, he will do so, and the case will drag on yet again. And people will eventually forget about it and move on. Sad it is.

Forgive me for being so um, pessimistic, but this has happened before. And there is also this. And the human rights people have NOTHING to say this time. I hope. I wonder what kind of human rights they propagate, when the criminal has killed so many people. What about their rights? This is Kalyug, as our scriptures say, and you must pay for your sins in this birth itself.

I'm sounding like them gurus and speaking tree. In a lighter vain, there is this. The motormen strike has brought the city to a halt. In fact, Deputy CM RR Patil is busy negotiating with the striking motormen and couldn't attend the trial of the most important case in the country. The proceedings were delayed since both the prosecution and defence were stuck in a traffic jam!

Mumbai is strange.

Amdavad Chhe Part 1

2010-04-17T11:19:00.001+05:30

I visited Ahmedabad last week. It was after 18 long years that I was heading to Gujarat. I used to stay in Porbander when I was two years old, but I don't think that counts for much. Plus, Ahmedabad was my first time. And I decided to take Saurashtra Exp, since it involved a day journey and I wanted to 'experience the natural beauty of Gujarat'. HUGE mistake number one.

The route from Mumbai to Ahmedabad is HOT. REALLY HOT. I had bought a sleeper ticket, and I was on the upper berth (which is confusing since if you wanted to see the beautiful sun-baked fields, you need to be at the window). And the upper berth had the beautiful heat of the 43 degree sun reaching me directly, and 'Saurabh Fry' was served even before it struck twelve. Abhi toh picture baaki hai. I twisted and turned for want of some cool air, and I was wearing jeans. Thick ones. Brilliant strategy again. HUGE mistake number two. I only had Suketu Mehta's Maximum City for company, and I read quite a lot of it, before he got to the part where he describes Mumbai's sweaty weather. I couldn't bear it anymore. The only relief was the infinite flow of food vendors. I love Gujaratis and their food. I had a lot of stuff - bhel, khaman, chai, dhokla and something else which I don't know what to call but was suspiciously yellow. To hell with it, I thought. I was going to die of the heat anyway.

There was a couple opposite my berth, and they were coochie-cooing. I just hoped it didn't reach Bandstand proportions. They were my source of entertainment, actually. The guy was ignoring the girl's requests to talk to her parents (like all normal guys). Instead, he chose the best way out. He rested his head in the girl's lap and fell asleep. I managed to catch a wink or two also. Then suddenly, when Surat came near, the guy got up, went down, wore his shades and sat still. Like a beggar. Like a statue. The girl had no clue what had happened. She got down and tried asking him, but he was motionless. Sitting there with his pink shirt (Gujarat remember!) and his black shades, only a bowl was missing if you know what I mean. I slept off again, and woke up when the train pulled out of Surat. Here's where the fun began.

I got down and my sandals were gone. Poof. I asked around, and the aunty said that a sweeper had just passed by. That made sense. But another uncle told me that 'Shades guy' had taken my sandals and gone. WHY WOULD HE TAKE MINE? Didn't he have his own? Luckily I had an extra pair of shoes, but they were formal ones.

There I was, looking like a doofus with a tee, a blue jeans and BLACK FORMAL SHOES! Even in the land where men wear floral prints in bright colours, I looked like an idiot. And now I had two choices. Take off the shoes, keep them in the bag, go to the kiln on top and roast alive till Ahmedabad arrived. Or wear the shoes, burn below beside the window, and wait for Ahmedabad. I chose the former. At least I could sleep there. So I did. Till evening came and with it the cool 35 degree air. Heaven!

TO BE CONTINUED...

Dilli Dallying

2010-04-02T14:29:00.004+05:30

I recently visited the capital city. For yet another MBA interview. Now I shall refrain from describing the interview, because it was just another interview. But I was actually looking forward to my trip because it was my first time travelling in a plane. I had heard horror stories about how it gets really wobbly and how people are puking left right and centre. I just hoped I didn't (and also the one sitting beside me). It was perhaps the most expensive trip ever in my life. And I will put it down in points because, I don't know why :)

1. I flew to Delhi in Go Air. They followed a funny safety routine where the poor air-hostesses had to gesture and act out the instructions. I guess they must be accustomed to it.

2. Delhi was HOT. I've lived 4 years in Nagpur, and I still felt Delhi was hotter. I got down at the airport and took a prepaid cab to my place in Panchsheel Park, South Delhi. Thankfully, I didn't get robbed (#mumbaikarsperceptionofdelhi). And the first thing I see after the cab turns out into the main highway is a carcass of a dead dog. Another thing I noticed was that almost all the cars had dents, scratches and remnants of an 'encounter'. I experienced Delhi's mad traffic for the first time after 15 years, when the cabbie almost ran into a BMW (Yea Delhi!) when the BMW just revved across the street from the extreme left to the rightmost lane.

I finally reached the place which was quite near my centre - IIT Delhi.

3. I was supposed to meet a friend at SDA market. But I couldn't get a single ~~rickshaw~~ auto to the place. Why the strikethrough? Because rickshaw means the cycle rickshaw. I walked to the place and almost got ran over by two cars while I crossed on my green signal.

We had something to eat and it turned out, that we were both indecisive about what to do next. So we headed to the friend's college. Which is JNU.

4. Now, I'd heard all about JNU, its love for communism, jhola, Fabindia kurtas and other such stereotypes. There are also Maoist sympathisers. There are posters put up across the college buildings saying "Maoism - The only way", "Work, Struggle" and other such things. JNU doesn't allow franchisees on campus. The capitalist pig that I am, I found it revolting and quite depressing to see the underground rundown canteen (Sorry, Rini!). I took some pics too, but my phone is now a breeding ground for viruses, so I can't download it.

5. We then went to the highest point of JNU (or Delhi? Rini?) from where was quite a good view. It would have been even better if we didn't have a scorching sun drying our lives out. We were also given company by some kids (5-6 of them) getting 'high' on one can of draught beer and a quarter of vodka. They had also started shouting in English. One of them said, "Oye man, light this cig. Isko light kar. I'm...I'm very very...high."

But my light-heartedness was ruined by some weird thing in my eye which rendered it red. Almost crimson. 'Bloodshot eyes' never had an more apt example. I was roaming around looking like a drunk pirate.

6. IIT Delhi is old, and not a very nice campus. I saw the paranthewala mentioned in Five Point Someone. And the DoMS is on the other freaking end of the campus, with a nullah running through it, not unlike Nag River a la VNIT. IIT Delhi seemed even hotter. The interview got delayed, but nothing more on that.

7. I was flying back by Kingfisher, and I wondered which one of Mallya's famed beauties would be at my service. I only hoped it wouldn't be from the Nagpur branch, which was right outside VNIT (VNITians know why!). Or maybe it would? Sure would have been nice to go back and eat orange barfi, and do some jhaamal jhaamal on the plane! Kingfisher has Yana Gupta deliver the safety instructions (on recorded video of course). Yo Mallya!

8. I now know why being a pilot is such an adrenalin rush (NO! Not the girls. Maybe a bit!) The rush that the sudden speed the plane catches while taking off is amazing. I could feel it as a passenger (maybe because I was a first timer) and I'm sure the pilot likes it too.

9. Delhi has an INFINITE number of hot women (Srini, thanks for reminding me :P). I swear. And I also learnt how to wear a tie. Over the phone. #win

Delhi trip was cool enough, except for the eye thing, which is now back to normal. Missed out meeting another friend due to that. Stupid eye!

Kuch Khaas Hai

2010-03-10T22:43:00.004+05:30

I'm sort of an advertising fan. Somehow, I always liked advertising, and I have a lot of sentimental value for old ads, and some good new ads. Older ads somehow seemed more genuine, and were definitely simpler.

People did this:

And now this:

The Cadbury's one is really touching. The jingle is sweet, the music is simple, yet brilliant and Shankar Mahadevan is just magical. I get goosebumps every time I watch the ad on YouTube. Ogilvy somehow manages to touch the nerves of Indians on a regular basis (they're the guys responsible for Fevicol, Vodafone and the awesomely funny Bingo ads).

Dish TV? Not so much. Masquerading as a medium to get an adopted girl to cope with the sudden change in her life, is a bit of a stretch. Call me cynical, but somehow it just doesn't fit.

Random post is over.

PS: How many of you recognised the girl in the bus from the Cadbury's ad?

Ek Diplomat?

2010-02-23T23:28:00.003+05:30

It's been a really long time, but SO MUCH has been happening in the past month, that I haven't gotten any time to adjust to the changes.

1. I got shortlisted for XLRI's PMIR programme (and got rejected by a few others). It's the flagship course and most people would love to do it. But I can't find a single DAMN reason to pursue a career in HR. And it doesn't really help when everyone around is going around saying, 'HR is useless". In fact, one person suggested that I pursue HR because 'kuchh bhi kaam nahi hota. Poora din net surf karna, comics padhna, aur shaam ko 5 baje ghar jaana.'

2. I've been getting drilled in the mock PIs. They can't find a reason as to why I would fit or want to do a PMIR course. Neither can I. And every damn person has the same reason to do an MBA: analytical, good with people. I think one can just record a tape and play it for the interviewers and they wouldn't even notice.

3. GDs turn people into animals. Everyone wants a share of the meat, and no one is intelligent enough to understand that if you do it in a civilised manner, everyone would have their, erm, moment in the sun. And GD is just about 'bringing in a new perspective'. No concrete conclusion. Just truckloads of opinions. For example, if you're discussing expansion, you could 'take someone's point forward' (I hate those phrases now) and throw in a reference about Pamela Anderson and her surgical enhancements which expanded her, um, horizon and you could win some points for originality. And people will not interrupt when you speak up next time because you might just end up bringing another new point. At the end of the day, it is just a clash of egos, me thinks.

4. About the, ahem, letter, lot has been said and done. I've learnt two things. Perspective. And opinions. People will always have them, and it is up to you to imbibe them or chuck them aside. You should do both. But it was a learning experience. So no regrets!

5. GMail blocks people after they send 500 emails a day. I think most of you found this out at your own cost. I did too :)

The Biggest Sucker Punch Of Them All

2010-01-27T00:23:00.012+05:30

VNITians, you know what I'm talking about. Especially batch of 2009. Upcoming batches, just hope this doesn't happen to you like it did to us. Or even better, don't do anything that might lead to such consequences. If you didn't understand, never mind. I'm a sort of a conspiracy theorist, and my fellow theorists, Dukki and Tanmay proposed something which has stuck to me. Anyways, all that is reserved for a better conversation, one with choicest selections from the ever increasing Nagpur Foul Language Dictionary.

Non VNITians. Apologies for the topicality. Long story short, I received my degree after a friend collected it for me (Thanks, man!) since Nagpur was hit by a huge epidemic of swine flu where around 5 people were diagnosed with it and my college, nay, institute decided to cancel the convocation, and is perhaps the only one in the whole damn country of 1.2 billion people to do so.

Yes, it's true. Go ahead. Laugh all you want. I did too. I still am.

Note: More action, soon to come. Keep watching this space.

The MBA Diaries # 2: SNAPshots

2010-01-22T00:25:00.005+05:30

Too much has been going on in my life. I’ve been busy listening to other people grumble on the trains, smelling their hair, getting pushed around and squeezed like a lemon. And when I’m not doing all of the above, I take exams. I can actually make it a hobby of mine. Every alternate Sunday had actually turned out to be Mumbai Darshan, and of course, the voyeuristic sport of people-watching.

Just before my SNAP, I’d chatted with one of my friends who’d said, “Tu Symbi kyun de raha hai? You should aim for the IIMs only.” (This is true. I’m not making it up.) The faith shown in me by my and parents friends spurs me on every day (DONOT mistake this for depression. I’m just plain bored of work, success, future, planning, career and all other associated words. So I went with a determination rarely seen in me to my centre.

Kirti M. Doongursee College, Dadar.

Now Dadar is a region I now know fairly well, thanks to my job at Worli (which I refuse to call it by its true address). Worli is way cooler than ‘Kaliandas Udyog Bhavan, Near Century Bazaar, Prabhadevi’. I’d gladly tell everyone it was Siddhivinayak, but its 10 mins walk from the hallowed temple.

Anyway, I didn’t quite know where Kirti College was and the address only said Veer Savarkar Marg, which stretches all the way to Worli, and probably even further. So I caught a cab at Dadar station (after being nearly killed by oncoming buses and cabs). It was SNAP – so I expected a lot hoi polloi there (how smug, no?). I gave a lift to two other guys who had difficulty finding cabs (Dadar station is pretty close to the college). Kirti college is near the coast, from where you can manage an awesome view of the Bandra-Worli sea link. I only wondered if the same view was available from the classrooms (in case I screwed up my test). My question was just about to be answered.

The college is old. Really old. And the classrooms have windows in the back. Not like most classrooms where air flows across the room. Air flew right through the room here, so if Kareena 'Size Zero' Kapoor was here (*suppresses laughter*), a strong wind could enter from the 'backside' and take her along through the door. And I did what most people do when they go to exam centers. Ask where the washroom (okay toilet!) was. It was at the other end of the huge corridor, and a walkathon later, I entered my classroom. And found these words written on the board.

Newton’s law of attraction: The most rowdy and gunda of all guys always run behind the simplest of girls. The law doesn’t hold true vice versa.

No SNAP 2009. No test date or time. This. I swear it is true.

SNAP is held in the afternoon at 2, which was another cause of concern for me, since I was afraid of falling asleep. At five minutes to 2, the invigilators entered the room lazily, staring grudgingly at everyone for ruining their Sunday. They were probably being paid 50 bucks an hour for invigilation, which isn’t much considering it was a two-hour test. The man (henceforth MI or male invigilator. There was a lady too) was dark with a thick moustache. I guess he was almost disappointed at the misprint of ‘3 hrs test time’ on the question paper. Lost 100 bucks probably. The couple looked like they were going to break into a dance routine of Dhagaala Laagli Kala any moment, to drive away their boredom.

And it didn’t help when the guy behind me asked, “Sir, test center Mumbai likhana hai ya Dadar?” And the invigilator answered with a tone that Raj Thackeray would have been proud of, “Dadar, Mumbai likho.” I decided to use my Marathi weapon here and smugly asked, “Sir, ithe stamp pan maraycha ahe.” But he wasn’t too pleased with me and gave me an ‘I know what I’m doing’ look and told me to wait.

MI was again called for, when a girl kept asking doubts about the codes. Symbi people had also decided to take feedback on the level of the question paper (talk about insecurity) and the girl asked, “Sir, what if I don’t fill it?” And LI (lady invigilator) replied, “Notheeng. Feel it as asked.” The next time the girl raised her hand, I glanced back (I was on the first bench right at the door) at gave her the ‘Where were you when brains were being given out’ look and uttered a loud “mch” sound, after which two others followed suit. She had a superior air about her, and she thought she was the most attractive girl in the class.

Which she was. In Kirti College. Which isn’t saying much.

She had that ‘I ask doubts, I’m inquisitive, you’re all just rattu popats’ look on her face and she made sure that she gave that look to anyone who cared to glance in that direction.

The boy behind me raised his hand and asked again, “Poora address likhana hai ya sirf Dadar, Mumbai?” He would probably complete filling his details by 3:30. I only hoped he didn’t ask if Bombay was to be written, because I was sure that MI would have called the MNS/Shiv Sena on him if he did.

I couldn’t suppress my laughter when MI said, “Sweech off mobile pphhones” and he caught me laughing, though he didn’t do anything. Probably the first time someone reacted to something he said. The test itself was simple, which meant that I wouldn’t do as well as the others. GK was a bitch, and some of the questions were real teasers. English was a complete cakewalk, and LR too was decent. I felt that I didn’t do that well in Quant and that I would be on the borderline for SIBM and SCMHRD.

Miss ‘Room no 205, Kirti College’ had decided to just hang around the entrance and not let anyone pass without saying ‘Excuse me’ until a sardar came up to her and said, “Aap aise chowkidaar jaise kyun khadi hain? Jaane dengi please?” Way to go, paaji. I made my exit just a few students after the sardar and the beauty queen was still recovering from the comment and I deliberately said, “May I go now?” She probably wanted to beat me up or something.

I just left quietly and caught a cab to Dadar station.

Image: Google

Da Datar and Dukki Diaries # 4 - Coffee and Paarsa

2010-01-10T21:50:00.003+05:30

My exams are finally over. I don’t quite have any idea how they went, since I sincerely followed the ritual of going to the centre, observing people, taking the test, and going back home and tossing the question paper away like it was infested with swine flu.

I sometimes have these emotional (Yes, it’s possible with me too!) flashback moments. The memories generally pertain to college, um sorry, institute, no wait, college incidents, random events, films, ads and anything which reminds me of the past, and allows me to wile away my time at office after I’ve read Pearls, SMBC, Dilbert, Whatay, Greatbong, Krishashok, Flyyoufools, and any other online resource that makes me laugh.

What I like at JAM is that it gave me chance to discover Mumbai and it’s college life in a way I’ve never experienced before, since I never ventured out of Thane (except for my weekly doses of full body rubs in the 2^nd class compartment, when I went for IIT tuitions). For example, when I’d gone to Mithibai, I expected ‘kem chho, majaa maa’ and ‘dhokla faafra’ type of crowds. Call it my ignorance, but that’s what I thought. Of course, some did belong to the above category too, and common sense and intelligence levels perilously skirted sub zero levels, something which I’m not used to (as I told someone recently *wink*). But what I’ve found is that the comfort level that the two genders share is much more than that at VNIT, where getting a phone call from a girl is met with (some) gleeful comments like ‘Wah beta, lage raho!’ or ‘Kiska phone hai bhai? Humein bhi bataoo’. While I bulldozed my way in to the concert (Media entry, ‘sir’!), I heard a girl talking to a guy saying, “Abey tu ladkiyon se itna darta kyon hai? Jaa bata de usko! Khaa thodi jayegi.”

Which is when Dukki and his exploits come up.

Incident 1:

Dukki and Kana are in the canteen. A group of day scholar girls shows up. Kana shifts gear to ‘hero’ mode.

Girl 1 (Swati I think?): Kya Kana, hamesha canteen mein hi rehta hai. Class nahi hoti kya?

Swati, tera class nahi hai? Electronics people are known for being everywhere on campus except for class. I’ve been sleeping in my room for most of my morning lectures. Tanmay was always jealous, “Saale, tere prof attendance kyon nahi lete? Humein hi kyon class jaana padta hai.”

Abey tu class kab gaya, Tanmay?

Kana: *Insert long speech here with words virtually unheard by anyone*

Swati: Tera band contest ka kya hua?

Kana: *Insert information about bands whose albums have never been heard by anyone except Octaves members*

Dukki gets his coffee, and might have been staring at Girl 2 (Attention!). Kana notices and decides not to let go of opportunity.

Kana: Girl 2, Prathamesh tereko taap raha hai.

Dukki spills his coffee all over his pants, out of sheer shock.

Incident 2:

Dukki, Kana, Tanmay and Bali have all gotten into the organising committee for the management event at Axis, since there was a certain Kashmiri presence in it. Dukki has completely forgotten that he is the core committee member and isn’t supposed to be in the committee, but where there is Kashmir, there is Dukki.

Most meetings, my sources tell me, were spent in the game of one-upmanship being played by Kana, Tanmay and Dukki. Of course, Kana is known for his loud and brash mannerisms and Tanmay tries to counter any word being spoken. Dukki, with his occasional flashes of brilliances, pitches in.

Meeting is on. The plan is to come up with problem statement.

Kashmiri Presence: Let’s have a weird product and ask for a marketing strategy for it.

Dukki: Yes, yes. What product though?

Kana: See, it has to be something not everyone uses………

Someone: How about a paarsa (power saw)?

Kana: Yes. Brilliant!

Tanmay: Haan. Paarsa will do.

Juniors: Yes, ma’am. Paarsa is great.

Dukki (has absolutely no clue as to what it is): It’s a very good idea. We can certainly work on it. We should set a deadling. Tell you what, Sh****a, let us start……..

Someone else: Yeh ‘paarsa’ kya hai?

Dukki, Kana and Tanmay all look completely puzzled and have no clue.

Someone: Arre, power saw, aari.

Dukki: Oh……. Paawar sow. Hat! Kuch bhi kya product hai.

Pic courtesy: Wikipedia

5 Points by Someone - Why you should take '3 Idiots' with a pinch of salt

2009-12-30T20:42:00.008+05:30

It’s been a week since 3 Idiots released, and I’ve been dying to write about it. The film in itself is a decent watch, a complete masala entertainer. Now there is nothing wrong with that. I enjoyed it, but when it gets preachy, that is when I thought, “Wait, that doesn’t fit in.”

I’ve always felt Raju Hirani’s premises for criticism are very different from others, and that he wants to ‘shed light’ on some problems (for want of a better word) facing the society. He did it popularly enough with the Munnabhai series (though I was surprised, since the first film hit out at doctors, who are revered in our society and are equated to God). In this film too, the theme he chooses couldn’t have better relevance. There are lakhs of engineers who graduate every year in our country, and I can guarantee that at least 50 % of them either don’t have the aptitude to do it, or were forced into it, or both. In fact, most people have the “Oops! Why did I do engineering” (a euphemism for “Be******d! Why did I become an engineer”) right into their 2^nd or 3^rd year and the feeling ironically becomes stronger once you graduate. All eez well till now.

Once the characters and the plot become clearer, I started thinking through the film.

The principal is portrayed to be a heartless swine, completely devoid of human emotions. First flaw identified. NO principal, (and I repeat NONE) can be so heartless, as to not allow a student some leeway in case of a family emergency. The ‘khaana chhod diya kya’ argument is bizarre. I’m from an NIT myself, one of the ‘premier institutes’ in the country, and I’ve never seen any such behaviour in any professor. They might be strict, but not inhuman. Then you might ask why a grade ‘A’ actor like Boman is reduced to a caricature? Because Indian films have a tendency to classify everything distinctly under either black or white. And in order that Aamir’s arguments carry more weight, and have more impact, a demon had to be created. And how better to be the primary demon than the principal?If you’ve read 1984, you’ll know what I’m talking about. There always needs to be an Emmanuel Goldstein to help move your cause forward.

This brings me to my second argument. The incessant need to thrust ‘goodness’ into your face to help you get the point cannot be more emphasised. Aamir is the brilliant student, the rebel who still manages to top the class. But why go ahead and make him a gardener’s son? Why couldn’t he be a normal middle class or even a rich kid? Does that reduce the credibility of his achievements? The film almost forces you to agree with them. Yes, their point is taken, but was there a need to go over the top? I’m completely for a reform in education, and am one of the few ‘idiots’ (to borrow the terminology from the film) who hasn’t ventured out to a job even remotely related to engineering. So technically, I should be the first one to go ‘Yay! Hi – fi’ about the film. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t do it.

Aamir seems to be a superhuman that can virtually do anything from building robots, to topping the class to convincing people their fiancés are useless (hello?) and even delivering children (Did you notice the subtle advertising by Airtel – ringtones and the WiFi modem?). Aamir even takes on the principal, openly accusing him of murder, and throwing in statistics about suicides. Again, the director falls prey to the ‘star syndrome’. Aamir plays a guy 22 years younger to him. Weren’t there any younger actors who could play the role? And for me, Aamir’s didn’t have much to do. His character is written in such a manner that whatever he does seems cool (breaking into the principal’s office, peeing in his house).

The film has three people commit suicide (two successful, I think) leading all non – engineers to think that whenever an engineer fails, he tries to kill himself (Notice the ‘he’. Girls don’t fail. They study hard. I give them that). While there is a lot of pressure to do well in college, nothing justifies killing yourself. After all, it’s only a bloody exam. This is one point where I agreed with the film, that parents shouldn’t have binary opinions about their child’s career (engineer or doctor). There are a plethora of career options available. Not everyone is as understanding as my parents (or Madhavan’s in the film), it takes a few months’ time for parents to adjust to your choice. I’ve learnt it through a personal experience. So mums and dads, let your children make their own mistakes please.

The film targets the youth (of which I’m also a part). Most must have lapped it up and must already be hatching ‘cool ways’ to make life hell for the teachers and be ‘rebels’. I’d like to ask them:

When was the last time you read something up not for the exams, but for knowledge’s sake?

Have you ever cringed at the fact that the questions asked in the exam aren’t from the ‘notes that teacher gave in class’?

Have you asked for the paper pattern, and fumed when the teacher did not ‘follow the pattern’?

Have you ever been upset that the question paper didn’t repeat the questions from previous years’ papers?

When was the last time you did a project that was wasn’t lifted from Google? (I’m not acting holier than thou. I’ve done it too.)

When was the last time you thought ‘Youngistaan’ (the show) wasn’t cool but actually retarded?

I’ve got some other questions too, but I’ve forgotten them (:P) and you be bored by now and ready to kill me the next time we meet up.

PS: Lastly, most of the jokes are stale. The ‘pencil in space’ joke came around as an internet forward when we were in 8^th.

I might be completely wrong. In that case, you are more than welcome to explain it to me. I love being proven wrong!

Image Courtesy: Wikipedia

PS: Check the banner on top. *elated at being chosen for the first time*

The MBA Diaries # 1: Gay MET

2009-12-23T22:31:00.006+05:30

Okay, this is yet another series of posts I'm starting (More Dukki Diaries still to come) and this is a disclaimer I would like to highlight:

I'm going to be immensely judgmental, shallow and flip - sided in my observations and sometimes chauvinist too. It is all meant in good humour, and nothing should be taken seriously.

As most of you know, I 'prepared rigorously' for six months and am in the process of completing my MBA exams (notice only completing exams) by Jan 10. And since there are almost half a dozen exams to be given, there will be half a dozen test centres and each centre consists of it's own form of entertainment. I have this habit of observing and characterising fellow (unsuspecting) students into different categories, and make predictions about how they are going to fare in the exam and in general, what they would be like. If you think its horrible on my part to makes such assumptions, try it once. You'll have fun, at the expense of no one but your imagination.

CAT was a totally different story, and the only thing I actually want to write here, is that there were a total of 48 leaves on the patterns of the curtains in my lab, and 24 flowers, arranged in a diagonal fashion. This was my only productive conclusion for Dec 1, which I arrived at when I was waiting for the test to be 'delivered'.

But the real deal (read paper based test) started with JMET (Joint Management Entrance Test), excelling in which would get me into the IIT B - Schools. If you're one of the people saying, "Wait, IITs are technical institutes, right?", a very warm good morning to you. When I was applying, I had a deep discussion with one of my school friends who said, "I'm not going into the IITs. I can't take another two years with engineers." I thought deeply (for once) and took a chance and filled the online form (with some hiccups, owing to my mistake and their Stone Age style application form design - long story that too), even though I knew that an engineering degree combined with an MBA from an IIT was one of the surefire methods of turning a person gay (virtually zero exposure to the fairer sex).

When the exam date drew near, I thought to myself, "Let's give this all we've got. It's only an exam, and I can do it." And I did (by asking my friend a day before the exam what the syllabus and pattern was. He replied, " Tension mat le. Just go and take the test"). I was more interested in my exam centre, which was Jamnabai Narsee School since I'd had an argument with a colleague at office, over which school (hers was Jamnabai) was better (mine of course, is Singhania). I promised to be as unbiased as possible when we settled the argument the day after my exam (way to go in prioritising), and went with a cool (almost empty) head to Juhu at about 9: 30 in the morning.

I was expecting a crowd of geeks, most of them from neighbouring villages like mine. 'Girls' was the last thing I expected, except for a few, who barely made it to that category, owing to their long hair. But what I saw was quite a respectable number of female candidates (Engineers have a hawk like precision and accuracy in spotting girls in a crowd). Some of them were even cute, probably the 'Sindhi/Gujarati quota' types (If the female readers are incensed by the appalling terminology, I apologise. It is only for humorous purposes). I looked up the chart and saw that my room was W - 52, which turned out to be the West Wing (how appropriate, the Wing of power). Since I'd left home at about 7:30, I hadn't eaten anything. I thought of eating a vada pavat Dadar, but thought it wiser to have something near the center. Wrong choice. There was absolutely no shop/thela selling anything. Anything. The whole area is full of residential buildings with Gujarati names and a common 'bai' suffix. I went to my exam room on an empty stomach, irritated at my decision of not having anything at Dadar.

Now, its not as if I always count the number of girls, and calculate the percentage of good - looking ones, but when you're giving an MBA exam, percentages tend to hover in and out of your thoughts. But the percentage today was around 0.54321. In fact, I'm always amazed at how my friends always run into girls who believe in socialising and casual talk, and I run into ones who think all guys are rapists. The seat in front of me was occupied by a guy who'd forgotten his watch, and he requested his neighbour to keep her watch on his side of her desk. That was when I noticed the girl in blue top. She was fat, and looked nervous. But MOST important of all, she had a moustache, almost as much as me. I decided to call her 'Moustache Girl' (henceforth MG). I glanced at MG, and she gave me the 'you're a rapist' look. MG had a friend of hers in the room too, sitting behind me, who immediately fell into the 'Teacher's favourite but a class one bitch' category, the type of girls who usually tell on you when you're up to no good in class. And she gave me the 'Oh! He's just here because he paid the application fee' look (henceforth referred to as COB) . It didn't help my cause when my pen stopped working and I'd to ask COB for a pen. She grudgingly gave me one, as if I'd asked for her kidney.

The exam began and I started out decently, but lost the plot midway, when they started asking weird questions in the English section, and when a pigeon entered the room and completed it's third round (reconnaissance?). I wondered for about two minutes as to why MG had a moustache, but immediately got back to solving my LR set. I'd also decided to catch the look on COB's face when the paper got over, and as I got up, I saw a look of despair on her face and thought, "Someone hasn't performed very well in the paper." I'd almost forgotten that I was starving, and while leaving the hexagonal premises, I caught sight of a couple who'd come to write the exam happily munching on a burger, which I don't know where they got (This was turning out to be quite a day). Most people had no clue how their exams went, but I knew I hadn't done my best. The 'gaytes' of IIT wouldn't be open for me this year probably.

Now that the exam was over, I had to catch a rickshaw to Ville Parle railway station. I don't like fighting like animals over rickshaws, and thankfully I caught hold of a guy who was having tea . He said, "Bhaiyya humko thodi der lagegi. Aap rukenge?" I happily agreed and watched him enjoy his cuppa while I caught one last sight of COB entering a Hyundai Accent with her dad.

Getting down to business

2009-12-18T12:06:00.003+05:30

I know it is late, and I know people have already seen it on Facebook. But I'm too lazy to post anything yet, and have MBA exams till the Jan 10. A good post shall follow soon. I promise.

Till then, peese see theees.

An exam, a wedding and a lot more

2009-12-02T23:25:00.004+05:30

This incident happened just today.

I just finished my CAT two days ago. And it felt really weird. Last year, when we came back from CAT, we headed straight to PP’s (a pub in ‘downtown Nagpur’) where I proceeded to watch the others drink away while I munched on my paneer malai. And emotions were really high. I still remember the way I announced that no one should discuss the paper, and Kanabar (my friend and bandmate) perhaps not liking the tone of my voice, retorted with an angry ‘Who’s doing it anyway’. We proceeded to argue and shout it out and soon cooled off (when he grabbed his beer).

This year though was a totally different affair. I went alone to a Lokmanya Tilak College of Engineering in Kopar Khairane (Navi Mumbai). Now, here comes the weird part. I don’t particularly like mingling with college crowds other than the ones I’m familiar with, and having studied in Nagpur our wavelengths don’t exactly match. ‘Hao na be, bhasad, and doling out generous amounts of references to sisters and mothers was the norm at our institute, while most of the Bombay people go for ‘Dude’ and the likes. And it didn’t help much when the persons behind me were discussing why Kasab should have come to LTCE and not CST. So I just kept to myself.

I had to wait for one and a half hours before the test started, during which time I counted the number of leaves in the curtains, the number of tiles in the roof, the number of swing panels in the air conditioner and also analysed my photograph in detail to get to know why they suck so much. I failed to arrive at a conclusion for the photo riddle, but I did conclude that this year’s CAT was one of the worst disasters in the history of the exam (which also includes a leaked paper). Feel nahi ayi is all I can say.

But this isn’t about that. Immediately after the CAT was Arvind’s sister’s wedding in Karjat. So me, Tanmay and Alokraj set out on the long journey to the place. After having some really good food (Thanks, Arvind!) we set out some time in the afternoon. We were cruising along on NH – 4, when our driver missed a turn towards Panvel, which is when he decided to take a quick U – turn. Here is where he made the error of not signaling his intent through indicators. From the opposite end, a bike sped in and almost rammed into us, since the rider was busy chatting away on his mobile. Our driver coolly ignored him and sped away (since a bike can’t catch up with an Indigo Marina). But a toll booth to cut us short and the bike caught up with us. And that was when it happened.

The guy got down, opened the door, and beat the hell out of our driver. We were totally stunned by what happened, what with our previous experience in such matters. In fact, just a few minutes ago, Tanmay had said, “Load kya hai. Apan paanch hai aur woh do.” But when our driver was on the receiving end of slaps and kicks, we couldn’t do much except stop them from doing so, which we eventually did, thanks to the toll booth guy. But the last line which the guy uttered is still fresh in my mind. He said, “Tu Marathi manoos ahe mhanunach me sodtoy tula (I’m letting you off, only because you’re a Maharashtrian).” I wonder what would have happened if he wouldn’t have been a ‘son of the soil’.

Alokraj raised the most pertinent question of the event, when he asked, “Is that how they do it here? What if the driver wasn’t Marathi?” (He’s new to the city, if I’m not wrong)

I, for one, had no answer, and could only manage an embarrassed and awkward shrug of the shoulders.

Very very Ranchi

2009-11-27T23:52:00.005+05:30

I just couldn't resist posting this, even though I have my CAT two days from now.

Awesome no?

Originally found on: http://greatbong.net/2009/11/16/mumbai-meri-jaan

Cakewalk it is?

2009-11-16T01:06:00.007+05:30

After a long time, this one’s going to be short (and thus my post is now the official the entry for the worst blogpost of 2009).

Having seen the latest ad in the ongoing telecom war to win the “We are the cheapest, come to us” award, Aircel has released this ad.

When I saw the ad, I did the most common thing any guy does. I googled ~~aircel ad girl hot pics~~ “aircel ad pay per second model”. That was when I was led to Sudeepa Singh.

Of course when you type her name in Google, you will also get this.

Firstly, the girl is uber – cute (as seen in the ad). The way she twinkles her eyes and smiles mischievously will convince even the guy at the bottom to give her a small 2 kilogram slice. Heck, I would have given her the whole cake for free (or perhaps I would have liked to be on the other side, as her ‘friend with benefits’. I mean the cake (What else were you thinking, you dirty person)?

Just think for a minute or so. If you could get her to walk in to all the shops at Bandra during Christmas, you’d be having yourself a sweet, sweet December. But alas, life isn’t so sweet. I don’t know her and no female friend of mine will do the same thing for me because they all have jobs and a life! I, meanwhile, am stuck in limbo, watching the same girl walk away with the damn cake every time ~~Balika Vadhu~~ MTV Rock On go for a commercial.

Image Courtesy: Wikipedia

Blew - The Inside Story

2009-10-26T16:43:00.004+05:30

Location: 250 feet from Chinchpokli Station

Ensconced in a private resort under the blue skies and relaxing on a beach with their drinks in hand and eyes scanning the beach. That’s how you’d expect the cast and crew of the latest extravaganza Blew to be living, isn’t it? But we found them in a dinghy and shady hotel called Majestic Diamond, near the Chinchpokli railway station.

As soon as I enter, director Anhonee Diffusa issues a statutory but polite warning, “Please, no jokes or puns on the colour blue. I’ve had enough.” I agree (of course crossing my hands behind my back) to not crack any jokes there (and having said nothing about the piece I’d write). One look at the man and one could never believe he’s the one who’s directed the English version of Maano Ya Naa Mano and many a music videos.

So how has life been, post Blew? “Don’t ask me a question, and I will tell you no lies.” I reminded him that I already had. He answers, “Life’s been tough. When I started shooting for Blew, I had everything in life. Now even my wife refuses to recognise me. I’ve had to move to this place now”, he says. I turn to Producer saab to ask him about the film, but he doesn’t speak at all. Anhonee says, “He’s in a trauma currently. Uski poori kamayee barbaad ho gayi is picture mein. He’s had to sell all his cars, homes etc. He’s come down to usal paav and kaanda bhajiya from trouts and shark soup.”

Finally Producer saab decides to talk.

“We spent so much money on the sets and underwater shooting and all those kind of things that we actually forgot many things that were equally important”, he opines. Is he talking about the script? “Ba*****, jale pe namak mat chidak” is the angry retort. I decide to move on. While the promos were on, one could hear the strange chorus in the title song. What’s with all the “Balooo”? There came the revelation. Anhonee replies, “Actually, when we signed Khiladi, Enjoy Dutt, Lawruh and Rahman saab, we had no money left to get any good playback singer. So we had to get the best we could for the money we had left. The song is sung by Dayashankar Tripathi, a famous Bhojpuri singer of yore from Jaunpur, who had to drink 5 bottles of energy drinks before he sung the song, because he was so old. Ab hinterland ka koi banda gayega, to uska accent to hoga hi na?” How many takes did the song take then? “To be fair, it took only 9 takes. So that’s a total of 45 bottles. That’s still cheaper than getting an established singer”, calculates Producer saab. Infallible mathematics that.

What about Zayeda Khan? Producer saab says, “Oh, he came for free (thankfully). He said no one was giving him any roles, so he just asked if he could join in. Usne bola sir, mereko lelo, mera vacation bhi ho jayega. Biwi bhi qafi din se keh rahi hai, chhuti pe le jaane ko aur main bhi beach gaya nahi kuch dinon se. Anyways, he is used to such stuff. After he did that Mission wala filim, who will take him?”

Khiladi Kumar decided to open up, “When we doing this film, I very…..” I say, “You can speak in Hindi. No issues.” Relieved, he says, “Maine is film mein kaafi mehnat ki hai. Sabne ki hai. Khatron se khelna padta hai, nahin to kuch mazaa nahin. We all become Khatron ke……” I interrupt him politely asking, “Coming to reality shows, how was it on Biggg Busss?” He replies with a shudder, “Very scary. What is happening, bahut… (Hindi, I remind him) Kaafi daraavna tha. Aur mein jab gaya tha toh Jaya Sawant already out ho chuki thi. Rohit Verma ko dekh kar toh main qaafi confusion mein aa gaya tha…Thanks God, film last year nahin release hui. Nahin to Rahul Mahajan, Rakhi Sawant ek saath! Anyways, qaafi ro chuke. Hain ji, life mein up down to hoti rehti hai. Has lo thoda, hain! Lets all dance to Chiggy Wiggy!” The mood lightens and everyone dances, and since there is no Kylie, everyone watches Lawruh kick up the fifty year old dust on the carpet and awaken the various forms of wildlife in the room. Khiladi and Zayeda dance to the very end. After the impromptu performance, I ask slyly, “Aap thake to nahi na?” hinting at his age. He says, “Arre abhi to mein jawaan hu. Punjaab da gabru jawaan. ” I hear a soft “Hai, meri kamar” follow but I ignore it while covertly handing him a pain relief balm.

And why was Enjoy baba so silent today? “I’m a bit tired today.” Shooting? No, he says. He has just gotten back from breakfast. But it is lunch time. Yeah, that’s right, he adds, with a slight embarrassment. I press on, “How was it working with all the kids, especially Lawruh, who’s almost your daughter’s age?” “What kids? Except for Lawruh and Zayeda, everyone else is of my age! But I did have a lot of fun, especially the underwater shoots.” Did the paunch help him stay put in the water? “Yes it did. It really added to the dynamics of swimming. Actually it wasn’t really supposed to be shown. When we got Tharak Kumar as a cameraman, we gave him strict instructions to capture full body shots of only Lawruh and the sharks. But I think he had a gay moment and shot me too.” We agree on the point that full body shots of others would have been scary and the audience would have died of shock. Baba’s judgement of the audience is exemplary.

Lunch arrives in the form of oily sabji and paapadesque chapaati. I refuse and move on. Khiladi says, “Yaar. Sab itna serious kyun ho gaye. Tumko pata hai? Main aur producer saab ne jab pehli baar Chuggy Wuggy suna tha, to humein laga yeh Gujarati logon ke bare mein hai. Aur Kylie ka naam bhi aisa hi hain, ji?” It can happen to anyone, I add. The song name does stir up an image of two Gujjus in their star studded shirts and red jeans with intricately woven embroidery. But that is a different matter. What about Lawruh? “I enjoyed it thoroughly. And since I have already got my fees, I couldn’t care less what happens to the film”, she adds with a whisper.

As a final word, I ask everyone what their future plans are. Lawruh will continue with her comedy genre with Govinduh. When you have a co-star twice your size and half your height, it makes you look four times hotter, doesn’t it? Khiladi also has similar plans, mostly with Cutreena. And what about baba? He doesn’t have any plans of retiring yet. He has plans of opening a School of Rock. But more about that in the next edition. Zayeda is looking for newer avenues to enter. Producer saab wants to produce a film of the type Reshma ki Jawaani, Khooni Haseena etc. His Raat ki Kali Subah ko Khili is already being shot with Rockhee Sawant. I suggest he change the “Kali” part to something realistic. I at least have hopes of recovering my money, he says. I have to agree with him.

And Diffusa? He plans to make a serious hard hitting drama film, this time on land, and costing one fourth the budget of Blew. And who will be the producer? Sohell Khan, he informs. So there will naturally be Dullman? I guess, he says.

I wish him all the very best, and leave instantly to dying strains of “Abey, tere ko fir se doobna hai kya?” from the ever youthful, Khiladi Kumar.

Ladies Special

2009-10-12T00:16:00.004+05:30

The title is a JAM hangover. Don’t bother. I just witnessed an astounding cat fight (*evil satisfying grin*) at Dadar station a few days ago, at the door of the second class ladies compartment of the 19:14 Karjat train. Now when it is a Karjat train, most know to avoid getting in, since it is hopelessly crowded. Here is what happened.

19:14

I just reach platform 4 at Dadar.

19:14: 28

Train arrives at station.

19:15

Two women, amongst the many, (try) to get down while double the numbers of women try to get in. Hair gets pulled and feet get stamped.

19:15:30

Woman # 1: Beats the hell out of someone with an umbrella and her purse.

Woman # 2: Assists above with bare hands and her deadly claws.

19:16

Victim retaliates by pulling hair of assailant.

Timeline unimportant anymore

Train starts to leave.

Woman # 1: Saali, kutti, kameeni, neeche aa. Dikhati hoon tere ko.

Woman # 2: R***i, baal kheechti hai! (Enquiring, my dear lady?)

“Victim” (from the door): Bhikari ki aulad!@#$% (Sadly fades away)

Woman # 1 (with double the vigour): Saali, doob maregi tu. Tera poora khandaan jal ke raakh ho jaye! Khaadi mein gir ke mar ja.

Woman # 2: Bi**h. Chhod yaar. Chal jaane de.

Woman # 1: Baal kheechti hai saali. Phir kahin milne de. Usko to leti hu main baraabar se.

I was completely shocked. For a minute, I was just staring at the spot where all this happened. I just wondered if this had happened in the men’s compartment, what would have happened. No wait, this happens every day.

MORAL 1: DO NOT pull a woman’s hair AT ANY COST. Read above for consequences.

MORAL 2: Girls can swear equally well, if not better. It’s a rare phenomenon, and when it does happen, consider yourself lucky to witness it.

Goodbye, Bajaj Nagar Road!

2009-10-03T16:10:00.005+05:30

I haven’t quite gotten over the shock that took me when I went back to VNIT. The whole face of the institute has changed.

1. Gone is the continuous buzz that marked the library area, which now resembles a crematorium. I’m not exaggerating. The digital library is finally operational (has to be, since we have left the campus). The Nescafe was totally empty, apart from us fools.

2. To make it even worse, there was the Freshers’ Nite being organised, which in our days meant a huge thing. People rushed from place to place, checking out (girls) and also the auditions. I for one, have always been a part of music auditions (though not actively) for all the four years. Even the music seems to be lost somewhere, what with the new SAC and a lack of proper talent (or at least none have come forward yet).

The function started on time, irrespective of the fact that half the hall was empty.

3. Fashion show is still the same, with the 2nd years advising the freshies on how to strut their stuff (or the lack of it). I overheard a very enthusiastic 2nd year saying, “Attitude! Show it! You rule the stage! Lemme see you own the stage!”

Though his zeal was certainly one to garner appreciation, the end result itself was so disappointing that the whole point was lost. I’m sorry but the show was a real downer. There is an excuse though, since it was on really short notice (3 days), thanks to Mr. “You know what I did in IIT Chennai”. What was put up on such short notice was commendable.

4. Skits and dramas are still made in the MTV style spoofs. Nothing new there too.

5. Dances were the only thing that, to my untrained eye, seemed on the same level as the previous years. A positive there.

6. Swine flu is the most (ab) used reason for cancelling/postponing any event, from what I have heard. Janmashtami pooja happened, with almost 500 people turning up for it. But of course, where there is the lord, there can’t possibly be swine flu, right?

7. DG is going on as I write this (according to original plans). Ganeshotsav cult night is scheduled somewhere in October.

8. Axis is due on 23 Oct, postponed again, due to swine flu. Accommodation isn’t part of the plan apparently, for outstation participants, since VNIT is a premium destination. (“Why do you worry about their accommodation? They will arrange for it themselves.”)

9. Block 1, the most happening block on campus, is now officially dead, due to the same reason. K Wing is now “Khatara Wing”.

10. There is a serious consideration of introducing an in-time on campus. That is an official farewell to dhaba trips and night outs. I think it’ll be around 11 pm.

11. GH still has an in-time of 8:30, which I expected to be around six.

12. The freshers are the new kings on campus and not the final years. They have been given full freedom to complain against whomever they feel like. Some rustication (hostel, college) will immediately follow. According to official sources, “Yeh naya batch problem dene wala hai.” Ragging is an unspeakable word. Mention it and an HR is confirmed. There is zero interaction between juniors and seniors.

As Basu said, “Yaar college to change ho gaya. Sab dude log aa gaye, piercing aur tattoo wale.” One more year Basu, and people shall not even know who you are and what Vighn was.

13. QPC is dying a slow death, according to another source. Another one bites the dust, I guess. Keshav, Vinny, Amar, Ronojoy, Sidharth, Mainak, Muffy, Andy, Big B, Lil B, Kana, YTV, Dick, Sax, Ojha, Dharini, Piraan. The legacy hopefully will somehow continue. Sorry if I have missed some names.

14. The only clubs left active are Prayaas, EO (to some extent) and of course, Club Capture. CC to will soon be defunct in two years, according to my prediction. Let us hope I’m proved wrong.

15. Torrents have been blocked. There is a mallu hub on DC, which provides visual relief :)

16. The canteen is being rebuilt, so the sitting area with the conical roof (the place for all meetings) has been demolished. Chandrama is getting some more seating, the kind you see in gardens with umbrella tops.

The most painful part for all of us was when we were on campus. We wanted to relive our moments in those three days, but we were to be disappointed. As one of us said, “Yaar, college chhod ke kahin bhi chalo. Yahan nahi rehna ab.”

I literally have nothing to do with VNIT now, except for the degree which I will be “awarded” by post.

This isn’t how they do it in IIT Chennai.

Mad Ad

2009-09-24T19:45:00.005+05:30

Sorry for the unimaginative title. To compesate for it, here's an ad which I found on one of the blogs. Mudra (an ad agency) won the Cannes Young Creative Competition for it in 2007.

Do mention the time it took to figure out the ad. It took me 20 seconds. Yes, I know it's slow.

~~Shit~~ Material rejected by body happens.

Da Datar and Dukki Diaries # 3

2009-09-18T23:52:00.006+05:30

*In memory of the second. *

One fine day, a call arrives.

Dukki: Datar, ek ladki jugaad na?

Me: Wait..lemme check....WHAT?

Dukki: Abe HRC jaane ka hai. Not stags allowed. So need someone to get in. You have contacts here na?

Me: Oh. Let me check my register. No wait, I don't have one. I'm sorry.
*click*

The Bottomline

2009-09-15T00:26:00.004+05:30

Today I saw a really strange thing. I walked out of a restaurant after a heavy (and delimamalicious) dinner. A girl was standing outside with her back facing me. Her family was waiting for their turn to go into the restaurant. And written on her ~~butt~~ seat of her pants were the following golden words:

"Forever Yours"

I was speechless.

PS: This is a true incident. I am not lying.

PPS: For all you "feminist, sensitive" types, I wasn't glaring at her, ahem, backside. I just happened to glance in that direction and well, the wisdom glared right at me.

Glob(us)trotting

2009-08-18T21:44:00.004+05:30

Monsoon brings out the scientist in me. Strange isn't it? Because most people tend to be poetic during the rains, with all the natural beauty in its finest splendour, and the greenery at its fullest colour (and Wordsworth just died a second death). But what is the best thing about monsoon are the end-of-season sales at all the apparel stores, with their huge signs and mouthwatering percentages inviting economically frugal (read cheap) people like me to shop. Hence I visited the store nearest to my place, Globus; since I wanted to ~~buy cheap clothes~~ expand my wardrobe.

The first thing I noticed was all the swine flu masks people were wearing. Just to screw around a little, I coughed a couple of times (and also due to the fact that I do have a cough. No it’s not swine flu) and the guy next to me gave me the “Keep your germs to yourself” look. After I was done with my “shopping” and was waiting to get charged for all the discounted items (Yay!), the scientist in me decided to hunt around a little and gather some observations about this new environment (Yes, I hate malls). And the big green Globus feedback book was what I got my hands on. Let me tell you, its funny enough to be published as a humour column, with all the useful comments. Here are some exhibits and some replies the Globus manager sent to them (OK, I did the replies)

Exhibit One: “I liked the store and the service was very attractive.”

Dear Sir,

Happy to know you liked the store. How about the collection? We go through a rigorous procedure to select our staff, and we currently have no offers related to the staff getting hitched. We shall let you know of the offer, if you so require.

Regards,

Globus Matrimonial Dept.

Exhibit Two: “The staff was really courteous at Thane. The assistants at the VT store were really cheap.”

Dear Madam,

I shall get in touch with the store manager at VT. The discount season has perhaps gotten to you. Only the clothes are for sale and not the staff.

Regards,

"Staff Sales" Manager

Exhibit Three: “The music was too loud and I couldn’t hear anything.”

Dear Sir,

I apologise for the inconvenience caused to you. The music is one of the many services we provide, and we shall try to incorporate your suggestion. Let us know if we should have a coffee machine and some chairs so that you can enjoy a good conversation. Also find attached, the number of an ENT specialist for your reference.

Regards,

Globus is a Restaurant Dept.

Exhibit four: “I enjoyed it totally. The staff was very helpful, the collection was good, and the best thing was the discounts.”

Dear Madam,

Happy to know you liked it. Discounts are the best things in the world. Do visit our store during non discount days. We look forward to seeing you (atleast once).

Regards,

Discount Damodar.

Exhibit Five: “The collection was too boring. Jazz it up.”

Dear Sir,

We shall look into the matter. We are also in talks with our designers so that they can coordinate with some stand-up comedians so that the collections can provide some entertainment for you.

Also find attached the address for Not Just Jazz By The Way for your reference.

Regards,

Entertainment Dept.

Da Datar and Dukki Diaries # 1

2009-08-09T21:09:00.006+05:30

For starters, there have been and will always be interesting anecdotes and incidents to share when Prathamesh "Dukkar" Adhikari is around. And I'm sure there are many incidents that have not even come to light, and may not involve me in all of them. But since this is my blog, and no one else has taken the efforts to write, the name is the way it is.

Dukki is a very entertaining guy. Dukki is very nice. Dukki is resourceful. But he also has a certain factor, to which we shall attribute the letter 'K'. Now this factor, describes the bad luck that a person might have in his daily life. And he had a lot of K. I didn't, until I shifted to block 1. Here is incident number 1.

It was Aarohi time. And we had taken up the responsibility of managing two events, one a film-making competition and the other, a showcase of films. And we were roaming around, for sponsors for the event. Sample this now.

One of my other friends, has never, ever had a license (Kana, that's you) and has been driving around a car and a bike for 3 years, breaking signals with an alarming consistency. He has never had a run-in with the police. I have never been stopped by a policeman for anything (though I usually have all documents). Dukki on the other hand, has an infamous track record, for having been stopped by a policeman the maximum no. of times ever in VNIT history. We were on Bhatt's bike, at 3:30 in the afternoon, at the Bajaj Nagar square signal coming from Shankar Nagar petrol pump. It is a square where no one ever follows the signal. And it was a Sunday. Here is what happened.

Me: Arey yaar, red signal. Fir rukna padega.

Dukki: Kyun rukne ka. Abhi kaun pakdega, dopahar ko. Saare policewale so gaye honge.

Me: Abey, ruk ja. Thodi hi der hai.

Dukki: Kuch nahi hoga, be. Chal.

He drives the bike at full rev and takes a right, towards the Bajaj Nagar gate. And we foolishly drive straight at a smiling policeman, who with his outstretched hands, signalled for us to stop.

Me: &*&@*@)!(@_#@#%, dekha?

Dukki (with the confidence of Michael Phelps): Arre, chinta mat kar. Main dekhta hoon

Kaka, chuk zhali majhi.

Policeman 1: Hindi main bolo. Signal toda na?

Dukki (shocked, and not knowing what to say): Umm..

Me: Bhaiyya, humein signal dikha nahi......Hum....

Policeman mamu 2 (on seeing two wonderful scapegoats): Tumhi kasa sutla? Tumcha signal tar "raid" ahe.

Dukki (with the most innocent face he could conjure, but ended up looking constipated): Kaka, soda na aamhala. Amhi ghaait aho. Please.....

Mamu: Tumahala sarkhi ghai aste na. Tumha tarun lokana mothi bike milali ki speed pakdaychich na? Chala ata fine bhara.

Dukki: Kaka, paise naahi. Fakt shambhar rupaiye.

Mamu: Ho. Chalel na. Tu Marathit bolla mhanunach mee tula sodtoy.

Dukki (turning towards me): Datar, nikaal na. Baad mein deta hoon.

I fished out the hundred bucks, and we left in a hurry.

Dukki: Sahi yaar, saste mein chhoot gaye.

Me (with the most sarcastic tone I could produce): Haan, haan. Nahi to bhagwaan jane kya hota.

And that was how it all started. More to come soon. Dukki, tera khulasa ho raha hai. Wait and watch.

Big Bizarred

2009-07-13T01:00:00.004+05:30

OK. Future Group is huge. They have Dhoni campaigning for them. All malls have Big Bazaar. But still I detest going to them. It has nothing to do with the quality of clothes there (You might end up buying a shirt which the guy on the next square is already wearing. Poor you, there go you 500 bucks!). The high end range might just get you free admits to the costume party or the nearest Gujju Dandiya Night (Manager ni cabin kya chhe?). And I’m also not talking about the fact there is almost never a size available for you, when you happen to like something. Or about the jeans, which makes you look like India’s answer to 50 Cent. I have personally had two experiences which make me want to avoid the place always. And they happened on the same day.

It happened 4 years ago, during the days of yore, the fresh green days of youth and the energy and vitality of college years (and Wordsworth and Shelley turn in their graves). Well, I was in my first year at engineering college in Nagpur. During that time, Big Bazaar was the only mall in the city. Yes, go ahead and laugh. But malls emerge slowly, taking over one city at a time. And the “Winter Capital of Maharashtra” figured a bit late in the list. We had ragging and all that jazz in college, so a weekend out was like a dream. Somehow, we managed to get out and go out shopping (like girls, I might add). We were three friends and after trying out a small outlet, my friend had the bright idea to go to Big Bazaar. We grabbed an auto, and after haggling with him, got to the place.

Now, I must tell you one thing. I hail from Mumbai, where the greenery and the natural beauty are quite stunning. I’m not talking about the trees. I’m talking bird watching, and not of the Dr. Salim Ali’s interest. Engineering colleges are one of the most deprived places when it comes to the female species, and Nagpur isn’t exactly the Mecca of anything, for the birds to flock there (except maybe for oranges). So Big Bazaar was like a double bonanza. Cheap clothes are always a necessity when you live in a hostel and have to manage your expenses in order to accommodate some (ahem) miscellaneous expenses. And the birds, of course.

No sooner do we enter, we all start looking around as if we were lost, which is not possible because there is only one way. Up. We went up the lift, and there she was. A pretty (very pretty, whatever, beautiful, gorgeous and all those adjectives) girl standing all alone (Do we see a chance here? Hah, who are we kidding) on the first floor while the lift moves to the second (Damn, the shop had to be on a different floor). I was completely lost. With my gaze fixed on her, I walked out of the lift, not knowing that a certain aunty (I do happen to get into a lot of trouble with them) was standing right at the door. I crashed into her, while in a hurry to get out and all her shopping items fall onto the floor. To make matters worse, I even stepped on one of her son’s shirt, which now bore a huge Reebok boot printed logo (Yay! Reebok tee!). I didn’t know what to say (I’m kind of socially challenged) and we just scrammed from there with my friends laughing there hearts out. Serves me right for staring. But the lift troubles were far from over.

After my friend finished shopping (and I kept looking over my shoulder to see if a vengeful aunty was about somewhere), we again got into the lift. This time, I stood right in the corner. Three women got in. One of them very, very fat. Six people, small lift. Overload buzzes. Now, my friend, who didn’t know the aunties had gotten in, remarked, while still looking down,” Arre kaun hai yaar. Lift pe reham karo. Overload ho gaya.” He had meant it for us, in a friendly teasing kind of way. But the aunties took it offensively. I swear we didn’t mean the comment for them. We didn’t even know and we are not that rude.

Aunt # 1 says,” Badtameez! Sharam nahi aati?”

Stunned silence. I hadn’t even realised what had happened.

I asked,” Hum?”

Aunt # 2, in English,” Don’t you respect womans? You youngsters have no respect for elders. What college do you study in?”

Us: “VNIT.”

Aunt # 2: “Toh kya par aa gaye tumhare? I will complaint you to the police.”

I snigger at the faux pas, and the obvious lack of grammar. It was funny. Wrong, but funny. If she didn’t know English, she shouldn’t have spoken in it then. I know. We are bad people.

My friend was stunned. He said,” Auntyji (He’s from Delhi), maine aapko nahi kahaa. Main to aise hi apne doston se keh raha tha. Mujhe toh pata bhi nahi tha aap lift main hain. We are sorry.”

Aunty refused to budge. She just went on and on. As the lift door opens, we run out like criminals, but not after having said,” Bye, aunty. Sorry. Thanda maaro.” My friend just couldn't keep shut, having been wrongly accused.

With bloodshot eyes, I’m sure she wanted to give a tight one to each of us. Her face haunts me to this very day. And that is why I hate going to Big Bazaar.

Mis-aunt-erstandings

2009-07-03T00:37:00.006+05:30

I always thought I was an above average guy. I mean, I never did badly on my tests in school, though I wasn’t really top of the class. My mother always wanted me to be the best student and all that jazz, but I was so lazy (and perhaps not as brilliant as some people) that I never managed to be anything in particular in school, be it the star performer, the sports guy, the hunk, the prankster, or even the geek or the loser. I was just your plain average Ramu.

Come college time and I didn’t give a second thought to my career. I went straight for IIT coaching, and like a majority of the buggers, failed miserably in the attempt. After pretending to be upset for a few hours, I had to get my act together for the AIEEE exam. Otherwise, I would have had to suffer the wrath of my parents and the horrible necessity of traveling everyday to college in Mumbai. Somehow, I managed to score something in the exams and I got a seat in a good NIT. Mom happy, practically gleaming with pride that son was off to study in an "REC". Dad was something to that effect too. All the aunties in the colony were looking up to me to be a role model or something for their kids (who by the way, were still in school and had no idea what was about to hit them).

I went into the NIT. And reality struck me. I was not at all into engineering. I mean I scored decently on tests, considering I hardly ever studied anything. I roamed around all day, playing football, playing the guitar, having a band, reading books and everything else except engineering. But writing was what I really wanted. Inspired by many friends, I started blogging. Heck, I even became the editor of the Institute magazine. I got placed in a decent company, again, much to the delight of the folks at home. But recession was to snare its deadly paws upon my job.

Left jobless, I was relieved that I at least had the time to think over my choice of career. While nosing around for some interesting jobs, I found one at JAM and got through as a full time writer. Now, the funny part. People can change in an instant. I was now the outcast, the rebel, the ugly duckling of the pack.

Mom: Oh my god! You want to write? Enough. I have had enough. You seem to have lost your mind, going to an NIT. It would have been better if you were here.

Neeche wali aunty (in a typical pitying and downgrading Maya Sarabhai tone): What happened beta? TCS didn’t come for placement? My brother's has got her letter. Even my brother’s cousin has…

Me: No, aunty. IT is not my area of interest. I had a job, but recession, so….

I completed my sentence with the only word she can understand.

Neeche wali aunty: Oh. That is so bad. It’s ok. She ends with a smirk on her face and turns to my mother,” Why doesn’t he go for GRE? My nephew has given GRE and is going to the

.”

Me: I have got a job though, aunty. It’s at

JAM.

It’s a youth magazine.

Neeche wali aunty: What? You are an engineer, na? What is with this jam wam? Aapka beta to patrakar ban gaya. Beta kuch karo. Nahi to tum peeche reh jaaoge.

I looked behind to see if there was at least someone behind me. And I said,” Aunty, you are standing in front of me.”

And I murder the woman. In my mind. The real neechewali aunty leaves with hurried goodbyes, though.

When we return home, mom is already red with anger. “What is wrong with you? Why didn’t you give GRE? Everybody’s going to the

.” Circa next day, and mom watches a news programme on how the

is cutting down on jobs heavily.

Mom (on watching programme): You give MBA exams beta. Apply to all universities. I won’t let you sit idle.

Me: Fine. MBA it is (though it is one of my preferred options to get into the media). I joined a test series for MBA. Since I had joined full-time, I couldn’t help out with the household chores and the bank trips as much. So mom was cursing me every single minute.

Mom (muttering loud enough so that I could hear): You have turned out to be useless to me. God knows what will happen during my old age. Khana to khila hi dega, shayad?

I laughed at the question. Big mistake. Mom sulked for the whole day. When I informed her that I was going to join JAM, she was still hoping that L&T would send its own letter. She showed me the weird astrologer on a Hindi news channel who predicted that my job would change in a few days.

Me: How can that be? I have just joined. I’m not changing anything.

A lesson learnt the hard way. Details shall not be revealed. Avoid spilling out your thoughts as a retort. Things can get bad.

Uncle arrives on the scene after a few days and mom says to him, "This boy has gone astray. Everything is falling apart. He says he wants to write articles. What will I tell the colony people? When they ask for the name of the company, I can’t even tell them.”

Uncle: What is this new thing? You can write if you want, but get a job first.

What was JAM, I asked? A job which paid me to write. Uncle says nothing else. He has given up on me, calling me arrogant (which I do accept as one of my shortcomings) and adamant.

Me (smiling, to Mom): Anyways, you think I have gone nuts. Might as well tell them that I have flunked and am still waiting to complete college.

I narrowly avoided the utensil flung towards my face.

As the D-day drew near, mom softened (as all mothers do).

Mom: How much are they paying you?

Me: Ten thousand, for now.

Mom: That’s it? Neeche wali aunty’s beti is in TCS and they are paying her more than 20. Why don’t you join a company, whose name I can at least take proudly in front of others?

Mom was getting more and more irrational as the days passed. I tried the subtle humour approach.

Me: Good for her. Nice package, na? Plus, she doesn’t have any expenses, because the bus picks her up from the gate.

Wrong thing to say again. I was not helping my case at all with my ill-timed jokes. I tried giving examples of people from my college who had gone onto creative fields. Mom ignores them completely, dismissing them and labelling them as ‘cracked’.

After first day on the job, we went to buy some clothes for my younger brother. Mom puts in a sly taunt,” Next time, anna will pay for your clothes. His paycheck is due next month, isn’t it?” I agree. Even if it’s a lesser pay compared to my engineering counterparts, I’ll gladly spend the whole of it on my family. That’s my generosity, you see.

Mom: Do they have an office? And employees?

Me: No, amma. We work in a makeshift shed powered by a line stolen from light poles. And employees? Are you kidding me? I am the sole guy working there. We sit and chat like girls and write.

I avoid another missile launched at me. I have to avoid getting confrontational.

Mom: How come you wear jeans at your office?

Me (seriously, for a change): They are very flexible. They don’t care what I wear as long as I get my work done. Good, na? (expectantly waiting for a positive answer)

Mom: God save me from this weird company. How can they let people wear jeans at an office. An office means you wear full shirts and cotton trousers and..

I left the house in a hurry as I had to catch my train to work.

PS: Mom has slowly gotten used to the fact that I now work at

JAM.

Of course, I’m still preparing for my MBA. And she still hopes that L & T sends the goddamned letter.

Hostel Block 1

2009-04-16T01:53:00.006+05:30

I know this is a pretty ordinary post. In fact, there is actually not much of meaning in this.

There is a strange aura to this place. It is situated virtually out of the campus, almost on the boundary walls. But the amount of history that goes with this place is simply amazing. I happened to come to this place purely by chance.

All of my friends were going for the NBH (new boys' hostel). I was the only one suggesting that we take HB 1 so that we could atleast stay together, as there was no guarantee that we all would get into the NBH with 210 applicants and 169 rooms. And my fears were only to come true. I got shunted to block 1 while all my other friends proceeded to go to the NBH. Me and Chandu were the only ones from my old friends' circle. But little did I know that my life was to change forever.

The place (henceforth to be referred so) welcomed me with open arms. I found new friends, went to many places I didn't even know existed. And of course, my yellow to white to green to all out incident is pretty well known. Enough about me. This one is for the place. Here is a list of things why you should stay in Block 1 atleast once in your life.

1. Location: Absolutely strategic and perfect for any bloody mischief you want to pull off without getting caught.

2. The B-Wing: One of the best people ever to come to VNIT, the B-Wing is a remnant of what used to be a really good place for ragging, music, books, geeks and the party loving people. The B-Wing legacy is a hard act to follow, since they have been pioneers of almost every club in the Insti be it Octaves, QPC or Club Capture. Also, the pungi dance is probably the best entertainment you will ever get in the auditorium of VNIT.

3. Ramesh Bhaiyya's food: The food at HB 1 is the best I have ever had in VNIT. My journey in VNIT has been from 8 to 6 to 2 to 1. I am told that HB 7 has the best food. But for me, 1 still rocks. Plus, being a few final years, we get special treatment. The block practically belongs to us. I shall never forget the shrikhand feasts, the ice creams, and the pizzas.

4. Bastards/Jugaad: It is an unwritten rule that you turn into a bastard once you come to this block. Perhaps there is something in the air, the walls or its just the people. But history has proved and the present is still proving that HB 1 ke saare log haraami hote hai. They also have what is known in India lingo as jugaad (Haraami = the whole K Wing, the guy opposite 57).

5. Organisers Haven: All the organising people end up in this block. Hence there is a steady stream of juniors in the block.

6. Block 6 ground: Although its called Block 6 ground, Block 1 is closer to it now, owing to the change in entrance. You don't have to walk all the way to the football field to play.

This is all I can think of right now.because it is 2:40 in the morning.