The Oberoi Mall Episode

So Oberoi Mall has apologized, and the little one is back to the play area. While that is nice, I don’t think it’s enough. The scariest part of the article, to my mind, was the fact that ‘other children were scared of her’ and that ‘some parents had complained’. While it is awesome that the mall was taught a lesson, I think this episode reeks of gross parenting. And, I fear, this is not limited to those parents who visit the Oberoi Mall. What kind of parents are we if our kid says, “Look ma, what a scary girl!” and we rush to the authorities? All it takes is for us to say, “No, child. She just looks a bit different. But I think she would make a cool playmate. Why don’t we go check if she wants to play ball?” Better still, “Hey I’ve got two bars of chocolate in my bag. Come make friends with her, and you can both have a bar each. The least we can do in the name of inculcating values is teach our children that all kids are cool, no matter what they look like.

Is the vedict of man applicable to God?

Ram wasn't born on that janmabhoomi. He was born in your heart, in your faith, and in your belief. If ONE act of destruction is equal to an attack on HIM, there's something wrong with your faith, not the act. So, like an advertising slogan says, move on.

If this post were a person, what clothes would it wear?

I was at a research the other day. The type where a questionnaire is above all else, including the answers. Where the researcher cuts the respondents short in order to move to the next question. We ask bizarre questions to unsuspecting housewives.
If this soap were a person, who would it be?
What kind of clothes would it wear?
Where would you go to meet it? At a café or a pub?
How would you feel if it died?
Somebody tell the paper-setter that nobody cares about the stupid soap.
The housewives were looking at the researcher with complete contempt, sniggering at the questions.
Some of them were veterans.
“Mai iss concept ko dus mein se saat doongi.”
And we hadn’t even reached the ranking waala question!
These women had made a career out of being respondents. They were sympathetic to the poor question paper-wielding researcher who sheepishly progressed through the painful questions.
So, these women who attend, say, 4 groups a day as respondents for various products, and are so used to this kind of questions – what must their life be like?

Picture 1:
“Mummy mai yeh bhindi nahi khaoonga. Achhi nahi hai.”
“Agar yeh bhindi insaan hoti toh kaun hoti?”
“Toh yeh Rahul hota. Kyonki wo bhi mujhe achha nahi lagta?”
“Toh bhindi, jo ab Rahul hai, wo kis tarah baat karta?”

Picture 2:
“Bahu, zara meri dawai laa do.”
“Babuji, iss dawai ka aapki zindagi mein kya role hai?”
“Pagli, yeh mere blood pressure ko control karti hai na.”
“Babuji, kal se yeh dawai aapko na mile toh aapko kaisa lagega?”

Picture 3:
“Thodi shakkar milegi?”
“Agar tumhe shakkar se nahane ko mile, toh kya tum try karogi?”
“Shakkar se bhala koi nahaata hai?”
“Agar main kahoon ki ek naya sabun aa raha hai jisme shakkar ke crystals hain, toh kya tum us-se nahaogi?”

So, dear researcher, bring on the questions. Who cares about the answers anyway?

How to write a letter in Telugu

Respected (never use ‘dear’ for elders) Uncle,
I hope you and (insert family details - eg. aunty and the children) are fine. By the grace of (insert God of choice - eg. Lord Balaji) we all are fine at home (I repeat, fine at home). I pray to (again, insert God of choice) for your health and that of the entire family.
Things are fine at our end. Amma’s joints are much better, thanks to your idea of (insert alternative therapy/home remedy). Naanna’s diabetes also is under control now. What would we have done without you?
I am writing to you to convey the good news. I (have passed with distinction/ have been accepted by reputed American university/ am getting married to a Telugu boy my parents have chosen/ am pregnant/ am pregnant again/ have chosen a suitable match for kanna - insert situation you are in). With the blessings of (insert God of choice again. And you bloody well stick to the same God throughout the letter) everything will go on as planned. We seek your blessings.
With this letter, we are sending tickets for the whole family. (Note: the tickets will be ONE-WAY). Please grace the house with your auspicious presence. Also, the mamidikaaya pachhadi you brought last time is over. Tell (insert uncle’s neighbour’s name) I asked about him/her.
Saashtaang namaskaram to you and aunty. Blessings to the children. Amma and Naanna send you their blessings.
I remain
Your loving niece,
(your name – eg. Bhanupriya, Meghalata, Suvarnaratna or anything but a cool name).

Note: You’ll agree this is not English. Not by any stretch of imagination.

I’m related to people I don’t relate to.

So said Calvin, the cartoon character. But I don’t think he faced half the problems I do. He wasn’t born in a traditional South Indian family, you see.
Recently, I had to attend a cousin’s engagement ceremony. I rushed straight from Famous to Matunga (where else?). Along with my family, my kanjeevaram and those kilos of gold were caught in traffic. So, in the blasphemous jeans-and-tee avatar, I made an unintentionally dramatic entry.
As I was slinking in, I heard the pandit say, “Sarva mangala maangalye shive, who-is-this-and-why-is-she-here?”
Spewing more venom through her eyes than a planner whose brief one rejects, peddamma, my aunt, said, “Ignore her, panthulu gaaru, she is like that only. What to do? We had to invite her.”
So panthulu gaaru continued the mantras, looking askance at me every now and then. As I was sitting there, head hung low, the most sympathetic of my aunts sat next to me.
“Coming straight from office aa?”
Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, she spat out the words,
“You go to office like this only? Cotton clothes? You don’t have silk t-shirt or something?”
I was about to mutter some explanation but she continued,
“You wear plastic spectacles? At least you can afford gold-rimmed glasses like your uncle’s?”
I took off the specs, “Actually, athai….”
She launched into a harangue, “Whaat actually? Your visiting card has some fancy post no? And your earrings are so small! Your boss is not embarrassed to see you like this? They agree to take you for meetings?”
Quickly, she blew the clarion, and a herd of aunts surrounded me. Within two minutes, I was suddenly looking acceptable. Jeans and tee, 6 huge gold bangles on each hand, huge gold earrings that reached my shoulders, hair parted in the centre and in the parting, a huge golden thingy that covered half my forehead. As you’d know, I have not a single photograph of myself in the ceremony!

My first glimpse of Kolkata

That city talks to you. At least it did to me. It jeered and sneered at me. Barely 10 minutes away from the airport and on the way to the city, a huge, well-lit artefact pierced the darkness and hit me in the eyeball. What was it - you might wonder. Incredible though it sounds, believe me that artefact was a huge Rubik’s cube. Only Kolkata would have a bloody Rubik’s cube for an embellishment.
“Do you have the IQ to enter these exalted gates?” the city asked of me.
“Look I’m only here for a one-day shoot,” I said to no one in particular. I felt it necessary to explain my presence there. Another 10 minutes and another huge Rubik’s cube looked me in the eye.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
I was suitably daunted. Dotted with yellow amby taxis, the street seemed to shrug me off. “What is Bangla for ‘slow down’?, I screamed in my mind.
Slowly, I gathered myself. It’s just a city like any other – I told myself, unconvincingly. Thanks to multi-national banks and telecom communication inundating the streets, every city looks the same. Airtel, Aircel, Indicom collectively made me feel at home.
But after every few blocks, Kolkata in its real avatar would rear its head up. In the dark distance I saw a huge enclosure with a fancy sign board. Colourful and bright, it kind of cheered me up.
“Looks like this city has an amusement park.” I said aloud.
When I was finally able to see the sign at close quarters, to my horror it said – Science City Amusement Park. Through the clouds in my head, words like observatory, space and planetarium hit me in the temporal lobe.
I could instantly picture bespectacled Bong fathers dangling their kids on their knees and saying, “Bollo, A for Agoraphobia, B for Borborygmus, C for Collywobbles.”
The driver mumbled something in Bong. Considering the only Bong word I knew was Boka*&#@*, I kept shut. Better still, I shut my eyes.
Finally, I heard the driver say, “We’re almost there.”
I opened my eyes, curious to see what Park Street looked like. And another sign assaulted me.
Shakespere Sarani street.
“When was the last time you even mentioned Shakespere in a conversation?” the supercilious street asked me.
I forgot all about the shoot.
“When are we flying back?” I asked my colleague.

Sri Ram Super Mario

‘So, you tell stories to your little one?’ asked an ageing aunt of me.
With a nod of the head, I got into trouble that very minute.
‘Have you told him about the Ramayana yet?’
‘Have some appams, peddamma’ I tried valiantly.
But she wouldn’t budge.
‘Tell him about Sri Ram, and Laxmana, and Seethamma’ she continued with a wistful look.
I muttered something about getting appams and scurried towards the kitchen.
Look, I have no problems with Sri Ram and family per se.
I grew up praying, and singing all those Sri Ram bhajans.
But I really don’t know what to tell the kid about him.
I usually prepare a story in my head before I actually narrate it to him.
So, I tried whole-heartedly to mentally play back the Ramayana in order to tell him the story.
And you know what I discovered?
The story bears an uncanny resemblance to the Super Mario game.
Level 1: Sri Ram & Co go to school. Kill demons.
Level 2: The aforementioned Sri Ram & Co go with Rishi. Kill more demons. Also break a bow. Get bonus – Seethamma.
Level 3: Go to forest. Kill more demons. And a monkey-king.
Level 4: Look for lost wife. Kill a lot more demons. And then some.
Last level: Face to face with the biggest demon of them all. Kill him. Come home.
Now, how am I supposed to pass on this story?
We worship this guy (I’ve done it all my life).
And yet, he left home because dad said so, left his post and went hunting because wifey said so, threw the wife out because the dhobi said so.
For God’s sake, we’ve got Creative Directors like that.
And we call them spineless.
I don’t know what to tell the kid. I don’t know if I’ve got it all wrong.
So, please excuse me now.
I’ve got to go concoct a story about a crow and a sparrow for tonight.

Apsara Aali lyrics as explained by Kapil Sawant

“Lavani is sheer poetry”, said Kapil.
“But isn’t lavani supposed to be provocative and raunchy?” I asked.
“Provocative, yes. Raunchy, definitely not” he said firmly.
“Listen to this song. It’s Marathi poetry at it’s best. It’s sensuous, not raunchy.
It sets your imagination soaring. Not a vulgar word. It’s just suggestive. And beautiful’, said Kapil before playing me the song from youtube. He paused after every line and explained me the meaning.
Sometimes, he paused again because I had questions about each word. Patiently, he answered them all.
And thus began my love affair with Marathi poetry. I don’t know if I’ve got the translation right, but I tried.
Here’s the song. Even if you don’t get the lyrics, you can watch it for the mind-blowing choreography, and fabulous music.

Movie: Natrang
Poet: Guru Thakur
Music: Ajay-Atul
Singer: Bela Shende
Choreographer: Phulwa
The beautiful damsel in the video: Sonali Kulkarni (Not the ‘Dil Chahta Hai’ girl)



Komal kaaya ki moh maya
My soft skin is enchanting

Punava chandana nhale
I’m bathed in moonlight

Sonyaat sazale roopyat bhijle
Bedecked in gold, drenched in silver

Ratnaprabha tanu nyaale
I have worn the shimmer of rubies.

Hee natali thatali
I’m dressed up

Jashi umatali chandani rang mahaali
Looking like moonlight has descended on the stage

Mee youvan bijli
I’m a thunderbolt

paahun thizli Indrasabha bhavatali
that has struck the entire court of Indra

Apsara aali Indrapuri tun khaali
Here comes the nymph, straight from the heavens

Pasarli laali ratnaprabha tanu nyaali
Her presence has lit up the earth

Ti hasali gaali chandani rang mahaali
Her moonlit smile has brightened the stage


Apsara aali Punava chandana nhali
Here comes the nymph bathed in moonlight

Chhabidaar surat dekhani, janu hirkani, naar gulzar
My face is so beautiful, I’m a priceless diamond, I’m a rose in full bloom.

saangate umar kanchuki bhapudi mukhi
My blouse (kanchuki), the silent sufferer

sosate bhaar
complains about the heavy burden it has to bear

shelati khunaavi kati
my tiny waistline beckons you

tashi hanuvati, nayan talwar
as does my chin, and my lethal eyes


hee rati madu bharli, daji
she’s the intoxicating goddess of love, dear sir

thinagi shingarachi
she’s the very spark of passion

kasturi darvalali, daji, chook hi varyachi
the fact that her fragrance has intoxicated the air is the wind’s fault, not hers.

Hee natali thatali
Jashi umatali chandani rang mahaali
Mee youvan bijli paahun thizli
Indrasabha bhavatali
Apsara aali Indrapuri tun khaali
Pasarli laali ratnaprabha tanu nyaali
Ti hasali gaali chandani rang mahaali
Apsara aali Punava chand nahali

The case of the disappearing choti

When I was a kid, I always had my hair tied into two chotis. Like all the other girls I knew. And aunts. And grannies. Tying a choti was a ritual, the time for mother-daughter bonding. Twice a day, choti- time was when all the chit-chat would happen.
The little girls had two plaits and the older women had one. Some insecure women needed a rubberband at the end of their chotis. Most women didn’t. They just left it like that. Those were the days beauty quotient was measured by the length of your choti.
And if you think the choti was unfashionable, think again. Nowadays when you have a particular hairdo, you’re stuck with it till your next haircut. There’s scarcely anything you can do. But chotis were so very versatile. To start with, you could experiment with parting your hair. Three different looks just with the plain choti – centre parting, side parting and no parting. Tie a high choti for the no-nonsense look that, despite its sternness, highlights your sharp features. Or a loose choti for the casual, relaxed look. Two chotis, I think, were the I’m-still-a-little-girl look.
All this just with the plain choti. There was this neighbor who could tie some 14 different kinds of chotis. Every girl in the area would go her in case of any function. Strangely, those weren’t times anyone charged for stuff like that. It was just. “Bhabhi, choti bana do.”
Me, I know 3 types of them. The regular choti that’s tied inside out, the ulta choti that’s tied outside in, and of course the french plait. We all called it the ‘Sagar choti’ because Dimple Kapadia had worn it in the film ‘sagar’. I never got to see the movie (it was for adults only) but I know the sagar choti very well. Every shaadi, the women wanted the sagar choti.
And the choti made for really cool hairdos, you know. You could put little flowers, one at each intersection in the choti. Or you could have a gajra run along the length of the choti. Wannabes had to pin the gajra. The real cool babes would simply pass the gajra expertly through the choti itself, no pins needed. Talking about cool babes, remember the choti length : sexiness ratio we spoke of earlier? So the cool thing was to have a choti-supplement so your hair appeared longer than it was. Nakli hair was the hot accessory. And that long, colourful thingy with little bells at the end. I think it’s called ‘paranda’ in Punjabi. Strangely I never found out the Telugu word for it.
But then, most Telugu hotties didn’t need it. They had seriously long chotis. I remember this wedding I’d been to where this girl had a choti that reached her ankles. Her mother was beaming all evening as several ‘aunties’ queued up to have a word with her.
With long chotis you had even more options. Tie the choti into a bun, so it looks really fancy. Or better still, tie a round bun with the choti coming out of its centre. What styles there used to be!
When you were getting intimate with a girl, the first step would be to pull her choti to tease her. Holding hands came much later. And there were other things people did, like tying the choti to the bench etc. All in all, the choti was an integral part of the scenery.
Today it’s disappearing real fast, don’t you think? I think the last time chotis were hot, they were on the heads of Sridevi and Jaya Prada. After that, they went extinct. Recently I actually sat and saw a bollywood song on tv because Sonam Kapoor had a choti. It was the Masakali song, I think.
In my family, there was only one choti-waali aunt left. She was in Hyderabad. She came to Mumbai to see us after a long, long time. The first thing I noticed about her was the clip holding her shoulder length hair in place. There goes the last of the chotis, I thought.
I guess there will be a time when, like all fads, it’ll be back. And little girls will say (as their mothers tie their chotis, of course) , “Ma, tell about those barbaric times when women never tied their hair.” Then, 'letting your hair down' will again become a relevant phrase.

Sad

This saddened me. It's a piece about Amir Khan - a private citizen - and his wife. Apart from their grief, what's really sad is that this bit is under a section called 'entertainment'.
I don't know if it's anybody's fault. Maybe it's just regular functioning, you know. When you get a bit of news, you just pick a category and put it there, i guess.
I don't know if sensitivity is to be expected out of the guy who must've already been bleary-eyed while listing it.
It's just sad.

I miss leftovers

When I was a kid, leftovers were a part of life. They were always there. Not only were they delicious, they also signified the attitude of the house. I grew up in a family where the kitchen was always the centre of activity. Always occupied by at least three ladies (a mix of aunts and grandmothers), it was more organised than most offices are.

They worked in cohesion like a football team. And took over beautifully when one was unwell (or not in a position to enter the kitchen, if you know what I mean). Together they would chop and grind, mix and fix, maybe sing along as they worked, exchange stories & gossip. The kitchen was the sanctum sanctorum. You couldn’t enter it without a bath. You couldn’t even go near it wearing slippers. You wouldn’t dare leave your hair untied in the kitchen. The aunts and grannies were worse than the security guards at the Inorbit Mall.

And there was always plenty of food. We never had biscuits or readymade snacks at home. We were always equipped with raw materials like batter, chutneys, rawa and what-not. Should a guest suddenly arrive, it would take exactly 5 minutes to conjure up a steaming hot snack. Something or the other was always happening in the kitchen. The coffee filter was always dripping aromatic concentrated drops, lying in wait for a guest or a simple chit-chat session.

Coming back to the leftovers. We always cooked in huge quantities. Because we never knew when an aunt, uncle, cousin or visitor would drop in. The rotis were never counted as they were made. ‘Counting them brings bad luck’ they told us. The rice was always excessive. Nobody who came at mealtime was allowed to leave without eating. And we’d invariably have leftovers.

Our mothers and aunts would never let food go waste. They always knew what to do. My most favourite dish was the ‘roti ka laddu’. The leftover rotis were crushed and mixed with ghee and jaggery. And then rolled into little laddus. The most heavenly thing I’ve ever eaten. And these laddus are best made with leftover rotis because they’re slightly crisp and easy to crush. Doesn’t work with fresh rotis. Take my word, I’ve tried.

And the other yummy thing was rice. Mixed with curds and a little ‘tadka’ over it. Mind-blowing stuff. My grandma did various things with rice. Tomato-rice, chutney-rice, pulihaara. Those were breakfasts to die for.

And all our meals were in the kitchen. The journey from the kitchen to another room would mean the food cooled off by half a degree. And that was not acceptable. The rotis would be straight off the tawa. We sat on these little wooden thingies. I don’t know what they’re called in angrezi. The word is ‘Peeta’ in Telugu, ‘Patlo’ in Gujarati, and ‘Paat’ in Marathi.

Even in a place like Bombay we chose houses with decent-sized kitchens where at least three women could work easily. But now things are different. The food is cooked in exact quantities. Cooks have taken over. Unexpected visitors don’t drop in anymore. Even our closest people call before coming. The kitchen is stocked with ready-to-eat stuff. The dosa batter is mixed in planned quantities. And I miss the leftovers.

Promotion Commotion

I’ve been following these promos a few brands have been doing. First ball ka captain, star of the match and what not. It all sounds blasphemous to me. I firmly believe some things are sacrosanct and cannot be tampered with. You can’t get to stand in the field amidst national and international players just because you use a product. That privilege has to be earned through sheer hard work. Obviously the marketing managers think otherwise.

I’m wondering what else this world will come to.

One day Tendulkar will call home, “What’s for dinner, honey.”

“Baigan ka bharta, sweetie.”

“But you know I’m allergic to baigan, loved one. Or do you like me better with a zillion blisters all over?”

“I know, silly. But Kishen Khubchandani likes baigan ka bharta. So that’s what we’re gonna eat.”

“Kishen who?”

“The winner of Visa Visit Sachin contest. He’s coming tonight remember?”

“Never mind. Have you brought the kids from school?”

“No. But they’re on their way.”

“ALONE?”

“Don’t be silly, lord and master-blaster. Gurpreet Gill is bringing them.”

“What…who?”

“The winner of the Chevrolet Drive Your Favourite Cricketer’s Kids Home From School contest.”

I wonder what other sacrosanct areas consumers will pollute.

• Use Castrol Motor Fuel and drive the Chandrayaan 2. If ‘drive’ is the right word.

• Google search users get to head CBI for a day.

• Hindustan Times readers get to sit through the ballot counting.

• Thums up drinkers get to present the Param Vir Chakra.
  

• Ford drivers get to drive one of the tankers in the republic day parade.

• Zippo users get to ride with the firemen when they’re on the job.

• Saffola users get to attend a bypass. And maybe insert the first vein flow in the patient.

• Revlon users get to visit Shabarimala.

Disclaimer: All the names and brands mentioned above have simply been put because they came to my mind. None of them has anything to do with me or this post. However I have no objection to any of them using these ideas for promos.

Hate speech: innovative use of media

This is a brilliant new innovation guaranteed to get you noticed. Vodafone used it, reality shows use it and now a certain young man has used this device to go from ‘unnoticed’ to ‘most talked about’ in no time.

Vodafone did this little promotion. Two actors would quarrel loudly in a public place. And when a crowd gathered, they showed this placard saying ‘For more drama come to Rang Shankara theatre festival.’ They won awards.

Our reality shows had dipping TRPs till the judges started bickering on screen. Somebody walked out, somebody yelled at the other. And suddenly they started getting noticed.

Big brother works on this premise completely. The show is nothing without all those celebrity jhagdas.

Who can we blame really? The TG loves all this.

Haven’t we seen several people gather when any two people pick a fight on streets or railway stations?

The young man in question simply used this media innovation to his advantage. Why else would a boy with a Parsi dad and Sikh mom go passionately pro-hindu all of a sudden?

Logan logo

Yesterday we were caught in a traffic jam. There was a Logan straight ahead. I was looking intently at the behind of the car.

The patidev spouts, “Looks like an @%$*#$@.”

I’d have fallen off the seat but for the belt.

“Language, honey! There’s a kid in the backseat.”

He continues, “But it really does. You’re looking at the logo, aren’t you?”

He knows me too well. I sure was looking at the logo on the behind of the car.

And I hate to admit that it does look somewhat.. er.. anatomical. It’s even placed so strategically, you know.

“It’s diamond-shaped,” I valiantly tried to defend the guy who designed it.

“Only the hole is. The rest of it looks…”

“Alright, alright.”

Even through the stony silence, I could hear him laugh out loud in his mind.

“Can’t we move away from this car?”

Now the chuckle was audible.

“No place.”

Of course I needn’t tell you that now every time there’s a jam, the beloved specially looks for this car and stops right behind it. He looks for Meru cabs to follow when traffic is slow moving.

And I seriously think that car needs to put on a pair of trousers.

What’s the problem with Slumdog winning at the Oscars?

I’ve heard enough about how ‘Jai ho’ isn’t Rehman’s best stuff. I’ve also heard people say ‘Slumdog isn’t Oscar material’. And that Boyle hasn’t depicted India correctly. And that it’s all wrong. Top Bollywood celebrities say this too.

It’s like the people of Kazakhstan saying Borat shouldn’t have got an Oscar nomination. I mean, it’s an American award show. Unka director, unka film, unka award. Why should we object to what wins over there? And they are the TG, not we. So what’s the problem if it appeals to them?

Imagine Switzerland reprimanding the Chopras for misrepresenting their country. “Nobody sings songs here,” I can almost hear them saying. The Chinese could’ve gotten angry when Circuit, in Munnabhai MBBS, calls the Chinese tourist “Hakka noodle”. And we were roaring with laughter in the movie halls. Was the guy even Chinese?

Aren’t there hajaar such ‘misrepresentations’ in our films? Like the ‘Pretty woman’ song in Kal ho na ho. Do firang neighbours in Manhattan follow suit when an Indian guy breaks into a song-and-dance number?

Of all the people, do we have any right to talk about countries being misrepresented in a film? Ha! Apne girebaan mein jhank ke dekho, bollywood.

I’m happy for Rehman. And for Rasool Pookutty. If ‘Jai ho’ doesn’t go well with you, celebrate this because doors are now thrown open to Indian artists who want to interact with Hollywood. Celebrate anyway. Way to go, Rehman!

I’m allowed to kiss in public now.

“Pucker up, honey.” I say to the better half, who almost chokes over his morning tea.

“Where shall we kiss? The gateway or the beach?” I continue.

Just when the hubby thought he was used to the mad ways of his ad-woman wife…

In response to the quizzical brows, I add, “You see, the Delhi High Court says we’re allowed to kiss in public. It’s legal and all.”

“I didn’t know the Delhi High Court is so interested in your life, or mine for that matter,” he quips.

The battle of wits has begun.

“They say it’s okay for married people to kiss in public,” I explain.

I see the mischievous grin that made me fall in love with him, stretch across his face.

“Do they specify that the two people have to be married to each other?”

One-all.

I’m glad the Delhi HC approves but I’m wondering if couples – married or otherwise – make elaborate kissing plans etc.

Imagine a daily planner like this.

1 pm dentist appointment.

2.15 pm kiss

2.30 pm meeting

Correct me if I’m wrong but I always thought a kiss is something that happens on the spur of the moment. It’s just a demonstration of affection and isn’t really that big a deal.

They ’re saying it offends the people around. It’s against our culture. Valentine’s Day is against our culture. Anything to do with love is against our culture.

Picture the moral police being thrown back into history.

• They arrest Krishna and Radha because they’re not married. In fact, Krishna is married to Rukmini and Radha to Ayan.
• Prevent the worship of the Shiva linga. We all know why.
• Send Vatsyayana to the gallows for voyeurism. And set fire to the book.
• Sue Menaka for immoral conduct.
• Have a dharna outside Durga’s residence to tell her she ought to be in the kitchen, not outside destroying asuras.
• Order Kaamdev and Rati to shut shop. Maybe confiscate the bow and arrow?
• Ostracize Vishnu for turning into Mohini. And sue him for immoral intent.

And after all this, tell these individuals that they have no place in Indian culture.

Luck by chance is the thinking man’s Om Shanti Om

A very well made film about real things and real people. It has the classy style of execution that comes naturally to Zoya Akhtar. Surprising a film that revolves around Bollywood can be made without really going over the top. Subtle, sensitive execution with delightful, Wodehouse-like humour.

Beautifully etched characters which are so real, we actually identify with them. Though Zoya has used all her Bollywood contacts, she has done so in a suave manner. They all fit in well with the storyline as against being crammed in one song. And they are not the highlight of the film, only part of it. That’s what’s beautiful.

It’s the story of a Delhi struggler who makes it to the top, and how he reacts to the heady glamour and success. Farhan Akhtar, like the protagonist of the film, is brave enough to play the lead guy with shades of grey. The film revolves not around Bollywood but human beings. In fact one of the characters says, “Don’t call us Bollywood. We are the Hindi film industry.”

It is a satire around how success changes the attitude of a person as well as that of the people around him. And, I know this is a spoiler, but I have to say, I have just seen SRK’s most meaningful role. That was goose-pimply.

The casting, methinks, was perfect right from Vikram (Farhan Akhtar), which nobody else could've done better to Rolly (Rishi Kapoor) the producer who relies heavily on the heavens. And what I loved the most was Anurag Kashyap playing the film writer. There's this hilarious scene where Nikki can't pronounce 'khoon' and the exasperated writer finally changes it to 'murder' in the 'oh-so-difficult dialogue'. He says "Murder kar do" or something like that.

Overall, it was a tad long but I ain’t complaining. I want to go see it again. A couple of times. Just to enjoy the extremely well-written dialogues. No slapstick moments, no hamming and no sugary ending. Comedy that brings a smile to the face.

All in all, if Luck By Chance were an ad, it would be the Hutch (boy and dog) ad. Loved by the masses and the classes.

Barkha Dutt strips

I’m so afraid of being sued by Ms. Dutt, I can’t stop shivering. Which is why I’m writing a headline that may have several meanings. One of which could be that she reveals her inner self. No legal problems here.

Also, I am NOT accusing Barkha of doing anything unethical. I’m not saying she’s inhuman. I do not intend to say she’s a blot on the name of journalism. And I definitely don’t think she ought to have her head examined.

Now I’m simply pasting the unconditional apology of a blogger, after retracting his post on NDTV and Ms. Dutt. I’m perfectly within my legal rights, I think.

I don’t even want you take the effort of clicking the link.

Unconditional Withdrawal of my post "Shoddy Journalism" dated November 27th 2008

Mon, 26 Jan 2009 at 00:00 • Chyetanya Kunte • Filed under Uncategorized

1. I, Chyetanya Kunte, hereby tender an unconditional apology to Ms. Barkha Dutt, Managing Editor, English News, NDTV Limited and to NDTV Limited, for the defamatory statements I made regarding Ms. Barkha Dutt and NDTV Limited, in my post titled "Shoddy Journalism," dated November 27th 2008, on my weblog at www.ckunte.com.
2. I have come to the conclusion that my post contained untrue and defamatory statements and that I have expressed myself in a disproportional manner. As a result, I have agreed with Ms. Barkha Dutt and NDTV to publish this statement as a means of settlement. I did not have the right nor the factual evidence to accuse Ms. Dutt and NDTV of the acts that I alleged in my weblog.
3. Consequently, I hereby repudiate and withdraw my post dated November 27, 2008 titled "Shoddy Journalism" and, more specifically, the following allegations / statements made in the post titled "Shoddy Journalism" namely:
• a lack of ethics, responsibility and professionalism by Ms. Dutt and NDTV Limited;
• that Ms. Dutt and NDTV's reporting at the scene of the Mumbai attacks during November 2008, resulted in jeopardizing the safety and lives of civilians and / or security personnel caught up in and / or involved in defending against the attacks in Mumbai in November 2008;
• that Ms. Dutt was responsible for the death of Indian Servicemen during the Kargil Conflict.
4. In an effort to remedy the damage that my aforementioned weblog post has caused to the reputations of Ms. Dutt and NDTV, I have undertaken to send this apology and withdrawal statement to all the websites that reproduced my post.
5. I hereby undertake not to repeat the said statements or similar statements against Ms. Dutt or NDTV Limited in the future.

[26.01.09]

Chyetanya Kunte

Now I’m doing another perfectly legal thing by putting up the link to this apology.

http://ckunte.com/archives/withdrawal

And this link to the original article, thanks to google cache

http://reader.feedshow.com/show_items-feed=82acf344ae184d2fd2a94dd3b34582b1

Update: www.desipundit.com

Reservations fuel untouchability

Reservations are creating a whole new level of untouchability. Remember those pehle waale days na? Where they weren’t allowed to enter villages, temples etc. At least then they had a life in the outskirts. Today is worse. I call it economic untouchablity.

I once worked in a prominent hospital in South Bombay. I was surprised to see patients come and make discreet enquiries about certain doctors. They’d try to figure out from the name whether a particular doctor is Dalit or not. And then I discovered the problem is not their caste. Nobody trusts them. The perception is that they’ve got their degrees through the quota and have no merit. Dalit equals dumb.

I’ve seen the same thing with lawyers. People specifically seek non-dalit lawyers so that they get someone knowledgeable on their case. Which, I think, is why I’ve seen a huge amount of dalit lawyers hanging around those small, insignificant courts.

The worse is with MBAs. I don’t know how companies hire but I’ve seen this issue crop up in discussions.

So far I’m only telling you these few instances that I’ve been witness to. I can’t generalise. And I don’t know how deep-rooted this problem is.

But I often sit and think, and generalisation simply happens. These instances lead me to believe that there’s an untouchability of a far more dangerous kind happening here.

“Quota mein aaya hai. Isko kya knowledge hoga?”

Less work.

Less money.

Lower standard of living.

Can’t afford good schools for kids.

Can’t get big homes or cars.

Is this what Ambedkar wanted? Let’s do the Dalits a favour by getting rid of reservations.

Smoke signals

Over the years I’ve noticed that the smoking culture of a company tells you all you need to know about it. So when you go somewhere for a job interview, I suggest you spend a few minutes in the smoking area even if you ain’t into the habit.

There’s this place I know of that’s very warm and caring, but it’s very hierarchy-led. And so is their smoking zone. The moment a senior management guy walks in, he automatically looks around for someone of the same level and stands there. If the senior is alone and a junior joins, the biggie slowly starts drifting away till he’s at a safe distance. Sometimes a kid would come out and go back seeing a senior. Better wait till a friend joins. In fact, people have ‘smoking friends’ just like train friends. You’ll always see a certain group of people smoke together.

Even the ‘asking for a light’ thing was a great revelation. Picture this. A middle management guy is standing and a same level guy comes to ask for a light. You’ll see the lighter/matchbox exchange hands. But if this same mid-level guy sees a senior even from afar, he’ll go all the way and hold the lighter for the biggie to light up. The kids don’t even ask for a light (matches come at a cost, you see). They simply use the other’s cigarette to light up.

But hierarchy apart, it’s a caring organisation. So the smoking time is used to chill, crack jokes, cry on shoulders. Advice is shared over a smoke. Sometimes work is discussed ‘off the record’. Sometimes two people smoke in absolute silence but you can see there’s a bond, a sense of togetherness in it.

Also, some good soul brings a lighter and keep it for the janta to use. People thus take turns.

There is this other place I know of which is very cold and water-tight. People keep to their own groups and hide what they’re doing from others. The place strictly works on the sucking-up- to-boss attitude. Even their smoking zone is like that.

People won’t even enter the smoking zone without cronies. It’s like they’re too insecure to even stand and smoke alone. Even the smoking zone is used to preen and look around if there’s somebody you can impress. People are full of the desperate need to constantly look cool.

Gadgets come out over a smoke. It’s cool to smoke with the iphone in your hand, or perhaps, a fancy ipod. The smoking area is used to talk about the latest expensive acquisitions, and to drop names.

I also once saw this strange phenomenon here. Once this uncool looking kid came and asked this guy if he had a cigarette. He didn’t. But as soon as this cool dude came and asked for one, a whole pack miraculously appeared from the said guy’s pocket.

Then again, there’s this organisation I know of that’s absolutely fabulous. I won’t even describe it. I’ll straight go to their smoking zone. Everybody sits with everybody else. You can’t make out the levels and designations in the smoking zone for sure. Cigarettes are hard to get in that area. So people just ask around for cigarettes. And people give them freely. You hear the question ‘Ek ciggie milega?’ answered with, “Ek nahin do milega’.

I’ve seen people part with their last cigarette without even thinking about it. Which, even non-smokers know, is the height of altruism.

And I’ll tell you the best part about this place. Somebody has kept an ashtray in the smoking zone. Not really so much out of civic sense. But so that the housekeeping guy doesn’t have too much trouble cleaning the place. Cool na?

Disclaimer: If you’re stupid enough to think this post encourages smoking, I have nothing to say to you.