Itchy Feet

Rise of a Whole New Egypt!

2011-02-12T13:48:00.002+07:00

25 days, no weapon...and the 'power of people'!

I was elated to see people on the street chanting 'Free Egypt', waving flags, some overwhelmed at 30 years of struggle, some with tears of joy...

I wondered isn't this more than a person's resignation?

Firstly, Egypt's problems existed long before Mubarak. Secondly, one Mubarak can be replaced with another Mubarak. Thirdly, Mubarak is more than a person, he represents a system - an unfair, oppressive, stagnant, rule of the iron hand system.

What people of Egypt have really overthrown is not just Mubarak but all that he stood for.

This is an incredible story of the power of people & the fact this power got an existing system to collapse - and collapse in such a way that Egypt will never be the same again (I am quoting Obama here).

Everyone agrees that Mubarak and all that he stands for must go! But will the people of Egypt stand unified to build a new Egypt? Will they share the vision to build a 'brand new' system?

The party has begun...the drums are rolling...the chanting continues... then starts all the work!

Phew!

2007-03-21T17:37:00.000+07:00

Today? Tomorrow? Or Right Now?

2007-02-28T18:57:00.000+07:00

Dear Friend,

It’s been four long years since I have known you. It was by accident that I got to know about you but then in my drunken state I cherished every bit of your company.

If you recall, the first time I felt your presence it was a cold December night at a party in New Delhi. I had gulped down a lot of Vodka for the first time. I was happy and laughing. I danced without being my usual shy or coy self. It was then that you came next to me and whispered into my ears, “Try me!”

Without the slightest reluctance I did. I tried you and boy…did that feel good! You took away my sorrows in those few minutes. All those painful memories of a broken home and a fractured family melted away effortlessly. My head felt lighter and my heart relieved.

A few minutes later, I searched for you again. I knew I wanted more of you. Somewhere in the bottom of my heart I felt guilty because they said it’s not right, it’s not good and it’s not safe. My friends insisted I sit down because I was too drunk or I will be ashamed of my doings the next morning. But I was only greedier than ever, almost turning into a savage. I raised my voice and the alcohol made it easy for me to do that. Just after I cussed at my friends and used it as a weapon so they give in – you appeared in front of me again. Ohhh…the sight of you! I clutched you and told myself I will never let you go.

We became friends then on. You accompanied me everywhere and shared not just my physical space but became a part of me. You became me. Those who knew me started defining me in terms of my volatile relationship with you. Few gave me nicknames and others gave me warnings. They believed that my relationship with you could prove fatal…that you could even kill me. But how was I to explain that there were many other things killing me and my hopes, dreams and desires. Abandoned relationships, unresolved conflicts and unanswered emails. You couldn’t have been so dangerous, I believed, for I had grown immune to all forms of intoxication with my life often oscillating between utopia and destitution.

I was told you were making me weak but I insisted that you gave me strength instead. That you were not blurring my vision and ability to see things as they are but those images - blurred and contorted- made it easier for me to move ahead with confidence because I wasn’t sure how big is the challenge or how deep the problem. Your masked presence helped me walk gracefully towards the colossal challenges that await me - in office, at home or social gatherings.

I still haven’t been able to comprehend my relationship with you. I have fought for you with my loved ones and had arguments that often turned bitter. I have hidden my love for you from the woman who gave birth to me and who continues to nourish me. There were days where I didn’t have money for food but I still spent whatever little I had just to meet you and experience sensations that I cannot express in mere words and (in public space!). I treasured your company because you were always listening when I spoke. You were quiet and you stayed with me while I thought or wandered aimlessly in my thoughts. There were times when you sat silently while I laughed and fought with my gang and there were times when you hid in the darkness of my room next to an open window.

My most beautiful moments were when we traveled together to places unheard and unseen. Amidst mountains, waterfalls and coffee estates. In Highways, Dhabhas, trucks and trains. When we sat together staring at a sky embroidered with thousands of stars. Moments when you and I were overwhelmed and left speechless at the power of nature and the simplicity of a village life.

I have some great memories of the time I spent with you in the city too. You were there, don’t you remember? When I would get drunk and walk the empty quiet streets of this city at mid night fearing a traffic cop or a Dear Uncle spotting me with you in that almost sublime state. I find it funny when I think of places where people looked at me with disgust because I held you close to me. We have also danced and rejoiced under the influence of stuff they call forbidden. Remember? Those days when we would board a crowded bus or enter the house hoping we wouldn’t stink and our secrets wouldn’t be revealed to the outside world.

We met in defined areas and sometimes we broke rules when we created magic together in places where posters screamed out loud informing us that it is a ‘No Smoking Zone!’ Sigh! I love the way you come neatly packed with a date and a maximum retail price. Kings - Thirty Four Rupees only. I can buy your company in just Thirty Four rupees. I chuckle within at the thought of it.

But now they say I have to leave you if I want to climb big mountains and reach higher. If I need to travel far and understand the world outside and within. They say I need to be stronger. They say I have become a slave and will grow helpless soon. This nexus that connects me to you needs to be broken. Your presence in my life, in my room, in my cupboards must be cleaned, wiped and perfumed. It must be brought to an end.

I will have to move on, leaving you behind. Today? Tomorrow? Or right now?

Only Superheroes fight once in 16 years!!!

2007-02-28T12:49:00.000+07:00

As a child, I loved Charles Dickens for the fantastic storyteller he was. I turned page after page and sat reading his books for hours. Farhan as a director entertains me too – I have never been disappointed by any of his movies except the way Preiti Zinta’s role was crafted in the movie Lakshaya. I have never complained of wasting my not-so-precious three hours nor have I ever regretted the money that my dear friends spent on buying me a ticket. Hehehe!

Before I get into any sort of character or plot analysis let me tell you why I enjoyed this movie. Firstly, the debutante director’s ability to play around creatively with various themes and different characters is something I liked. Like a magician she weaves a wonderful story that is entertaining and touching at the same time. Farhan Akhtar’s ability to EXPERIMENT – (something Mr. Karan Johar will never understand) is the reason why I give a standing ovation to this young director. Secondly, this movie has many moments that will make you smile and making someone smile is even tougher than cracking a side splitting joke. Here are some of the best moments of this movie…and I will try doing that without revealing the story.

Amisha Patel, who plays Pinky from New Delhi, definitely stands out in this movie, that too in the presence of the biggies like Boman Irani, Shabana Aazmi and KK Menon. She stands out not just because of her loud Pink costumes but because they have beautifully captured the ‘Delhiness’ in Amisha and presented it so subtly. Amisha can not act but this was one role where she didn’t have to. I think that’s why she didn’t hurt my eyes at all.

In one scene Irani made me laugh real hard (where they go for a boat ride in Goa searching for dolphins and Irani hopes they will atleast see a pomfret) and another scene he made me smile where he is snatching the cigarette pack from his daughter. The scene where Boman narrates the story about where he saw Shabana, his wife, the first time is also well done.

KK Menon – a brilliant actor and a guy who can look great inspite of the flaws (or because of them!!). Menon delivers another memorable role and does a great job as an insecure husband, a conservative Bengali who insists that his wife wears a Sari all the time (and later pays a price for it...ahem!). The guy who sets himself free after drinking some Cola that had something potent mixed in it. Whatever was mixed in the Cola, it was definitely potent…potent enough to make Partho shed all his inhibitions and dance, fly and kiss his wife in public.

I like the scene where Partho’s beautiful Bengali wife is para sailing clad in a Sari and leaves the men on the beach woo-hooing. This scence has a strong message. It will be unfortunate if Farhan’s audience fails to read between the lines and absorbs the message he is trying to deliver without making it obvious. Post this ‘catastrophe on the beach’ scene, Partho’s wife appears more confident and aware of her sexuality. While Partho was set free by the unknown tablets mixed in Cola, his wife needed a parachute ride in Goa to set her free lending her the strength to wear a skirt again and confess her interest in Martial arts but not Rabindra Sangeeth.

The role of the two men – married but in a dilemma regarding their sexual orientation is the only part which disappointed me. It was pathetically predictable- that’s all I can say!

There are a lot of read-between-the–lines. I felt that there is also an undercurrent of issues related to identity and gender politics through out the movie.

Ok…those who have seen this movie are most likely to point out at the role of Minnisa Lamba and Bobby Deol. Why did they turn into superheroes – like batman and batwoman, at the end of the story? A review I read earlier describes their role as one that “borders on the ridiculous, but which is nevertheless funny in a mindless way”. Through out the whole movie, the rest of the couples keep wondering how Lamb and Deol remain so happy, so content and so similar. How can they always smile and kiss each other? How can they always be ‘in love’? We get the answer- Because they are not real!!! They are either a figment of our imagination or they are certainly not human beings. The idea of ‘perfect marriage’ or a ‘perfect couple’ is clearly being mocked and dissolved here and like the characters themselves say ‘only superheroes fight once in 16 years’ – becomes the moral of the story, if you insist on one!

This isn’t the best movie I have seen in the recent times but I like its attempt to flirt with the concept of magic realism. This movie only reminds us that Hindi cinema is open to experimentation unlike some idiots who make and re-make stories about happy, good looking families living in castles and spending their time singing and dancing for no reason.

I suggest that you don’t walk into the theatre with too many expectations. It is a perfect popcorn-movie, one that you can watch on one of those I-will-bunk-work-and-hide-in-a-movie-theatre-today moods.

Beyond Surfaces!

2007-02-20T14:37:00.000+07:00

She wriggled on her bed for a long time. Twisting and turning and sighing. It was a Sunday and there was a lot of time to sigh away. The table fan made a humming noise and that kept her in a trance like state. It made just enough noise to overpower all other noises – Rocky’s bark, Iyer uncle’s scooty being kick started, Zuber's weird choice of Hindi songs, the vegetable and fish vendors screaming away to glory. This table fan sat comfortably on a wooden stool borrowed from the landlord. It was the only form of luxury in her house and it made its presence felt as soon as you switched it on.

When she had rolled all over the small wooden bed and there was no more space to be discovered or explored, she opened her eyes and saw the fan staring at her, telling her it had worked for the whole night and now needs to retire. She sat there still and numb after an overdose of sleep and made a things-to-do-list in her mind.

Check – Lunch at Ambli Aunty’s house
Check – Buy Kaju Katli from Kanti sweets before going to Ambli Aunty’s house
Check – Wash clothes…or maybe not!
Check – Have a nice hot water bath
Check – Attend the salsa class

She stepped out of her bed, walked into the kitchen to get some tea and lit a cigarette. The house looked clean and the rest will be shoved under the carpet anyways. The fan, the mute spectator, continued to hum and now sounded tired while she sat there puffing and wondering where to start her day from. Once the cigarette was stubbed, she switched off the fan and switched on the television. From one noise to another. This noise was her only companion in that empty house and somewhere she did not want to feel this emptiness. This noise gave her comfort, some kind of assurance.

She picked up her mobile and saw there were no phone calls or messages. Nobody had thought of her since last evening – not her friends, not her parents and not even her boss or clients! Something sank within her and she moved from one room to another indolently, crushed under the weight of something she was not able to recognize.

Once she washed and cleaned the physical and the material. She stepped out in the mild afternoon sun in search of the nearest Kanti Sweets store. She found one a kilometer away in the middle of a crowded market place. The shop was brimming with many sweet toothed people. She patiently waited for her turn and stared blankly at the ceiling hoping someone will soon ask her what she needs.

A man shorter than her, wearing a faded old white shirt, a tired look on his face and holding a worn out black bag in his right hand stood besides her. She noticed his presence…anyone would have. He did not blend in with the rest of the crowd – the English speaking, well dressed Bangalore middle class. He looked out of place. All the while he kept his head low as if something has been gnawing at him for long and it was getting excruciatingly painful for him to stand amidst all those people with ‘refined’ demeanor and IT pay packages. He was of a small stature but appeared even smaller in that over crowded Mithai shop.

A young man standing at the counter, asked him what he wants. He pointed out to something green and covered in coconut. The young man at the counter paused for a while and asked, “Are you sure? That’s 380 Rs a kilo.”

She turned around to see what this man will have to say. Will he get angry or will he just put a gun on the guy’s head and ask him to pack a kilo of the fucking green thing covered in coconut without asking him too many questions? He needs to return home and share this with his family because he got promoted or got a better job or got his first pay after months of unemployment. His clothes or shoe or bag can not reflect his buying power and he is certainly not a usual customer for Kanthi sweets. But he doesn’t need these questions.

Instead of erupting like a volcano, he just reached into the pocket of his faded shirt and took out a crisp 500Rs note. His wrinkled forehead and weathered skin had a long story to tell but it was clear he was in no mood for story telling. He just frowned and confirmed his desire to have a kilo of those sweets.

Once the 500Rs. note was handed over, the sweets were packed, weighed and billed. She exchanged a quick glance with this man wanting him to know that she didn’t like what just happened. But he quickly grabbed his packet, lowered his eyes and walked out… embarrassed, dismayed and disheartened.

“How may I help you madam?” , she heard the same voice again…the voice that asked the poorly dressed guy what he wants, in a manner so curt that he should have been drowned in one of those hot boiling cauldrons in the kitchen.

She looked at him, smiled and said half kilo of Kaju katli please. The voice returned asking her if that will be all.

She thought yes that will be all. Even though she is dressed in a Levi’s jeans and a Benetton t-shirt, that will be all.

So what if she earns 20 grants a month and haunts most of the pubs in the city. That will be all.

She has got better things to do like spend her money on booze and books, take care of her own needs and wants. She can’t just go spending on people related to her mother or friends who have always stood by her. That really will be all!!!

The Mithai was neatly packed and handed over. She took out the money from her bag and handed it over. ‘Thank you!’ the voice returned. She said nothing and she didn’t smile either.

She was tired of having to smile when she didn’t mean it at all.

Good Boy!!!

2007-02-17T14:05:00.000+07:00

Bangalore Brewery! (Feb 2006)

2007-02-09T11:50:00.000+07:00

Decanter 1

Its is not just women who have to worry about self defence and dangers lurking in the dark waiting to pounce and savage their bodies, violate their space and leave them bleeding for a lifetime, with their lives shattered irrevocably.

A 65 year old elephant named, Kanthi, in BR Hills in Karantaka was targeted by a wild bull elephant in heat two months ago. She was left bleeding and badly injured in the middle of a forest when her Mahout found her again and brought her back to the village. The forest department has spent over Rs. 2 lakh on her treatment and special food. She will hopefully recover just in time to deliver her baby.

Wonder what Kanthi thinks and has to say about the entire incident. Does she think being an elephant is better than being a woman? Atleast she had a Mahout who rescued her from the mouth of death, a forest department that generously showered her with love, food and medical aid. And, of course, her fellow pachyderms did not ostracize her or subject her to public ignominy.

Decanter 2

I have always been proud of this city, Bangalore, not just for all the things it’s had brought to my life but for its ability to constantly break walls and replace them with ideas. The Rotary Cubbon Park Braille centre is now ready to help the visually challenged read Bagvat Gita.

I think that was a beautiful thought. But unfortunately this world is full of nincompoops like me who have the eyes, the vision and the money but haven’t read the Bhagvad Gita yet!!!

Decanter 3
Goodbye Mr. Sheldon!

I have never read any of Sheldon’s works largely because the rest of the world was reading him. I couldn’t be caught following the herd, can I?

During my college days, when I was trying to familiarize myself with works of Amitav Ghosh and Saadat Hassan Manto, I was coerced by a dear friend into reading Sheldon. My literary life was at its rudimentary best back then (err…it still is I think!). So I made a genuine attempt to read ‘Tell me your dreams’ but only after overpowering my prejudice and challenging my usual juvenile myself. But after 50 pages or so, I kept the book under my bed, turned to the other side and mummified myself in my warm blanket and went into deep sleep.

That was the first and last time I came close to reading any of the works by Sheldon. He is gone but it didn’t really bother me. (If you are thinking why should it bother me…he isn’t my neighbour anyways). I mean I was sad when they blew up Rajiv Gandhi…and a part of me also said ‘No way!’ when Amrish Puri was declared dead – instances when a public figure and his death becomes a matter of concern and a reason for disappointment. I guess I cherished their role – one, a young politician with a vision and the other, a famous replica of Satan named Mogambo, someone who left me amused and giggling as I sat watching Mr. India for the 52nd time during my summer vacations in school.

Sheldon’s death did not cause any such cathartic moment at all. I did not feel bad neither did it shock me when the 89 year old Master-of-cliffhanging-plots died. That morning, the “breaking news” on TV only left me saying – ‘Oh, Sheldon’s dead!’ and then I went into the kitchen to make some scrambled eggs for breakfast.

Maybe the reason behind my aloofness is that Sheldon did not contribute anything to my growing years or whatever little intelligence I claim to have. He never entertained or amused me. I could never relate to his works and neither do I intend to find out anything about his works in the near future.

But I am sure many of my friends who have read all his books , would have spent substantial amount of time poring over all the articles dedicated to him in many newspapers and magazines.

Good Bye, Mr. Sheldon! May your soul rest in peace.

Decanter4

Poetry has never been my cup of tea. But a few days back I read these lines and it left me speechless for a little while. When I got out of the trance-like moment, I read it again and again. Each time I read it, the words and the meaning emerging out of them struck me harder.

I think these lines are beautiful and say so much in just 6 little lines.

“This border that now decrees
One shared past with two histories
This border that now decides
The sky between us as two skies
This border born of blood spilt free
Makes you my friend, my enemy”.

Decanter 4
Rural tourism

Read this link. I think it’s a great story and a very well written one. But somewhere it raises several questions.

While trying to prove how incredible our India is, we might end up constructing five star resorts and spa clinics in the middle of a quite, self sufficient village…yes in the process we will bring good things from the ‘civilized world’ like roads, electricity, medicines Our villages will be less isolated and might help us create equal opportunities for all. But then those self-sufficient, happy, hard working people might start craving for ‘More’ – a better TV, more credits, mobile phones, bank balance!

How do we define the word ‘development’? And can we really do that by not snatching away the innocence and serenity that our villages have kept themselves wrapped in for hundred’s of years now?

Decanter 5
Mathadu Mathadu Mallige

A film set in a small village in Karantaka about the economic changes led by the multinational culture and how it is beginning to affect a village has been in news for sometime. Filmmaker, Nagathihalli Chandrashekhar has received threats so that he backs down and stops making this movie for it will bring a lot of things out in the light.

Decanter 6
Gloria Steinem

This 72 year old was in India to attend the South Asian Women’s writer’s Colloquium in Delhi. In an article in Hindu, towards the end of her interview when asked what would she like to do for the remainder years, she says, “Writing much more. Going deeper instead of wider, learning all that I can about original cultures, dancing more and living to at least 100!”

I like that…

Decanter 7
In troubled waters

So last time we fought ostensibly over Saddam’s hanging and this time we are fighting over a river. God! We humans can get so innovative when it comes to giving a reason for the Rasta Rokos, protest marches, stopping trains and retching at the likes of Girish Karnad for having an opinion.

Yes, you might want to say what do I know about being a farmer. I do not belong to Tanjavoore, Mysore and Pondycherry. What do I know about being a farmer and having all my crops die because I do not have enough water?...yeah, I guess you are right and people have the right to express their disappointment in a verdict that came out after 14 long years.

Will we let Cauvery flow peacefully - gushing with joy, reveling in its freedom and its ability to nourish the surrounding inhabitants. I will sit back and enjoy my holiday on Feb 12 and watch Kumaraswamy, Siddiramiah, Eswarappa and the general public take the centre stage. Let us see how the two contending states resolve this issue.

In pictures.

From Outer Space!

2007-01-31T13:23:00.000+07:00

Yes thats me...deep in my thoughts, romancing the snow-capped mountains! No I wasnt lost... This is when I found myself...again!

From Kunzum La (the pass at 4335 mts) to Chandartal Lake (at 4270mts), a 19Km trek

Coffee Please!

2007-01-25T19:43:00.000+07:00

This weekend I escaped the din of the city once again and ran right into the serene midst of a village called Aldhur in Chikamaglore. The journey from Bangalore to Chikamaglore in a ‘Rajhamsa’ Bus is pleasant but a bumpy drive if you have the backseats. These long six hours will honor you with a landscape that will ensure some serious opportunities for mouth gaping.

I love window seats. It’s like sitting really close to your TV set to watch your favorite program and ensuring that you do not miss out any of the scenes, dialogues or the facial expressions of your favorite character. You get to savor each and every tiny detail without anybody’s hairy head blocking your view. I had hoped to finish ‘The Hungry Tide’ by Mr. Gosh during this journey but I was so awe-struck with the picturesque scenes moving outside the bus that it lay right there on my lap waiting to be read.

My roomie is a Kurghie… (Or a Coorgie) and that affords her an estate life. Her house is situated right in the middle of this coffee estate with all kinds of flowers, vegetables, spices and coffee being grown in it. This was my second trip to Chikamaglore. The last I visited this place was three years back when I spent my New Years drinking Jack Daniels because their dog Bruno spilt and licked all the wine from the bottle I carelessly left in the garden.

While my rommie slept throughout most of the journey I sat staring at all things passing by. Once you exit Bangalore City, you will be welcomed by many tiny huts with chimneys, lots of cattle grazing aimlessly, women chit-chatting near water pumps, (their collection of plastic ‘Matkas’ would have given photographer Steve McCurry a reason to smile), tall and strong trees, sugarcane and paddy fields, and the bright sunlight bathing the entire region and lending it a beautiful golden color. At this point I really wanted to know if we can travel back in time because if we could, then I would, without any reluctance, devour a small role in a ‘Malgudi Days’ kind of life.

We passed a few small towns like Mandya and Hassan and before midnight struck, Shash and I were in the dining hall savoring piping hot Akki Roti with egg curry. Mouth watering, eh? Then we got into this hefty looking ancient bed and her mom threw a dozen blankets on us. The chilly weather, a great bed and an over - satisfied stomach were enough reasons for me to fall asleep faster than I could imagine. (Oh yeah…I have a confession to make here...I snored so loudly that I woke myself up. Ahem!!)

An estate life has its pros and cons. On one hand you are your own boss, you live closer to nature, you work hard, eat well and spend your evenings sitting by the fire place drinking wine or whisky. Then you get to keep a lot of dogs and enjoy the moon light without any billboards or streetlights blocking it. However on the other hand, You need to work hard…no wait…REALLY HARD!, wake up early morning, run after the workers, keep your accounts, run around in the hot sun watering, plucking, cutting and trimming.

In these three my roomie and I lost a few kilos as we were forced to wake up early in the morning, eat some really nutritious food and then we volunteered to pluck some coffee cherries with other workers, Of course, this volunteering lasted only for a little more than 30 minutes because the sun got us a little dizzy, tired and hungry.

So we walked back and were about to jump back into our beds when I heard uncle screaming at us, “City potatoes! Get out of there!” So we crawled out of our room and I poured myself some ginger and honey wine and seated myself on Uncle’s rocking chair. (You have know idea what that felt like!)

I spent my evenings walking around the estate, trying to make friends with Bruno – an over sized Dobber Man and Sweetie- a year old German shepherd who is also a mother of four pups, (I named one of them Fluffy...Hehe!), reading Hungry Tide, accompanying Uncle to the Pulper machine or the Huller.

Those three days went by and I returned to the city half-heartedly. Sigh! I surely can’t become a part of Malgudi days. But yes, I can certainly afford to work hard and reward myself a farm life.

So after 40 years of my life, I shall blog from my Estate…not fettered by time or the lack of it!

Bangalore Brewery!

2007-01-24T19:42:00.000+07:00

Every day as I struggle to occupy some space and stand straight in an over crowded BMTC bus, I decide to keep myself busy thinking about a few things. Starting a section titled ‘Bangalore Brewery!’ for my blog struck me during one such physically demanding occasion.

I intend to write about the most entertaining/shocking/disappointing/pleasant events, instances and statements that come anywhere near the five senses I have been blessed with. I shall mock, criticize or just present my views in the simplest language known to me…and that would be English.

Here I go then…

Decanter 1
Chidambaram’s response to Shilpa Shetty’s woes and the racist remarks doled out to her in the program Big Brother… “This will not strain the relationships between the two countries…” left me laughing and roaring for nearly the entire day. I read this statement in a leading national daily.

Dear Mr. Chidambaram, why? Why?? WHY???

Decanter 2
Narayana Murthy’s comments left me thinking for a little while and started a heated discussion in my office. I ordered for some butter milk and tried cooling everyone down later.

His comments – “If India has to solve its problems, it has to embrace capitalism”.

I wonder if media will candidly criticize this “IT visionary” or will they just stay mum and not risk their ad revenues from the IT giant?

Decanter 3
Bangalore has lost its lakes, its gardens and soon it will loose all the beautiful trees that our roads adorn. Nearly 62 trees at Malleswaram Circle will soon be chopped down owing to the construction of the Malleswaram grade separator.

I felt terrible reading this. The trees surrounding Bangalore have always had a soothing effect on my eyes…especially when you are stuck in one of those traffic jams!

Decanter 4
A Sangha in Bangalore demanded government order to be issued for distribution of milk instead of eggs on schools. To draw the government’s attention the Sangha will be staging a ‘Vidhana Soudha Chalo’ protest.

Karnataka has always been harping on the usage of its regiional language. The fact they decided to coin their protest as ‘Vidhana Soudha Chalo’ left me grinning for some reason.

Decanter 5
This week I also learned that the Mysore Zoo is originally named Jai Chamarajendra Zoological Gardens...Phew!

Decanter 6
I will not make an attempt to investigate what-how-why-and-when of the weekend chaos Bangalore suffered from. Just that it was a rude awakening for us all.

John Milton wrote ‘Paradise Lost’. Someday I might write ‘Pensioner’s Paradise Lost too’. And we lost this paradise long time ago.

On Friday I saw a protest being staged near my office. After a little enquiry I found that they were protesting Saddam’s hanging. They carried placards that said ‘Saddam – the world’s hero!’ What struck me was that all those who participated in this march were Muslims. If he was the world’s hero why were the Hindus, Parsis, Christians of the Bangalore populace not a part of the protest? Maybe the placards should have said ‘Saddam- The Muslim world’s hero!’ instead.

On Saturday I saw huge banners that said something about a Hindu meeting – ‘a Yatra’. A Swami with a long beard had been poorly photographed and printed on to the banner that was a screaming Orange in color. I didn’t recognize who he was and honestly, I did not care.

On Monday I sat at home switching from one news channel to another since my office is a stone’s throw from Bamboo Bazaar and Shivaji Nagar. Most of them were young teenaged boys and the rest looked like they all have been paid Rs. 50 or a bottle of a liquor to quench their thirst. But the questions is – can this thirst, can this hunger ever be satiated?

A 12 year old was declared dead, journalists ran with their cameras to cover the frenzy, the quiet city was mobbed and lynched for reasons no one really knows, three days later the government declared 25,000 Rs. for the injured.

The drama is over now and everybody is looking forward to the third season of Kaun Banega Corepati!

‘Bangalore Brewery!’ shall return hopefully with more pleasant stories this time.

Smile Please!!!

2007-01-12T15:02:00.000+07:00

Mysore Masala

2007-01-11T12:15:00.000+07:00

In my attempt to reward myself with an alternate career I took my first baby steps to understand what travel guiding would feel like. This interest was triggered off after a long conversation I had with a friend of mine – a friend I met purely due to circumstances.

Last year, on my way back to Delhi from Ladakh, an American woman in her early 40’s was seated right in front of me. It was a long three day bus journey (owing to reasons I will explain in my post about my love affaire with Himachal Pradesh and Ladakh).

It was in front of a book shop somewhere in the lanes of Old Delhi that Susan and I sat on a wooden plank, smoked a few cigarettes, drank tea and shared our views on almost everything under the sun. We had spent a lot of time together when she was in New Delhi and had begun to enjoy each other’s company. Amidst this exchange of thoughts, ideas and experiences she suggested I should take up tour guiding. Now that was a brilliant idea and it echoed in my head for days.

Months later, when Susan’s friend Cathy was visiting Bangalore I grabbed that opportunity and took her in and around the city. As a midwife in Australia and a student of aroma therapy, I sensed Cathy’s interest in different kinds of oils and thought visiting the Mysore Sandal factory will be an excellent idea. So, we packed our bags and left for Mysore on a Friday night.

This is the first time I ever traveled with someone who is not an ‘Indian’. So a lot of things amused me and a few things left me fuming. What amused and disgusted me on our journey to Mysore was the way I saw my fellow Indians trying to take advantage of someone new to the country and ignorant about a few facts such as a Tonga ride from the Mysore Palace to suburb bus station will NEVER cost you Rs. 60, that a tiny double bedroom in a trading area where half of the world’s trucks are parked, loaded and unloaded will NOT cost you Rs. 250, that you can ALWAYS get yourself a bus pass and hop different buses through out the day and that Gobi Manchurian is MEANT to be dry and crispy not soggy with gravy (Ewkes!! This one was really disgusting, eh?)

I saw the way people reacted when they spotted a white skinned woman with her back pack. The street urchins would surround her asking for ‘foreign’ chocolates, the beggars told her they need fifty bucks to have their food (??) and street side shop keepers will start screaming unnecessarily, ‘Yes maam! What you looking for?’ or ‘Excuse me Madam, Please come. Pure silk sarees. Look very good on you.’

I got a little sick of this after a while but was happy to note that Cathy had grown immune to all this and could walk through all of this with a gentle but assertive ‘NO!’

The Mysore Sandal Factory – our first stop

We took bus # 2 from the citi bus stand and headed straight towards the factory. After a short walk from the National College of Engineering, we reached the factory’s main gate. It was dead silent all around and the gates were left wide open. I could only see a guard yawning away to glory and a few bikes parked near the front office. I started walking towards the guard and even before I could utter a word, a guy dressed up in a grey Safari suit appeared in front of me.

Mr. Safari suit – looking at Cathy -‘Please come madam!’

Me – ‘Errr…I had called your corporate office in Bangalore and got an appointment to…’

Mr. Safari suit – looking at Cathy – ‘which country madam?’

Cathy – ‘Australia!’

Mr. Safari suit – ‘Please fill your details in this guest book madam! We will go in then. I will be your guide.’

Cathy filled in details like her full name, her contact address and her contact numbers. When she was done, she stepped aside handing over the pen to me.

Mr. Safari suit – ‘You no need madam! Indians don’t need to fill that book.’

‘Well…good…saves me the trouble’ I thought to myself.

Right outside the building, he stopped us and pointed out to a small tree. Mr Safari looked at Cathy and told her that it is a 60 year old sandalwood tree. I did not exist for him. Or maybe he thought being an Indian I would be more interested in other mundane things like the price of petrol or worrying about not getting enough degrees. Whatever the reasons, it left me feeling like a discarded, redundant piece of termite-eaten sandalwood. So I decided that I will walk around the factory on my own and do my own research. Huh!!

Once we were inside he told us that we wouldn’t be able to see any oil production going on but can still see the equipments. A dirty blue flowchart was laminated and hung on one of the walls. It depicted the various steps of cleaning, chipping, distillation, purification and packaging. We were then taken into the room where about 20 workers sat on the floor kneading, rolling and packing incense sticks. The smell of Jasmine and Sandalwood inside that room was overwhelming.

Mr. Safari suit kept pointing in all directions but my attention span has always been very small. So I sat next to some of the workers and decided to spend some time observing them. I saw the dilapidated building they called the factory. It was built somewhere in the 1910’s and looked tired and worn out. It was only the heavenly smell of sandalwood and the smiling workers who infused some life into the whole ambience.

After a few minutes of aimless gazing, we stepped out of the factory and were about to thank Mr. Safari suit, when he whispered something into Catherine’s ears. Then I saw Cathy taking out 50 rupees and handing it over to Mr.-Safari-suit-cum-smarty-pants. He grabbed the note and smiled cunningly at both of us.

As we got out of the gate my eyes scanned the front desk and the sign boards near the parking lot. Nowhere had it said anything about having to pay for the tour within the factory. Hmph!!

The St Xavier’s and Philomena’s Church- Our second stop

This is one of the most beautiful churches I have ever visited. The church is old and you can almost feel that it is smiling wearily at you. I just couldn’t take my eyes off its beautiful painted glasses and some of the Christmas decoration that still hung from the roof. I sat there for a long time with Cathy and absorbed every bit of beauty and serenity that the church had to offer me. Just one word to describe my experience here – WOW!!

Chamundi Hills – Our third stop

With a bus pass we made for Rs 20 each, Cathy and I could hop as many buses within a day. So we chose to take a bus, after an auto guy offered to take us up to the hills for 500 rupees, and after wading through a sea of humans at the bus station, we located bus # 201. We hopped in and I proudly flashed our bus passes at the ticket checker and felt even better when he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

After peaceful 20 minute bus ride we were ‘awwww-ing!!’ at a beautiful temple that was surrounded by numerous ugly shops. I really wouldn’t be amazed if they constructed a shopping mall in the vicinity soon. I took sometime to marvel at the beautiful carvings and showered generous ‘wah- wahs!!’ on the artists who managed to deliver such an awe-inspiring work without the machinery or the tools that carpenters or architects use in the present days.

It was somewhere in the middle of ‘wows’ and ‘look at this one!’ that I heard my tummy growling. I was fasting that day for dearest Ganesha so couldn’t eat whatever I wanted to. So to appease the greedy pig in me, I bought some pineapple and started relishing every bit of the juicy fruit till the time I choked on one.

Once all that sugar reached my stomach and my body needed to channelise all this energy somewhere, I excitedly suggested that we go down the 300 odd steps to the statue of Nandi or the black bull. Cathy did not think it was a good idea since she had problems with her knee. (Until this time I thought that the white skinned DO NOT suffer from various medical conditions and my innocence or ignorance is evident in my earlier post too).

So we continued to saunter around and then amused ourselves with a baby monkey that sat right in the middle of the road staring back at me…maybe trying to fathom the striking resemblance!

It was getting chillier and darker so we decided to head back to town, find a cheap room (and that’s how we ended up in the trading area where hundreds of trucks choked the lane) and meet two of Cathy’s friends, also visiting Mysore, for dinner.

Hotel Palace Plaza – Our fourth and the last stop for Day One

We stepped out of our tiny room, walked through the congested lane, took a left turn from the New Statue Circle and then took the road right before the Singer showroom at the corner. A little further from this turn is the rooftop hotel called Hotel palace Plaza. This is where we were supposed to meet Cathy’s friends and have dinner.

The conversation shifted from Indian politics, the Jessica Lall case, the split between the Ambani brothers and the recent ULFA attacks in Assam which caused some amount of distress to them because that’s where they were heading after wrapping up from Bangalore. Oh yes… the most important part, all this took place in the company of some excellent Golconda and Riviera Wines. (I was fasting remember?? So I had to make do with some hot chai. Sigh!)

Pedros: ‘What do you think of these swami’s? I heard they do some stuff like healing with just a touch or a lot of Yoga.’

Me: ‘Well, honestly, I think David Blaine is more entertaining.’

The night went on with a series of questions posed to me about my own country and its people. The differences, the similarities and our ability to co- exist harmoniously (??) inspite of them. There were questions I couldn’t answer. For instance, who burnt down the Mysore Palace and who re-built it, if ULFA will shift their attention from Biharis to foreign tourist, explaining what a tatkal ticket means in English and many others. I was now beginning to contemplate and weigh my capabilities as a tour guide and gathered I will be a really dumb guide to have.

The night came to an end and Cathy and I walked back to our hotel without any trouble. I changed my clothes, washed my face and cursed the hotel for using bricks as pillows…Grrrr! I have a sensitive neck you see!!

Sleeping in a new room or a new bed is never easy for me. To add to my woes, I lay there the whole night listening to loud thuds of goods being loaded, unloaded or reloaded into trucks with an occasional curse word from a truck driver or a merchant.

Day II

The Mysore Zoo – First Stop, Day II

After a sleepless night and a quick breakfast (without taking my bath...hehe) we hopped into a Tonga after confirming and re-confirming that the Tonga guy really did say 15 rupees. Cathy sat there with a big smile and for some reason that left me curious wanting to know what her 19 year old daughter looked like.

I had been to the Mysore Zoo before and I have never seen so many beautiful birds, beasts and reptiles anywhere else before. It was sad that they were all inside a cage. But I think they are better off here in the zoo or they are likely to get shot or poisoned by fellow humans. I was really angry when I saw some nincompoops clapping, howling, screaming, hissing and whistling at the magnificent tigers that were happily roaming in the area designed for them. I wonder if they realize how dumb and annoying they all looked doing that. I mean, this was a tiger we were looking at…not a German shepherd!!! We humans have not spared them in the jungles and now we refuse to respect them in the zoos too. Arghhhhhh!!!

I can’t list out all that I saw there but will definitely scan the map of the zoo and put it here for your reference. (See I am so reader friendly!!) But I must point out that the colors that Mother Nature has chosen to give them, leaves you speechless and no Maybelline or L’Oreal can replicate this pleasant explosion of colors or blend it so flawlessly. Yellows, blues, reds, purples…all those colors, all those hues…all those wonders!

It’s a really long walk around the zoo and the afternoons in Mysore can be really hot and tiring. We stopped to drink some tender coconut, finished touring the rest of the zoo and walked back to our rooms so that we could pack and check out at 4 PM.

The Mysore Palace – Second Stop, Day II

Now this is a place that can be highlighted on India’s map as one of the most colorful and enchanting places ever. My words won’t do justice to what my eyes feasted on. This is a real palace, reminding you of the King and his kingdom - majestic, lavish, luxurious and mesmerizing. The beautiful paintings in the corridors, the roof, the carvings, the minute details to which the artists have paid attention and just the overwhelming size of this palace can leave you dumbfounded.

It was dark by the time we stepped out of the palace into the sprawling, well maintained garden that surrounds the entire palace and can accommodate thousands of people at the same time. We were greeted by the pleasant sound of Veena and the Mridungam and seated ourselves on the nearest chairs to listen to the artists performing that evening. At 6.45 we decided to head towards the suburb bus station and that’s when all the lights came out and it blinded us all and I heard a hundred ‘ohhs!’ and ‘ahhs!’ as if it had been one hell of an orgasmic experience for all of us. On second thoughts, maybe it was an orgasmic experience for all of us…not the one arising from a sexual intercourse…but an intellectual intercourse!

I boarded the 7.30 PM bus back to Bangalore, with The Hindu daily newspaper in my hand and the entire Mysore in my heart.

(P.S. - These pictures have been downloaded from Google Images. I was not carrying my 8 year old Yashica Camera during this trip.)

Anonymous!!

2007-01-05T19:22:00.000+07:00

So I moved into a new house with my roommate. We finished paying an obnoxious amount as a security deposit to the landlord and told each other that we will not celebrate New Years this time. Sob! No wine. No Party. No Music. Just home cooked Rice and Rasam with papadam.

5.15 PM…Mobile rings…

My roomie has a funny Tamil song carefully chosen as a ring tone. “So we still have some music,” I thought.

Deb: “Was up?”
My Roomie: “Nothing man. Just sitting at home. No money to go out.”

Here my roomie gives me a really sad look…ahhh! That look reminded me how painful the rest of our evening will be.

Deb: “I called you to tell you that I am getting the gang together this evening. At my farmhouse. Get your roommate along”

So this is where my room mate and I completely forgot about our poverty and started looking for appropriate clothes we could wear. I wanted to look like Paris Hilton. But then I thought I will look like her only by 2060.

So I chose to wear black trousers with a black shirt and managed to hide the flab in my abdomen, hands, arms….Alright! Alright! All over my body. Then I carefully combed my hair, sprayed some perfume, wore nice earrings, cleaned my shoes…mind you my dancing shoes… (I am the nation’s next big salsa dancer! And I would also like to take this opportunity to tell you all that salsa DOES NOT help you lose weight!!). I wore an anklet and some beads. Then I went and stood in front of the mirror. Sigh! I still looked the same!

So my roommate, my Australian friend Cathy and I waited for Deb to come and pick us up from our new house. Ohh!! Let me tell you what my new house is like. Its very close to a slum area called Ram Swamy Palya and it costs me 30 Rs from my place of work in an auto.

I have one hall, one Bedroom and one storeroom. However, my landlord insists that it’s one hall, one bedroom and another ‘small’ bedroom. GRRR! My landlord is a Tamilian, on the first floor is a Konkani-speaking family from Mangalore and the third floor has a Muslim family. So it’s quite an experience living in this place because you can hear what your neighbour is saying to his wife or to his kid. You get to know their family problems sitting in the hall, you even get to know what Iyer Uncle wants to eat for dinner and what Iyer Aunty will eventually cook for dinner. And if Iyer Uncle will, after all the drama, eat any dinner at all.

Deb: “What’s up girls?” My roommate introduces Deb to Cathy and me. Deb says Hi only to Cathy. Sob! I set a reminder in my mobile so that I buy some Fair and Lovely the next day after work. Things will be better in just-14 days.

We stuff ourselves in his car and head towards Hennur. At the rate Bangalore is expanding (and it is expanding faster than my waistline!!) you fail to realize what is really the city limits and what is the outskirts. The city is gobbling up all the land around and then you have big billboards saying ‘Green Forest Apartments by Purva Homes’.

We arrive at the farmhouse after hours of honking and getting stuck in a traffic jam.

8 PM

The first thing I noticed was a crib and a star hung from the ceiling.

Me: “Deb, are you a Christian?”
Deb: “Yes, and I am Dave not Deb”.

We are introduced to Deb’s...Err…Dave’s mother. His mother looked more like his elder sister and for some strange reason she told us that she is Sheela and not Shiela. Hmphh!!

Then we all went out in the garden – it was full of trees and beautiful lovely plants and I told my roomie for the 101th time that I will buy an estate. She didn’t react. (Here is a funny thing…my roommate never reacts. Once a girl standing next to her in a movie ticket queue fainted and fell down. My roomie just stood there without any reaction and kept chewing on an Orbit Gum. On another occasion, a school friend of hers traced her number Sherlock Holmes Ishtyle and called her after 6 years. My room mate said “Hi. How are you? Can I call you back in an hour?” No, she was not at work. She was sitting right next to me watching Big Boss on Sony!).

After a while we could the sound of an Enfield Bullet. Charlie and my roomie’s boyfriend arrived. They sat next to us with a grin on their face. (A few shots of whisky at the Murthy Bar on the way to Hennur I guess).

They lit the bonfire and I think Cathy looked stunning in her blue skirt she had bought from Cochin. She is the same age as my mother but she doesn’t suffer from Arthritis or Depression. I always believe that ‘foreign’ women take care of themselves better while ‘Indian’ women spend more time taking care of everyone around. She spends more time ensuring that the white shirt her husband wants to wear for a conference is an impeccable white, she carefully buys the Camel crayons her kids asked for, she doesn’t forget to eat the three-day-old left over food while the rest of the family savours a hot fresh-cooked meal. The same idea echoes in some of the advertisements promoting contraception or cooking oil, where women are told to take care of themselves so that they can take care of their family. Hmphh!!

Okay…back to Dave’s party again. We all sipped wine, spoke about work, traffic in Bangalore and what we planned to do the next New Year’s eve. I sat there bullying Charlie as usual and that’s when I saw the guy in a nice Green shirt and beige trousers. He had been sitting there all this while and I did not notice him. He spoke very little and did not dance at all. My room mate didn’t know what his name was.

By three in the morning I had finished my 5th glass of wine and danced with almost half a dozen guys. He sat there and just smiled each time he caught me staring at him. I, of course, smiled back at him.

At 3.30 we decided we were too sleepy and tired… (Yeah right! The booze was almost over!) and we need to head back home. Most people had left by then and some of the couples had locked themselves up in the bathroom or choose to stay inside their cars to listen to FM I think.

We walked towards the gate and I turned one last time to see if my anonymous Romeo was still around. I couldn’t see him anywhere and I couldn’t ask anyone where he was. So I said goodbye to Dave’s family and thanked them for hosting a great party. I wore my jacket and sat inside the car.

On my way back home I wasn’t really thinking about him because I was really sleepy. I kept the window open so the early morning wind could keep me awake till the time I have my bed in front of me. We crossed the Hennur ring road and a Hero Honda zoomed past our car. The sleep had controlled me well by that time so it took me a few minutes to realize that the bike had slowed down and was now moving at the same pace as our car. I sat up and recognized the two eyes blinking back at me from inside the helmet.

I think we almost wished each other a great New Year ahead!!!

(Wink! wink!)

Happy new year...Mark Twain Ishtyle!

2007-01-03T18:13:00.000+07:00

New Year's Day--Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual. Yesterday, everybody smoked his last cigar, took his last drink, and swore his last oath. Today, we are a pious and exemplary community. Thirty days from now, we shall have cast our reformation to the winds and gone to cutting our ancient shortcomings considerably shorter than ever. We shall also reflect pleasantly upon how we did the same old thing last year about this time. However, go in, community. New Year's is a harmless annual institution, of no particular use to anybody save as a scapegoat for promiscuous drunks, and friendly calls, and humbug resolutions, and we wish you to enjoy it with a looseness suited to the greatness of the occasion.

Letter to Virginia City Territorial Enterprise, Jan. 1863

Society and Local Identities - Bhaskar Ghose, Frontline

2006-12-11T14:59:00.000+07:00

Everyone must engage in the political process in some way to
help our society regain its health, which is beginning to decline.

WITHOUT getting into a metaphysical argument on what constitutes identity, it would be reasonable to say that India spent the first part of the last century - the 20th century - seeking and asserting the Indian identity. Colonial oppression was so universally detested that people across the country turned on it and looked to leaders who articulated their collective resentment and anger.

It would be equally true to say that in those days of the freedom struggle it seemed irrelevant that Mahatma Gandhi was a Gujarati or that Jawaharlal Nehru was a Kashmiri - they were perceived universally as India's leaders who, among others, were leading India towards freedom.

To put it in very basic terms, nobody joined the freedom movement to obtain a free Bengal or free Bihar; people fought for a free India. India, then, was a clearly perceived concept, an emotive concept perhaps, but one that was intense in its clarity, and the people of the country were seen as Indians, wherever they came from, whatever language they spoke.

It is necessary to put this down because soon after India became independent all this began to change with a rapidity that was frightening. India and being Indian were certainly not given up, as the 1962 Chinese attack showed, when hundreds of thousands lined up with clothes and food for Indian soldiers, and donated their jewellery, gold and cash to the National Defence Fund. However, in parts of the country more specific loyalties were not only encouraged but also actually fanned into violent flames.

That is a trend that has continued to spread. National leaders have virtually disappeared; the only ones who have any kind of following are those with strong bases in certain castes or communities. Armed groups have taken to violence in an attempt to wrest `freedom' from India - in the northeastern region, in Kashmir, and even in some pockets of West Bengal.

Before they are written off as terrorists or separatists, it may be prudent to look at what exactly they are trying to say through their violence. Behind it is, in a number of cases, an attempt to get their identity recognised and accepted. The problem really may be in the enormous size and the diversity of the country. In the numerous languages, customs, religions, ethnic differences, cultural traditions and other elements that distinguish the different groups of people within the country, it can be a problem for one group to be heard or recognised as a group.

One is not justifying the murder of innocent people or the damage caused to trains, buses and other public property. That is evil and has to be seen as such. But evil, too, has a reason, as has hatred. The point one is trying to make is simply this: in a very complex, cosmopolitan and enormous society like ours it is vitally important that aspirations are not stifled, that hope of some kind is not stamped out, merely because it resides in the hearts of a small number of people. The extinguishing of hope and aspirations leads to despair that turns easily into anger and hatred, and hatred then takes the evil forms with which we are, sadly, all too familiar.
This vast, seething cauldron that is our society also contains elements which use the expressions of evil to further some other ends, such as trying to establish that it is impossible for such a variegated society to exist with any degree of stability and peace, because if it did, then the ideological base of other societies based on religion or ethnic singularity would cease to have any meaning.

This is something that needs to be tracked down, and eliminated, because it is an attack on the society we have built through the freedom struggle and cannot let it become a bargaining counter for fortune hunters and mafia dons. It sounds as if it is a fairly simple issue, but it is not. The fortune hunters and dons have worked out arrangements with political groups - as one has pointed out, the age of national leaders is clearly over and the petty community leaders we now have are only too willing to work out arrangements that bring them large amounts of money.
And the people in the other group, those looking for an acceptance of their identity, too, are not immune to the lure of money, which gets them weapons and, perhaps more importantly, the good life they secretly crave. They, too, as a consequence, are easy prey to the dons and fortune hunters. And, beyond them, their shadowy controllers carefully and methodically plan the co-option of what began perhaps as a struggle for recognition and then became an armed, murderous force operating against innocent people more for money and immediate power.
The paradox is that while our large, rather disorganised and cosmopolitan society is, by its very nature, responsible for the armed violence, it is this very heterogeneous nature of our large society that has made it possible for it to absorb the shocks and pain of violence and to carry on. A smaller and more organised society might be more vulnerable to such continuous attacks. The stories one hears, for example, of what has happened in Northern Ireland seem to bear this out. But, we have weathered the repeated attacks in Delhi, Ayodhya, Varanasi, Mumbai and Malegaon and have blundered on in our disorganised way.

And, oddly enough, these have brought back, however shakily, the notion of being Indian; the larger identity is possibly perceived by a large number of people, however vaguely, as being under threat, and there is a distinct attempt to assert it. One rather touching example of this is the increasing number of cars, taxis and buses that carry two small national flags on their dashboards.

It will, however, not do to take any comfort from this. The great emptiness, at the national level of genuine leadership, is a worrying, if not frightening, element; the turning towards communities and castes merely to gain political power and the moving away from ideology and political beliefs point to a growing dichotomy between those aspiring for political power and those who are aware of the political scenario, having studied it for considerable lengths of time, but who do not want to be part of it.

There is an urgency that must be felt by both groups to realise that even this large, sprawling society will eventually fall apart if the focus of so-called leaders is fixed only on narrow issues such as caste and community, and if scholars and political analysts consider it as being beneath their dignity to `descend' into the political arena or compromise with their ideals. None of us, in fact, can afford to hold back; the health of our society, the nurturing of the notion of Indianness, is not the concern of other people, but of every person in the country. Not that it means that everyone must instantly become a politician; but it means everyone must engage in the political process in some way, however small it may be. That is the only way our society will regain its health, which is beginning to decline noticeably, even if it is not yet a terminal decline; and time is not on our side.

Appetites by Caroline Knapp

2006-11-29T16:44:00.000+07:00

(This is an extract from a book called Appetites. I loved it and I am sure you will too)

In my office is a stack of women’s magazine: temples of self- scrutiny, bibles of body loathing. On the top of the pile is a Shape magazine, July 2000, its cover featuring a lean smooth-skinned Elle McPherson, pictured two years after giving birth to a baby. Elle McPherson is a modern goddess, stunning to behold: her hair is shot through with glimmers of blond, her skin is absolutely poreless and smooth, her teeth are so pearly white they look like they could blind you if you caught them in the right light. She wears a pale blue spaghetti-strapped tank top, which exposes a wide expanse of creamy skin, beautifully rounded and glossy shoulders, the barest shadow of cleavage. Her eyes shine; she is beaming.

Beside Elle’s image, several stories are promoted, among them: “Burn thousand Extra Calories a week,” “weight-loss News: You don’t need willpower,” “One great at-home Pilates Move for bikini abs,” “SPECIAL: New ways to stop stress eating,” and “we found the best 12 moves for your Abs, Butt and Thighs.”

I look at this and sigh. Weight, weight, weight; abs, butt, thighs. Any woman with a modicum of self awareness understands what this material is intended to do. It is goddess worship, goddess religion for the consumer age, commandments chiseled on skin and bone, and its designed to whip us mere mortals into a frenzy of inadequacy so potent it causes us to act, to go forth and buy the magazine and the many products it advertises. Thou shalt be thin, the goddess commands. Thou shalt not have wrinkles. Thou shalt compare and contrast. Thou shalt fail to measure up. Thou shalt beget a child and two years later, when instead of resembling the vibrant and dizzyingly happy Elle McPherson thou hast become the very picture of exhaustion, with sagging breast and dark circles beneath thine eyes and not an ounce of energy, thou shalt blame thyself and feel like shit, and then thou shalt go forth and buy Shape magazine and learn that great at-home Pilates move for bikini abs.

The Morning After!

2006-11-08T15:42:00.000+07:00

Its Saturday and I sit on my workstation with a hangover. I feel sick and I have a real bad headache. It feels like someone hammered a nail right in the middle of my head.

Flashback!

Fridays are good. I have so much to look forward to – staying in bed till late afternoon, watching TV, listening to music, meeting friends, cleaning my room (huh??) and reading a book This Friday too I had a wonderful evening to look forward to. The sweatshop I work in had decided to throw us a party. Everybody walked around with a grin the whole day. Ah! There is nothing like a free drink, eh?

7.30 PM

Prethew and me sat on my workstation playing word games at Crickler.com. In an hour’s time, we manage to guess 6 words. Each time we guess the correct word we would look at each other in amazement, doubting our own potential.

8.30 PM

Prethew and me guess another 6 words at Crickler. In the distance I can hear my fellow colleagues – discussing their work, life and their plans for the Big Evening. But for Prethew and me this was just background noise. Crickler demanded all our attention. So we continued to play…undeterred!

8.40 PM

While we put our non-existent intelligence to guess a few more words, some of our teammates have managed a makeover. Now that left us feeling sorely underdressed. Sob! Our preoccupation with surfaces!! Crickler is abandoned…

The Big Evening

10.00 PM

Liquor! No wait – Free liquor!! Just the thought of it united us all. We gathered in a place called Nasha with only one aim – to intoxicate ourselves. Prethew and me sat next to each other. Sometimes I feel we are married. Ouch!!!

Chakra and Prasad are seated right opposite to us. They are also strategically seated right next to the bottles of Bacardi and Smirnoff. Smartasses!!

On the table there are glasses for 12 people, soda, booze…BOOOZE, free food etc. While everyone is talking to each other, Prethew and me delve deep into other serious questions - Should we put three cubes of ice or only one will suffice? Mix vodka with limejuice or Sprite? Bottoms up?

After the Second drink

Prethew: ‘Tell me when I am drunk!!”
Me: ‘What was that?? Couldn’t hear you? Music is too loud!’
Prethew: ‘Grrr!! You are worse than me!’
Me: *grinning…helplessly*

After the third drink

Prethew is on the dance floor jumping to some weird bollywood number. She has her usual comic expression. She always has them - be it the dance floor or the conference room.

After the Fourth drink

Prethew is still on the dance floor. I am too drunk so I cannot read her expressions anymore. But I am sure they were annoyingly funny! They always are. Buahahaha

I am coaxed by my fellow workers to shake a leg or too. I give in and follow them to the dance floor. The DJ was really bad. I wish I had a gun! Chakra and Prasad were occasionally seen around us. Chakra reminded me of one those junior artists hired for tapori dances in bollywood films about underworld.

Prethew and me continue dancing for a long time. The music didn’t matter; neither did the people around us. We were just ‘happy’ and engrossed in our own world. Its amazing what alcohol can do to people. Its so much more easier to make a fool out of ourselves, shed all our inhibitions.

After the fifth? Sixth? (Err…sorry I lost the count here!!)

It must be late in the night. Prethew abandoned me in my drunken state to go away with her Prince Charming. So there I stood in the middle of the dance floor all by myself. I continue to dance. Slowly I regain my senses and I see Prasad hopping like a bunny rabbit all over the floor, Chakra still stuck to the Tapori dance, Indrani giving Bipasha Basu a run for her money and Aakansha continued to sway gently and gracefully to songs I cannot recall now.

1.00 AM, Dinner time

We all sit huddled close to each other on a table that can comfortably accommodate 15 people. Chakra grabs everyone’s attention by mimicking big bosses. We all sat there for the next 20 minutes guffawing, shedding our inhibitions, making a fool out of ourselves…(or others?)

An imperfect evening came to an imperfect end!!