Apna Haath Juggernaut...

Women.

2011-11-26T11:26:00.000-08:00

Women play games with men.

Women play games with women.

Then they get drunk and tell you their life sucks.

Mutton Gluttony.

2011-11-14T21:51:00.000-08:00

I wonder what goats think of right before they are slaughtered.

(You’re reading this, so I’m not the only jobless one.)

The butcher- that guy who sits in anticipation with the knife between his toe-nails, I’ve always believed, has to be a true leader(except that his name must also preferably be Habib). You can’t rule out the possibilities of goats having a personality and making things complicated.

Like the one who sued this kid for asking ‘Got milk?’.

It got infinitely more interesting when this Gujju guy asked: ‘Goat milk?’.

Or the radical feminist: ‘What’ll they do? Just use us for our bodies and throw us away ? I feel so objectified’

The sophisticated, stiff-upper lipped variety: ‘I expect not to be disappointed, Mr. Habib’

Alas, they form only a minority. The larger sample space is thinking what most of middle class India, and indeed, the likes of Rakhi Sawant and Poonam Pandey believe:

‘If I’m going under the knife, it better be worth it’.

And it is truly worth it, ladies and gentlemen, when they give up their life for the cause of Salim’s Kakori Kebabs.

Yes, this is actually a piece on how awesome they are. Sorry. If you felt manipulated, guess how I feel everytime I cross this outlet in Defence Colony Market.

The aroma has changed my choice of dinner from a modest Masala Dosai or roadside Chinese to something as rich as these Kebabs which shamelessly melt in your mouth.

Bastards.

About Kakori Kebabs. I tried finding some similarity with that place Bhagat Singh and the others looted a train at, but no, Aamir Khan didn’t have any answers.

Suffice it to say that if mutton ever had an identity crisis, this would be it. It looks like a Seekh Kebab, but is too fine to be one. You can hold a seekh kebab in your hand. This one, you can’t. It breaks under the weight of your appetite and the specially made masalas that spice it up.

Now, any finer, and it would be mince meat. It’s not entirely dry either. Add a hint of gravy, and it would be something like ‘Sun dried Mutton Korma’.

So if you have a blurry image in your head but just can’t complete it , go try it. The accompaniments remain predictable but nevertheless, to die for: Green chutney, onions and roomali roti.It’s the same one that was at Khan Market, but apparently they are only good with kebabs, not with real estate. So Def. Col. it is.

If you’re not in Delhi, too bad.

On the flip side, you can always go back to talking about how unsafe it is for women.

And people with high cholesterol.

The Problem With Being Vijay Mallya

2011-11-13T22:58:00.000-08:00

Retrospect is a beautiful word, isn’t it?

Probed a remarkably erudite Rahul Dravid when asked if, ‘in retrospect’, he would’ve played for a win instead of a tame draw, during the 2007 Test series in England.

As Kingfisher Airlines bites the dust, I wonder if Vijay Mallya is tempted to respond to Market Analysts in the same vein.

‘Mallya shouldn’t have entered the airline business in the first place’

‘Kingfisher was fine, but Kingfisher Red? Big mistake.’

One even used a clever turn of phrase: ‘The airline shouldn’t have started flying before it learnt to walk’.

These soothsayers of doom surface conveniently. Throw up obvious facts and non-controversial arguments. Play to the Lowest Common Denominator. Play it safe.

All the things Vijay Mallya doesn’t believe in.

In all the reactions to the Kingfisher fiasco, one can’t help notice a sense of Karmic Justice.

‘Serves him right. The crook.’.

‘He can’t always have his cake and eat it too’.

Why? Because the going had been way too good for the King of Good Times. And we hate people like those.

Why? Because we don’t own a beach villa in Goa and private jets and yachts. We don’t own cricket teams and shoot calendars with hot supermodels. We don’t have a son who dates a Bollywood Hottie and doesn’t have to worry about EMIs for his first car.

So, to hell with a man who flaunts his wealth in a country teeming with poverty.

Why? Because he’s rich and successful, and doesn’t apologize for it. He doesn’t cater to idealistic notions of humility imposed by a land that spawned many a saint. He’s not happy and contented with just one successful business. He wants more. He says it in no uncertain terms, and usually backs it up with performance.

And we really hate people like those. Just peer over your shoulder to look at the brash, energetic, almost arrogant guy who got promoted twice in the last year. Or wind the clock back to college, and think of the guy who would stay wasted the entire semester, only to wake up for the finals and ace them.

While you religiously attended classes, took notes, agreed with your boss, kissed ass and plodded along for marks and raises that elicited a typical ‘WTF?’ response.

That’s the chasm between Vijay Mallya and the rest of us, which only grows wider because of his public image.

Fancy a Narayan Murthy business going bankrupt. The wave of sympathy will, doubtless, be much greater. Only because his way of life subscribes to what we believe it ‘should’ be. That’s probably also why an out-of-form Yuvraj Singh is bound to face more flak than an out-of-form Laxman.

The Infosys tagline talks of values. Kingfisher talks of good times. That one stroke alienates Mallya from the bulk of India. No wonder then, that the government faces stiff resistance to bail Kingfisher out.

We would rather have it bail out the boring, conservative, ‘humble’ and ineffective Air India.

The problem is, the failure of Kingfisher vindicates the stand of all those who advocate minimum risk. All those who need the security of established facts to grind their noses in, should they fail. We live in such paranoid times, that even in the pint sized world of advertising, which sits at the back-end of most business activities, Brand Managers get their panties in a bunch over an idea that is ‘too strong’.

Mallya, simply stands out in a business climate obsessed with chasing a kind of certainty that doesn't exist.

Nowhere am I making a case for the business plan employed by Kingfisher. It doesn’t take a genius now to figure out that it was indeed flawed. But I AM making a case for giving instinct its due in the number-crunching world of business.

And not adding it to the list of Mallya’s screw-ups.

At a time when the IIMs pride themselves on encouraging innovation and entrepreneurship, we would do well to at least celebrate his tremendous risk appetite.The sheer decisiveness and courage it took to venture into unchartered waters(or, skies).

That the airline still erred, and made mistakes that were shored up by rising fuel prices, was unfortunate for all. One expects Mallya to pick himself up. He’s been bankrupt before, and this is not even half as bad.

Let’s just not get too caught up with his public image, and confuse fearless with reckless.

And let’s leave retrospect to the analysts. It doesn’t go well with people who mean business.

One Shammi Kapoor Later…

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

Shah Rukh Khan, for all his supposed megalomania and superstardom, has faced a lot of flak throughout his career. ‘He’s always Shah Rukh Khan’, they say.

Well, for about 5 minutes in the utterly forgettable Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi, he wasn’t . And for almost one of those, he was Shammi Kapoor(The ‘Phir Milenge’ song, for the uninitiated). I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t count that as one of the high points of his career.

This account of Shammi Kapoor could be somewhat ill-conceived, since I didn’t really grow up watching his films. And he lost out to Rakhi Sawant and MTV Roadies in the hunt for TRPs, so no, the media never celebrated him either.

I must’ve been 4, when someone at home rented out a video tape of ‘Junglee’. I watched over their shoulder, always wondering why Saira Banu was mean to this funny guy. The then under developed halves of my brain couldn’t follow the story or the dialogues. But the mad ‘Yahoooo’ moment interested me enough to ask my parents his name. And affected me enough to go shrill-shrieking, with the good natured Alsatian bearing the brunt of it.

That’s the cool thing about madness. It’s oblivious of faculties of reason. And few moments in Indian cinema have been as mad as that ‘Yahooo’ one.

The next time I saw him, it was on T.V., selling Pan Parag to a paranoid Ashok Kumar. Looking more the ascetic who’d renounced the world, than the dapper who charmed it ( Dil Deke Dekho). I had to be told it was that same madness inducing Shammi Kapoor . Later, now on course with a regular diet of school, homework and summer vacations, I stumbled upon that piece from Tumse Accha Kaun Hai: A blue suited Shammi Kapoor answering multiple calls with a ‘Kiss, Kiss, Kiss…Kissko Pyaar Karoon’.

Madness.

You've heard things like 'Only Salman could pull off a Dabanng'. Well, I dont see anyone else pulling this hysterical prelude to a song off. These lyrics almost demanded someone's charisma to disguise their possible lameness. This man, instead,made them look good.

That's what great actors do. Make the banal look dramatic. The lame look intelligent. The drivel look witty.

Years went by and we saw Shammi Kapoor off and on, in obscure movies you never cared about. We were following our own growth chart and had better things to think of, like angles of elevation and the correct pronounciation of 'lingerie'. However, old hindi songs were gradually creeping into one’s life. Maybe it was their timeless charm. Or maybe it was Kanta Laga’s relentless attack. Also that jerk in the head followed by the rhythmic clap in ‘Taarif Karoon Kya Uski’ made for many a repeated viewing.

Which brings us to now, the times of You tube. Many a Saturday night, you cross the Edward Maya and David Guetta threshold, realizing how ‘I’m in Miami, Bitch’ isn’t really the kind of emo-trip you crave. At about 3 in the night/morning, you Youtube old Hindi songs. Kishore Kumar, Rafi. And it’s not funny how often a Shammi Kapoor piece finds its way in your playlist.

These nights also have their typical conversations. About love and life. About how you’ll grow up, make enough money and buy the cheapest piece of real estate close to where you had the most fun in college. About how you’ll quit that job and do what you REALLY want to.

So one of those nights, cut to a group talking about hot men and hot women.
While the lesser mortals restricted ourselves to people we saw walking to college everyday, this lone drunk female stood up and exclaimed: ‘You know who was really hot? Shammi Kapoor’.

*Silence*

Next second, the girls in the group ‘Strongly Agree’ as conversation ventures into the naughty things they’d do to him, amidst loud shrieks of ‘Oh My God! My mom had a huge crush on him’. While we could very well get into the incestuous implications here, I’m afraid that’s another story.

We might not have grown up watching Shammi Kapoor’s films, but the Joie de Vivre of his performances ensured that something always trickled down.

While we can trust the Kapoor assembly line to produce some kind of an icon every generation, I doubt if there’ll ever be one as effortless.

If nothing else, he gave us a few moments of madness. And SRK a rare moment of ease.

The Curious Case of Rahul Dravid’s Rebellion

2011-08-02T04:10:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer:
I’d written this piece after Dravid’s hundred at Lords, and delayed posting it. For greater effect, I wanted to post it after our victory the 2nd test against England, which was not to be. The stubborn Test cricket fan in me was hoping, nay, praying for an Indian victory despite the stiff target of 478. Obviously expecting Rahul Dravid to do the needful. Now that we’ve lost, I find it’s still a great time to celebrate the man, when we’re back to cursing our team.

Rahul Dravid’s perceived niceness has, over the 15 year course of his career, moulded itself into an intriguing, exquisite sculpture. Much like his game, it has been cast in stone and placed on a pedestal for a utopian world to follow.

Which makes me want to give it one slight nudge and watch it shatter into a billion pieces.

Partly because I detest nice people. It started way back in school when the teacher’s pet scored more than me, and then snowballed into a visceral hatred. People who turn the other cheek. People who skillfully avoid confrontations because they are woefully hopeless. Then there are those who are no fun to fight or argue with, because some Art of Living course has taught them to ‘accept’ whatever shit happens to them with a smile so beatific it makes their Gurus insecure.

I once believed Dravid was all of these people. The world we live in had conditioned me to adore the aggression of a shirt flinging Sourav Ganguly, an intimidating Matthew Hayden and an in-your-face-if-not-on-your-nerves Shahid Afridi.

I ascribe that to naiveté. But we are all allowed that. Come on, even a certain Joker took some time to see the funny side.

So yeah, NOW I see the funny side. And Rahul Dravid’s bad side. It is so bad, it makes a mockery of Pieterson, Warne, Symonds and Harbhajan. Not Sreesanth, because anything can make a mockery of him.

He is an egoist, sadist and masochist rolled into one: everything Buddha wouldn’t approve of.A monumental desire to win shows up as an unyielding capacity to suffer pain, and an insatiable pleasure in inflicting it. More than wincing with his pain, he smirks at a spinner’s twisted wrists, the fast bowler’s aching shoulders and the close-in fielder’s palms-in-waiting.

Ask the Aussies who played that Kolkata test in 2001.

He’s a rebel all right. With a cause.

The conventional definition of rebel: ‘a person who resists authority, control, or convention’ applies to him, but means something else.

Guzzling down insane amounts of lager, beating up the pub owner and waking up with a headache and a paunch? Really? That’s…rebellion?

Going fishing when it’s time to practice? Maybe, but only if fishing was more fun than winning.

Sex scandals ? The world and some of its women are way too insecure to call them ‘exploits’ and get that momentary high. Rather play the field when you’re on it.

And sledging ? Why call the bowler’s mom a bitch when you can effortlessly flick his most lethal yorker to the boundary? Or when you can ignore his most cleverly disguised out-swinger?Why talk shit when you have a steely, determined gaze that crushes the most solid of resolves? Imagine The Godfather issuing empty threats instead of just wiping out rival families.

He’s a rebel all right. When the stakes are mercilessly high.

Like returning Allan Donald’s verbal volleys with his bat, back in the 1997 tour of South Africa. Only sharper and more insulting. The cheek of a guy just a year old in international cricket!

Or not believing commentators, selectors and even fans when they told him he wasn’t fit for ODIs. Whaddya know, he returned to become the highest scorer in the 1999 World Cup.

He probably scoffed at Bishan Singh Bedi when he predicted a whitewash in Australia in 2003. And chose the Adelaide test as his stage to respond: 233 in the first innings and 72* in the second. When a single brought the scores level, he punched the air. He wasn’t relieved, as much as he was resisting the urge to jump until the deal had been sealed. Everyone in the Indian dressing room had their cameras out: This was going to be a victory against Australia in Australia, bitches.
One eager hit through covers later, he was running with his arms raised, leaping sideways and kissing his cap, as an applauding Sourav Ganguly looked on from the boundary.

What a performer. What a moment.

He’s a rebel all right. Just ask a baffled Sachin Tendulkar, who was left stranded at 194, as a nation discovered someone badass enough to deny its favorite son a double century…against Pakistan.

Nothing is quite as romanticized as the causes of rebellion. Broken homes. Poverty. Loneliness. Failed relationships. Childhood scars.

Dravid has his own scars.

That time when every key Indian cricketer spiraled towards the center of the match fixing scandal. If you bitch about office politics, I shudder to think what his ‘work environment’ was like.

Coming within sniffing distance of a victory while chasing 120 in the West Indies, and getting bowled out for 81. He(and so do Tendulkar, Ganguly and Kumble) seethes everytime anyone brings it up.

The humiliating defeat in the finals of the 2003 World Cup.
These were losses that inspired a team, and many victories.

It’s an unusual cricket world today, inhabited by Ravi Shastri’s clichés, non-threatening West Indian quicks and the every-touch-must-be-an-orgasm T20. For those not easily swayed by style, Dravid’s rebellion provides the substance.

It embodies a solid, oft-undermined lesson: People are more than what they seem to be.

Rahul Dravid, we bow to thee. Not for the first time. And certainly not for the last time.

Monday Buggery

2011-07-18T00:58:00.000-07:00

If Mondays were to rot in hell, they’d leave the stench of their clichés behind. Which is why I crave my mom most on Mondays. Here are a few you confront/encounter/brave at work on a normal Monday. Other than being utterly predictable, they conveniently ignore that everyone in the space-time continuum is going through the same damn Monday.

1. How was the weekend?

2. I HATE waking up on Mondays, *insert expletive*

3. I don’t wanna worrrk. Waaa. *Calls Boyfriend*

4. New shirt, eh?

5. New haircut, eh?

6. How was the weekend?

7. Whiny girl: ‘Yaar, Monday kyun hota hai’

8. Nerdy Guy Hitting on Whiny Girl: ‘Yes…Ha Ha…There should be two weekends in a week’. Jackass.

9. Nerdy guy(to self): 'Ah, Monday. Just one more day to go before even the week says WTF.'

10. You’re extra lame today. Just what happened over the weekend? Which reminds me: How was the weekend?

Also…Ahem…If you look closer, most of them belong to the women…*runs*

Delhi's Aggression, In and as 'Pre-Office Laughs'

2011-03-07T23:57:00.000-08:00

Different people have different starts to their work day. But I pity your boring life if you just woke up, brushed, showered, shaved and reached your work desk.

What I saw this morning was the stuff Delhi legends are made of. There’s a certain sadist alert here, so those of you who put ‘Don’t-criticise-India-If-You-Can’t-Do-Something-About-It’ comments on blog posts, can shove Ravi Shastri’s tracer bullet up your tushy(That’s what Tushar Kapoor is called at home. Apparently, when Jeetender is getting ready for work, he calls out to him- ‘Tushy, Mere white leather shoes kahaan hai?’. To which he restlessly replies- ‘Meri Tushy Mei.’ Poor guy thinks it’s a good joke. You-have-your-shoe-up-my-ass types. No one laughs, so he only mimes it, which is what got him the Golmaal role.)

Anyway, I digress. I take the Delhi metro to work. Amidst the everyday ordeal of raised armpits and rubbing people the wrong side, what makes the everyday travel worth it is that it carries Delhi-ites. And Delhi-ites are a lot of fun. The city and its people lend themselves to lots of unintentional humor. Mostly because of unregulated aggression. Think Virat Kohli’s ‘Bhenchod’ after every hundred he scores. Or after every misfield. That, my friends, is equanimity under success and failure.

So well, I have an awesome job in the awesome corporate jungle in Gurgaon. Of course, the awesomeness gets nullified because hordes of people have awesome jobs here. Which means there’s a mad rush at the Sikandarpur metro station, and there’s a long line even while getting out of the station. Men and women with grave problems varying from hair-loss at the right areas to hair-growth at the wrong areas to not getting laid to getting late, jostle for space.

This is where you say ‘Action’.

There are two people involved here, and just for fun, we’ll call them 'X' and 'O'. They are both men.

Usual long line for swiping cards and getting the hell out of the station.
Suddenly, loud voice.

X: Dhakka kaise maara?

*murmurs*

X: DHAKKA KAISE MAARA TUNE?
*the robotic metro announcement stops*

The crowd parts ways to reveal two men holding hands. In a way that one of them could rip the other one’s out.

O: Abe tere baap ka dhakka hai kya?

X: Baap! Baap ka Dhakka!

Just when you think X’s going to laugh at 'O' for being outrageously, ‘No Problem-No Entry- Welcome’ like funny, he does nothing of the sort. Instead…

X: Baap Pe kaise gaya tu Bhenchod?
O: Gaali Kaise di Bhenchod?
X: Tera Baap Bhenchod, Bhenchod.
O: Baap Pe Kaise Gaya, Bhenchod.

And just like that, somebody slaps. I almost want to shout ‘How Can He Slap?’ but I don’t. Not just because real life is not Twitter, but also because people are reacting to it differently. While I grin and prepare for a potential joke fest, no one quite shares my amusement.

Whiny-Spectacled-Nerdy Friend of 'O': Sir, chod deejie sir. Office...office jaana hai. Kapde kharab ho jaenge uske. (This is what I call ‘Polite Relief’ in an otherwise rude setting)

Woman to a guy enjoying the fight: Arre AAP to aage chaliye na.

Woman from…the Northeast: GO!

Old Uncleji: Ram Ram, Aabadi bohot badh gayi hai. Corruption bohot hai…Accha beta idhar se Galleria Mkt. tak auto milega?

Nice Aunty: Tch Tch Tch Tch.

Now I’m not very good at decoding body language, but I can be sure this one girl looked at ‘X’ admiringly with an 'XOXO' expression. So if you want to impress a girl in Haryana, just beat up the guy next to you.

It’s a fight that could’ve happened anywhere, but only in Delhi can a seemingly mundane fight become as incredibly engaging. I haven’t made anything up here(other than the names. And even there, who's to say that their names are not 'X' and 'O'?). What’ll separate the Delhi people from the non-Delhi ones among you will be how far you believe me. Because Delhi people KNOW how random Delhi can get. Sit in any public transport and you’ll know.

I wanna use this as an answer to those NRI types who talk about ‘America Ki Quality of Life’. Hell, you don’t get Delhi’s quality of life anywhere. All you need is a streak of sadistic bastardism to enjoy it for a few minutes.

And the hope that your boss wont ask you why you were late for work…;)

THE NUMBER SYSTEM

2010-10-21T01:16:00.000-07:00

Only 1411 tigers left. 35 killed in Naxal attack. SRK pays 5 crore as income tax in 2nd quarter. Commonwealth opens in dazzling ceremony with 65000 spectators, and a scam amounting to Rs.8000 crore. IPL 4. Bigg Boss 4. Khatron Ke Khiladi tiguna. KBC Dwitiya, Tritiya, Chutiya. 37 year old model kills herself in 5 crore apartment. 41 year old boyfriend of 7 years suspected.Sachin turns 37. Sachin scores 14000. Sachin cracks 49th.Shahid Kapur reaches puberty at 28. Shahid Afridi turns 18 after 14 years in International Cricket. 50,000 lose jobs during recession.Indian economy shows robust growth rate of 7%. Sensex hits 20K. Nokia’s N285 to hit the markets in 2015. Expected to raise market share by 3%. Girls outscore boys by 23% in CBSE results, an improvement of 2% over last year. Boy misses 96% mark in CBSE Exams. Boy is doomed. Boy knocks down 10 hours a day, gets 99.3 percentile, 0.4 percentile more than last year. Misses out on IIM-A and IIM-B, the No. 1 and No.2 ranked B-Schools in India. Makes it to WANNA-B, the 5th ranked B-School. Boy is doomed. And happy. Girl looks great. But girl is overweight. Girl wants size-zero, for lover with 6 pack. 6 pack lover is 2 inches too short. Girl reads Cosmopolitan, the No. 1 Women’s Lifesyle Magazine. Girl touches lover at 50 new places. Girl can’t manage 5 orgasms a night. Girl is doomed. Its not you, its me. Boy is doomed.

Something’s just not right.

.What a stupid world

Ayodhya Judges Lose It Before The Verdict

2010-09-30T00:22:00.000-07:00

You don’t expect the judges of the Ayodhya verdict to get sleep while the rest of the country is losing sleep over it, do you? So SU Khan, Sudhir Agarwal and DV Sharma woke up in the middle of the night with sweaty palms and hot flashes.

SUK: Dude, you awake?

SA: Its fucking 4 a.m., what do you think?

SUK: *Sniffing*

SA: Oh don’t be a sissy now. Anyway, NOW I am. All awake and scratching. Tell me.

SUK: Ah…err..thanks man. This really means a lot. Didn’t get any sleep. Every time Arnab Goswami or Barkha Dutt bring up the Ayodhya Verdict, I don’t know, I feel like…to put it mildly…being stripped in public.

SA:Yeah? I thought you liked that. Ha Ha. Anyway let’s not get carried away. If you have Arnab and Barkha, you also have Suhel Seth. Maybe we could put one of his one-liners in the report somewhere. Look at it half full or half empty. It’s all about perspective, my friend. Fuck, I’m talking like Sidhu! Ha ha. Now I’m JOBL(Jumping On Bed Laughing). This is fun!

SUK: I KNEW you shouldn’t have worked that hard. You might just go from JOBL to JOBLESS *whispers*

SA: HEY watch it. I heard that. I’m your colleague. Mind what you say. Warna hum tumme itne chhed karenge ki confooj ho jayoge ki Saans kaha se lein aur...PAADEIN KAHAAN SE!…MUHAHAHAHA

SUK: I give up. You are no Chulbul Pandey, please. Now me or Sharma will only have to face the media tomorrow. Putting up a sane face for the Ayodhya Verdict .

SA: C’mon man, you take things way too seriously. Look, NOBODY CARES. Apparently, Narendra Modi was watching Khichdi yesterday. Advani was playing Formula One on his grandson’s Play Station. I’m guessing he called it Rath Yatra 2.0- Quicker. Slicker. *chuckles*.

SUK: I agree, for once. If they had cared, we wouldn’t be in this mess.

SA: Whoa! That was deep for 4 a.m! Wait, I’m getting a call (pause) Its Sharma,what are the odds!..Hello?

Sharma: Dude, Come on Skype.

SA: Hain??

Sharma: Yeah, its free there.

SA: Tu bhi na bhainchod. Hamesha paise bachane ki sochta hai. I mean, seriously, we could have added 20 more pages to the report. About how Advani and Uma Bharti had their own version of Kar Seva…Ha ha. But no! Mr. Sharma here wants to save paper. WHAT AN IDEA SIRJEE.*grunt*
Anyway, I’m talking to Khan already. Lemme put you on conference...Hmm, done.

Sharma: Be serious man. Meri phat rahi hai. I’m worried the public will have to face the wrath of some anti-social elements, irrespective of the verdict.

SA: Dude get this-the public has already faced Advani’s Rath. It can stand up to anybody’s wrath now. The worst is behind us.

SUK: I hope so man. Makes me feel much better. One last thing- why don’t we remove that page about how 'its not Advani, its not the BJP or the RSS or the Congress. Its all of us. The Ayodhya issue is a reflection of our convictions as a country 'etc. etc.. I think that’s too much for our ‘offense-taking’ country to take, and people might take to the streets.

SA: Nothing doing man. That’s the very crux of our verdict. What we are doing is paving the way ahead for an atmosphere of responsibility, accountability, peace and hope. Maybe that’s aiming too high, but lets take that chance, na? If they don’t get it, Sanoo Ki?!

And about whether Ram was really born at the very disputed site, only God knows. Wow- am I on fire or AM I ON FIRE!

SHARMA: yeah man. That’s a nice way of looking at it. Phew! I feel so much better..Think I’ll wake my wife up. I’m up for it now, if you know what I mean. Just been too stressed.

SA: By all means dude. I agree you’ve been quite a dick lately. Life is short- GO BREAK A LEG, SAILER!

SUK: Hmm. Think I’ll pray a bit. And then accept whatever happens. Thank...But wait: can’t we just postpone it by another week? I mean, 6 decades-another week. What difference does it make?

SA: NOOO! I’ve had enough of this shit.I plan to watch Anjaana Anjaani with that cute new intern. If we postpone it, the movie might get postponed AGAIN. So please, I beg of you, let an old man get some, yeah?

SUK and SHARMA: FFFiiiine.

SA: Right then guys. Sleep well. Or something. Catch ya tomorrow. Whatever happens, lets meet for drinks in the evening. See You- TOMORROW IS ANOTHER DAY.

Only if it was.

Tharoor- Sharoor

2010-08-25T10:51:00.000-07:00

Shashi Tharoor: Damn.The door ain't opening man.

Sharoor: Abe, PUSH KAR na.

Tharoor:Dude, you're getting personal.

“WHY DHONI HAS MARRY THE INDIAN GIRL??”

2010-07-11T11:01:00.000-07:00

So quips a Pakistani tennis player, visibly disappointed at the tragic turn of events that unfolded with Mahendra Singh Dhoni’s marriage. Let’s call her InSania for now, because that’s how she’s been behaving, but largely because that’s her name.

Pic: So that's his secret. The ol' ladykiller!

(due thanks to funevil!)

So angry was she that she called a press conference. Viveik Oberoi, the original caller of Madam-He-Just-Took-My-Pencil-41-times press conferences is apparently so proud that he has vowed to run around naked on the streets of Mumbai.

Setup:
Kabab Shop outside one of the three tennis courts in Pakistan. Legend has it that Osama used to hang out here before Al Jazeera took notice of the man’s stirring screen presence and turned him into the pin up boy of the Middle East.

Bleary Eyed Reporter (rubbing eyes): You are not seeded anywhere in the first 1000. You didn’t have a wardrobe malfunction and as far as I can see, you didn’t get Silicone implants.
You better be going somewhere with this.
Bitch.
*Hushed tone. It’s a bad word in Pakistan*

InSania: “Why the Mahinder has marry Indian, you tell me first.”

*murmurs amidst gunshots*

Reporter: “O bhen di taki English bolti hai yaar…kamaal hai yaar”

The press conference is held up because the reporters don’t speak English. They don’t have the uber coolness of Ramiz Raja yet. So some reporters who know English are sent for. Meanwhile, the already present reporters stare at the corners of InSania’s legs from the corners of their eyes. Someone notices a heavily bearded terrorist hiding under the table (presumably for better view) and blushing. That’s when the green robed chacha(the one who’s been supporting Pakistan since Inzamam-ul-Haq weighed 25Kg) gets teary-eyed at this rare show of unity in Pakistan and utters a ‘Masha Allah’ under his bad breath.

About a score of English speaking reporters (comprising chiefly of abducted Indians and Americans) arrive within no time (Let’s hear it for Pakistan’s Supply Chain Management).

Whistle blows. Press Conference begins, NOW. One can sense the perpetual army regime hangover in Pakistan.

InSania(now reading from a paper): Why the Dhoni has marry Indian?

Bleary Eyed Reporter (BER): Err…Not like I’m undermining your authority as an overweight loudmouth but HOW THE FUCK DOES THAT CONCERN YOU?

InSania: (appalled) What? You don’t understand? Ye mard log bhi na.

BER: Excuse Me? Am I missing something here?

InSania: Look. Shoaib Malik is cute Paki boy. First he marry fat Indian woman. Then he marry fat Indian tennis playing woman. Then first fat Indian woman come from behind and screw his happiness. When it ends, he himself come from behind and screw that second fat Indian woman. What about me? Paki sportsmen no marry me. Indie sportsmen no marry me. We Paki gals are getting screwed without any screwing. Perfect case of that…that…that thing….

Reporter2 (rolling eyes upwards): Irony??

InSania(triumphant look): Yes, Yes, that only.

That’s when a tall man stands up and blurts out in a single breath-“WaterWaterEverywhereAndNotADropToDrink”, and an English teacher-y looking guy pats his head with a “Nice Inzi. Good Inzi. You’re doing better than Harbhajan already. Say WOOHOO!”

Brief detour aside, a softer, politer looking reporter steps in with almost Karan Johar-esque empathy.

R3: I think you are jumping to conclusions. Look deeper, and MS Dhoni isn’t really the guy for you. I mean, he’s really not…you know…fit to be your husband.

InSania: Shut Up. You liar. You cheat. Just Shut Up.

R3 (rubbing the back of his earlobes): Umm...yeah...whatever. Look. It’s simple. MSD is the winning captain of his cricket team. The selectors, the women, the sponsors actually like him. They can’t even keep him out of their eyes, leave alone leaving him out of the team or banning him, unlike Shoaib Malik. Clearly, he doesn’t have what it takes to attract the likes of Sania Mirza, or… *gasp*…YOU!

InSania: You are so nonsensical. Everyone has a loser in them, just like Sania.
*I-got-the-unintended-joke giggles everywhere*
Who knows? Maybe he will bite dirty balls like Afridi. And don’t forget, he has Sreesanth and that Mithun guy as his strike bowlers in this Sri Lankan Test Series.

*Lively nodding of heads and ROTFL-ing*

*Anonymous finger snaps. Serious faces again*

BER: But, there’s no easy way to say this, but Dhoni might be a tad too smart for you. Dhoni knows the capital of Azerbaijan and also knows that ‘Mombassa’ is not a dirty word. If you are anything like Sania, you’ll understand.

InSania: Hmmm (breathing hard)

Awkward Silence all over.

Suddenly,
“Whoaaaa, I DON’T KNOW. I WANTING TO MARRY DHONI. THAT IS ALL.”

R3: Die.

BER: Bitch.

InSania (whining): I’m sexy, innocent Paki girl. Why does nobody want to marry me?

Suddenly, a suited-booted man flanked by two well built men and with the frown and restlessness of ACP Pradhyuman walks in, because he is, after all, ACP Pradhyuman.

ACP: What did you say you were?

InSania: Sexy, innocent Paki gal?

ACP (twirling fingers): Abhijeet, kal raat jab Pappu ka khoon hua, to wo ek chat room mei kisee ladki se baat kar raha tha. Wo jitney chatrooms pe jaata tha, SSSab chaan maaro. Pata lagao ki uss ladki ka chat ID kya tha.

Abhijeet: Pata chal chukka hai sir. Wo ladki ‘Pakistan Whores’ naam ke chatroom mei, sexy_innocentpakigal@yahoo.com naam ke ID se chat karti hai.
Aur wo ladki yeh hi hai sir.

ACP: Splendid. Daya, darwaza todo.

Daya: But...but...sir, we are already inside.

ACP: Dude?!!

Daya: Oh okay. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

*closes 3 doors and breaks them down in a single stroke…From the inside.*

Abhijeet (wide grin): Sir, kuch to Daya kijiye.

ACP: You are FIRED. (Turning to InSania). Haan, to InSania, kal raat kya tum Pappu naam ke kisee aadmi se chat kar rahi thee?

InSania: Pappu? Par Janaab ne to apna naam ‘HardFeelings’ bataya tha.

ACP: InSania, sabse pehle usne tumse kya kaha?

Insania: Usne mujhse kaha , “ U has nice body. Wanna fraanship?”

ACP: Aur fir?

Insania: Mai flatter ho gayi Byee-Goddd!! Usne mujhse kaha ki wo apne ‘Buddiez and Bitchez’ ke saath ‘Party Every Night’ karta hai.

ACP: Hmm, Daya darw…

And BER, R2 and R3 take him by surprise and pounce on him.

R1: Bhot hua tera bhenchod, kitne saalon se paka raha hai. Aaj tu khatam hai. MAARO,MAARO. Daya, tu bhi maar.Aaja.

InSania: But what about the Dhoni? What is my fault if Dhoni is not loser? Not like we don’t have loser cricketers in Pakistan, but they marry tennis players from India. I don’t know anything.Dhoni boy should reciprocate Sania Mirza’s gesture, bas. Otherwise, it is Lose-Lose situation for us.

Stunned at the use of business jargon, an idea strikes an ambitious young reporter who was previously contemplating a sting operation on Mullah Omar.
‘Why not redefine Confidence Building Measures between India and Pakistan?
Let’s fuck trade, business and porous borders.
Let’s have our losers marry their achievers. It will stand for all cross border debates between the 2 countries- like the issue of easy penetration. It would create some balance and stability in the subcontinent. Like a positive and a negative coming together. Like, like, every trough being balanced by a crest. What a line, WOOHOO!’

He runs up to the dais and snatches the mike from InSania, blurting out his clever tagline,
‘Shoaib Ki Sania
Aman Ki Aasha’

The commotion stops for a second, and then resumes. Our hero goes unnoticed and unheard. So does InSania after all. Welcome to the non-cozy, non-Yash Raj world.

Hope is a funny thing. It makes bigger jackasses out of jackasses.

SHOT WITH THEIR PANTS DOWN?

2010-06-29T08:22:00.000-07:00

I’ll be brief with this article.
This is about India getting screwed. First literally, when teenagers discover their version of ‘Wham Bam’ and then figuratively, when they are killed. Some smart ass word smith called it ‘Honor Killing’. If the term means ‘killing people who threaten our honor’, call me picky- but I think it’s the wrong people who are dying.
India has enormous unity in diversity, particularly when it comes to crimes. They can all be linked to sex- the pursuit of it, the lack of it or too much of it (Okay maybe not the last one).

Honor Killings- See above.

Rapes occur when Shakti Kapoor’s off-screen avatars are at the right place at the right time. They are ‘Wham-Bam’ all right, only without the ‘Thank You Mam’.

There’s enough reason to believe that thefts, from petty to Satyam-esque in magnitude happen when lady love holds back the booty till her man gets her the bounty. Snide remarks about Sunanda Pushkar being the ‘boner of contention’ between Lalit Modi and Shashi Tharoor have I’m sure, been hard to take.

Political scandals are in a league of their own. Heavyweights like Mayawati and Mamata Bannerji, largely due to some genetic and hormonal imbalances out of their control, umm, just cant. So they resort to innovations (not the kinds you can buy). Like, spending the taxpayers’ money on hundreds of statues around the state, wearing garlands worth Rs. 4 crore etc. In fact, this one day, some bees got so wild they stung her all over and gave her first ever fling with the ‘ birds and the bees’. When that comment was first made, PM Dr. Manmohan Singh was caught rolling on the floor laughing while Sonia Gandhi just frowned and shook her head-the gesture made by Italian mothers when their kids annoy them. The Big Bee, however, was unavailable for comment.
Mamta Bannerji, as the Singur fiasco proved, stands for everything West Bengal has always believed in: resisting work and money whole-heartedly. A penny earned is truly a penny wasted. She was even against the Kolkata Knight Riders, the team owned by that man with dimpled cheeks- Shah Rukh Khan. However, because he is a man of dimpled cheeks, she agreed. So effectively, if Ratan Tata had some of Shah Rukh Khan in him (the way Karan Johar has…*heh heh*), it might just have worked out between him and Mamata. And Modi would have had to go back to finding new ways to kill innocent minorities. There’s word coming down that today, months after the Nano plant was launched in Saanand, he and indeed the rest of Gujarat have stopped saying ‘Nay-no’ and can actually pronounce the word correctly. Yeah five points for all those of you who say Modi is responsible for large scale development in Gujarat.

The truth about political crimes is simple. Genes and hormones notwithstanding, politicians simply screw the junta. Their logic is steeped in the essential human insecurity: if we don’t screw them, someone else will.

We really have to get our priorities right as a nation. There’s a class of people that can’t handle the ‘no sex’ and becomes rapists. Then that same class kills its teenage kids when they indulge in a little hanky-panky. Do we want it or not? Decide, or I’ll call the police.

As the Mallus down South would say, ‘Ay! What shit is this menn?'

'POP' CULTURE

2010-06-01T12:10:00.000-07:00

1. Mera baap chor hai.
2. Ye police station hai, tumhaare baap ka ghar nahi.
3. Tere baap ne kabhi kuch kiya hai jo tu karega?
4. Tu Jaanta hai mera baap kaun hai?
5. Kyu, tujhe nahi maloom tera baap kaun hai?
6. Apne baap se pooch le.
7. Mere do-do baap.
8. Tere baap ki itni aukaat nahi hai ki mera kuch bigaad sake.
9. Baap pe mat ja.
10. Baap re Baap.
11. Tere baap ka kya jaata hai?
12. Baap 10 numbari, beta 100 numbari( or something like that. Ignore the numbers
you statistical junkies.Get the point.)
13. Beta, papa ghar pe hain?
14. I want your report card signed by your DAD.
15. Ladki ke pita ko bulaaiye…
16. Simraann? *abnormally loud voice*

Jee BAUJI!! *irritating squeaky voice*

17. Sir, Mere Pitaaji kaha karte thhe…
18. My daddy strongest.
19. Daddy cool.
20. Daddy’s back.

*Black-out*

SO…WHO’S YOUR DADDY?

SLEEPLESS IN DELHI

2010-05-30T15:24:00.000-07:00

‘Not even a yawn??’
I looked condescendingly up at the powers that be. It is nights like these that make me scoff at the Shahrukh Khan-Paulo Coelho-Deepak Chopra induced false beliefs about the universe conspiring to give you what you want when you really want it.
Forget money. Forget Megan Fox.
For once I just wanted to sleep. Nothing grossly materialistic, just deep sleep. Not like I hadn’t done my bit- I went to bed at 11.30 (that’s early in these blessed times of social networking) hoping I’ll wake up early enough for a run before heading to work which would help me trim a few inches off my middle and bring out more of the Sex God I truly am.
And I find myself writing silly lines at 3 in the morning. Now I know the inside story. When you hear of all those manic, alcoholic depressive writers who write in the middle of the night because that is when an idea strikes, spare a thought for your ‘Ooh’s, ‘Ah’s and ‘Wow’s. They could just be people who have trouble sleeping. Plus most of them love Kafka and Orhan Pamuk, so these books don’t put them to sleep. Ha, and you thought they had all the luck.
Call it sudden genius striking- but I actually thought I could convince myself to sleep. Like, really talking my mind into making my body believe it was tired/bored and calling upon the boredom of college professors talking about microchips (or Shahid Kapur, if you’ve seen Badmash Company. Nothing would please me more than just taking him aside, ruffling his perfectly gelled hair into a mess and laughing at him. Hair issues having hit a terrible low, maybe then he would start acting.)
For all my conviction though, I couldn’t sleep. It was like the universe playing loud trash/heavy/death metal, the sound of which wasn’t between 20 Hz-20KHz but was still powerful enough to affect me at a metaphysical level and keep me awake.(Come on, that line deserves to be read again in slow motion. I promise it’ll be faster and more fun than hearing a paunchy Yuvraj Singh saying ‘O iseeliye mera pharosa haai Revital, Siraf Revital’)
Well I couldn’t sleep, but the story has a happy ending. My sleep, hunger and the oodles of inborn culinary talent got together in the kitchen to make what was the best Maggi in the world, at that hour.
Only, the Sex God will have to wait another day. Damn it.

THE LEGEND OF MANIPAL, ENGINEERING AND FREE-WILL...

2010-02-18T10:06:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: This piece is heavily biased towards engineers in general, and in some part, to people from Manipal (not necessarily engineers). Naturally, since most people I know are engineers or Manipal engineers or from other streams in Manipal,although no generalizations. If you are not one or all of the above, I hope something still strikes a chord and makes you feel good. If not, you always have your puppies to cuddle with.
Also, dont take it too seriously.

Well guys, This is IT. This is THAT moment. That moment when you think you’ve done all you could and you look back at the footprints you’ve left on the sands of time and wipe tears of joy and the….
*ONE TIGHT SLAP*
Fine I'll stop. That was a test. If you could survive that piece of writing, you can definitely survive what follows. You passed. You’ll soon get a spam mail telling you how you have just won yourself $30,000. But before that, read on.

I am an engineer. I have known that for slightly less than a year now. And, I am no longer working as an engineer. But as an event of earth- shattering importance, I am more proud of being an engineer now than I ever was. Basically because:

1) Its no longer my bread and butter. So I can extol it objectively for making a huge difference to the society, without the usual ‘My job sucks so I don’t care what a difference it makes’. No arguments there. Even if building circuits and writing codes gets tedious and boring for some, undoubtedly, it requires you to have a bare minimum of smarts. Or a tushy that can take the grind. I have respect for both.

2) You end up watching more movies in an engineering college that has a hostel with unlimited free download, than anywhere else. Tougher the exam, longer the movie watching sessions. ( Electronics and Communication had this bitch of a subject called Power Electronics. The night before that exam, I walked into this guy’s room and caught him watching a Mithun movie called Kasam Paida Karne Wale Ki)

3) The ‘techie’ look. And I’ll humbly give IIT’ans their due here. Slightly unshaven, faded jeans, shirt and chappals- even when they have their cul-fests. Maybe it came about because they hardly have any girls to impress. And maybe it doesn’t let them score with the females all that much, but what the heck: It’s a cool, I’m-damn-smart-and-I-don’t-care look.
And nowhere do I mean: Not well dressed= Brilliant. You get the idea. No generalizations.

And, finally…*drum roll*

I was in Manipal. Shamelessly, that seals the deal.

Before I elaborate, a few random Manipal facts:

Manipal unknown fact 1: It is NOT ‘somewhere near Sikkim’.
Manipal unknown fact 2: Yes, we didn’t crack IIT-JEE but we didn’t necessarily pay to get in.

And,
Manipal unknown fact 3: It was TMA Pai’s (I’ll call him Billoo henceforth for writing ease) hangout-when-hung-over place.

Yeah. Most of what we now call MIT, KMC and those colleges beyond Tiger Circle, was actually the outcome of weekends of severe substance abuse. Legend has it that Billoo once sobered up, noticed the development, let out an ‘Uh-oh’ and passed out again. And this one time, when he was really broke, Timmy Anna (then a teenager), the kid with a heart of gold, gave him something then unknown to drink and smoke.
Thus was born MIC.
And Timmy Anna’s career flourished, making him the ‘Milds+Boiled eggs+Bun Omelet’ tycoon that he rose to be.

But more seriously, we are proud of having gone to Manipal. Simply because it gave us our space. The culture respected free-will. It showed us how important freedom was in shaping us.
And terrific parties where everyone knew everyone.
Of course, we never knew this while we were there, and realized this only once we came out of that ideal world of Manipal and into the real world: people were caught up in trivialities that didn’t exist for us any more. Nothing was ever a big enough issue. And mostly, nothing was a big enough deal either. The Thackerays should have gone there once.

Those already working9especially in the software sector) know. I did. In fact, whoever got into these companies has had a few clichéd conversations with ‘Advising Uncles’.

‘Accenture? Hmmm. They are into consulting right?’
‘Err...Umm’
‘Anyway. I have heard they send you abroad?’
‘Yeah uncle. But British Airways does a far better job at that.’
‘Hmm...I have this nephew who is now in the US and working with Accenture, minting money’
*thumbs up*
‘Just slog it out with it for 2 years and then do an MBA. You are set for life.’
‘True True’
‘But how’s Infy? I have heard they have a beautiful campus?’

And that’s when I do what Sameer does when Subodh talks about his uncle’s farmhouse. (Refer: Dil Chahta Hai (The Heart Wants), 2001).

WHile the uncles' advice could definitely work, the only point I'm making is: after 4 years of free-will, most of us detest any form of stereotyping and clichés and ‘set-patterns’. Almost like ‘seeking adventure’ was programmed in our DNA, and we set out seeking it, in our own small ways.

Then of course, there was the lingo. People derived creative fulfillment out of creating new gaalis.(Bhenchod and Madarchod are passé. They are more like Tushar Kapoor and Uday Chopra: just filling in empty spaces). There was this slang which beautifully combines ‘sex’ and ‘machana’ (as in- gundh macha diya)…MACHAX! It has a very phonetic quality to it. God bless its creator. Then there’s ‘BAAWRI GAAND’ (crazy ass). I think I’ll leave that for another story, with due credits to people.

The libido mostly got its due attention too.

Scenario: 5-6 guys in the room. Post Saturday night partying.

Boy1: I MACHAX-ed with her.
Boy2: I almost MACHAX-ed with her.
Boy 3: That ‘chutiya’ was MACHAX-ing with her.
Boy 4: She MACHAX-es with everyone. A do-gooder basically.

Elsewhere, similar discussions were on among groups of 5-6 girls (with some basic differences). Next week, everyone partied together. New rounds of gossip began, from the girls block usually. The world made sense.

To top it all, it’s a dangerous thing, this free-will. It makes you do things you shouldn’t be doing. Like me writing this piece from 3 to 4 in the morning knowing fully well I have to report to work at 9. Like the movie marathons or jamming sessions or poker sessions till the wee hours of the morning with a class at 8 that you HAD to attend to make up the 75% mark.

Can’t help it. We take chances. And hope they work.

Free-will’s such a bitch. I hate Manipal. No, really.

KAMINEY...Its all in the name!

2009-08-15T12:25:00.000-07:00

A few years after Munnabhai taught us his Gandhiji inspired turn-the-other-cheek-act, we have Kaminey probing the opposite direction. The intent of the script, the director and most characters in the movie is summed up entirely when one Shahid Kapur enlightens the other-‘Mere bhai ko pata nahi ki duniya kitni haraamzadi hai, aur ye sab kitne kutte log hai’.

After Indianizing the Shakespeare experience twice, Vishal Bharadwaj appears to give the same treatment to the cult Pulp Fiction kind of cinema(Dhan-tan-an is apparently a tribute to its soundtrack) and seems to borrow immensely from Guy Ritchie’s vocabulary. This is where it differs markedly from the underworld films Bollywood has been churning out. The characters are funny, dangerous and cocky at once, ala Snatch and Rock-n-Rolla.
Its amazing how often twins surface in Bollywood, although this is far from any Seeta aur Geeta. Shahid Kapur (Charlie) and Shahid Kapur (Guddu) are as different from each other as chalk and cheese, with the only similarity being the different verbal handicaps they suffer from-Charlie haf an iffue pronounfing the f-fyllable, and Guddu is a stammerer. Thankfully, these handicaps are not reduced to irritating caricatures and are funny in places. There’s a deeper emotional turmoil which puts the brothers up in arms against each other, which is revealed much later. They have different motivations though- Charlie can take a bit of living on the edge in his attempts to get super-rich and Guddu wants to get happily married to his girl-Sweety (Priyanka Chopra), once he decides to get married that is. How that develops is another story, which is again tackled with easy wit without losing the larger picture. Sweety’s brother(Bhope), who has political ambitions and is a Marathi fanatic(Now now, who does that remind you of?), sends his goons and goon-das to stop the wedding, for Guddu is a good-for-nothing guy next door who cant do much for his political career. Plus he’s from Barabanki and not Maharashtra, which is a big deal for a guy who flares up when someone says Bambai and not Mumbai. Meanwhile, Charlie gets embroiled in a massive cocaine scam while actually chasing something much smaller. He chooses the riskier, more exciting path that promises more returns. What he doesn’t realize is just how many people want a share of the pie- everyone from African drug and diamond peddlers to Bhope to the police. Then there’s the twin trouble. The police and the goons end up with a different Shahid Kapur than the one they wanted. Tensions heighten, frustration seeps in, brothers fight, brothers reconcile, brothers plan, brothers’ plan goes awry, everyone involved comes to blows (even the Africans!)and the good guys win. Or here, let’s just say the least kamina guys don’t lose all that badly. Still safe to call it a happy ending though.

It’s great to see Bollywood enter an era where the script is more important than the cast. Priyanka Chopra doesn’t have too much of looking good to do, but plays the girl-who’ll-get-her-guy-no matter- what to perfection. Her character’s spontaneity and impulsiveness is what stands out. Shahid Kapur is good as Guddu and Charlie, and the contrast in their personalities in convincing enough. Hopefully (for his sake!), Charlie will get him out of the cute-chocolate boy stereotype. Another word for the director’s attention for detail. Like, a stray dog sniffing Sweety and Guddu in the middle of a serious, intimate conversation they have in the open. Like, people stretching themselves desperately to get their phones in a better network zone, when urgent calls are to be made during the chase! The humor at times is wacky, the sort that makes you cringe when someone from the group cracks a ‘lame one’. That much for Kamina-Pun I guess.

Definitely a great watch, with a gripping pace and equally gripping music. Definitely not a cult movie. But definitely a step in that direction.

WHY TESTOSTERONE IS THE COOLEST HORMONE EVER

2009-03-19T08:35:00.000-07:00

1.It complements oestrogen- the second coolest hormone ever.

2.People who agree with point1 are supposed to belong to the SUS DOMESTICA family,in lay man's terms-Male Chauvinist Pigs. It is a term coined by those who propose oestrogen getting equal opportunities as testosterone.It is still a matter of speculation among the most powerful CUNT-ries of the world.

3.It gave us Arnold Schwarzenegger, George Clooney, Tom Cruise, John Abraham(those who say Shahrukh Khan can shut up) which make Marilyn Monroe, Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Aniston, Bipasha Basu(again, those who say Shahrukh Khan can shut up) relevant and give meaning to their existence.

4.The existence of Oestrogen depends on the attention given to it by Testosterone, which by definition here is the giver.This is a fact that the oestrogen carriers accept among themselves but deny it when in the company of testosterone carriers.It is a corollary of the GOING -TO- THE- RESTROOM-TOGETHER Syndrome.(see point 5)

5.The early man noticed it first-the oestrogen carriers going to the restroom together.Sadly, we dont have him around to testify now.Experts also point out a fundamental flaw in his observation-THERE WERE NO RESTROOMS THEN(GOTCHA!..they shout, scream,hi-five and pretend to be cooler than they are).But the future testosterone carrying generations of the early man-THE.NOT.SO.EARLY.MEN, THE LATE MEN and now the less hairy, pub-going and ALWAYS-HUNGOVER-HENCE-ALWAYS-LATE- MEN somewhat subscribe to the same view.

Def.: When a group of oestrogen carriers fail to telepathically communicate to each other what they want to in the presence of testosterone carriers, they flock together to the restroom.This happens when they absolutely need words to communicate.Sources suggest they talk of testosterone carriers mostly, although occasionally they also talk of other oestrogen carriers who threaten their chances with the above mentioned testosterone carriers.It isnt uncommon to hear shouts of THAT BITCH!, THAT SLUT! amidst carefully uttered whispers.Incidentally, they give warm, amazingly fake hugs to these bitches and sluts once they are out.

Some not-so-lucky ones have nothing to talk about though.They do it only because ITS COOL.So they dress up well, enter a pub(most of which happily let them enter for free), move a bit, go to the restroom together, hi5 each other, come back and sleep.A fake accent helps.

6. 'BE A MAN!' loses its effect without it.

7.Silicone cannot make up for any lack of testosterone.

8.Mighty Mighty MIT

9.Point 8is irrerelevent.So is this whole thing.

DEVD KICKS SOME SERIOUS DEVD-ASS !

2009-02-15T09:50:00.000-08:00

Sarat Chandra,Naresh Mitra,PC Baruah and Bimal Roy might not have approved of it, but at no level does DevD seek approval and therein lies its strength.While Baruah and Roy obviously made the character die as much by self-pity as by alcohol, and while Sanjay Leela Bhansali disguised that self-pity a bit by the grandeur of the sets (and well,the flamboyance of Shah Rukh Khan ), Anurag Kashyap's covers it with a deadly melange of weed,cocaine and alcohol which attempts to put the viewer in as much of a daze as the character,in true Requiem For A Dream style.It does NOT stick to the fundamentals of the novel and even distorts the message a bit to suit the times, the characters and the director's impulses.So ya, the cynics who believe 'Classics can't and should not be recreated' can do with pretending it never got made, and those who love quality cinema can just sneer at them and move on.Just like the protaganist does in the movie.

Abhay Deol plays Devender Singh Dhillon or Dev with a nonchalance that was never a part of any of the earlier portrayals and one that has come to be associated with most of his characters of late.He increasingly resembles an actor carving his own niche, and here is the scary part-he seems to do it too easily.The script lives dangerously at odds with the popular story.The background changes from the classic opulence of Bengal to the rustic charm of Punjab and what naturally follows is that the characters become louder, funnier and happier without trying too hard and hardly make sex sound like a bigger deal than it is. Dev already has Paro's(Mahie Gill plays the wild,rustic,unapologetic Punjabi girl with aplomb) carnal knowledge thanks to the internet and wastes no time getting to the next level once he's back.The script here has been carefully manipulated to include a guy-girl misunderstanding alongwith the rich guy-poor girl subplot which together leaves Dev heartbroken after Paro gets married to someone else.An infamous mms scandal in school and her father shooting himself after ruthlessly cursing her eventually drives a young girl to being a sex-worker-the modern day chandramukhi.Needless to add, with a common,painful past it becomes easy for Chandramukhi and Dev to open up to each other, as the sex part takes a backseat.

While the alcoholic devdas we know loses life eventually, this drug sniffing, weed smoking Dev only loses track of life,before a series of bizarre events put him into deeper emotional turmoil.The devdas we saw before was a hopeless self-loathing lover,but this guy is smart! After a while he compromises and finds his own middle path-the delinquent finds love in the present and actually MOVES ON, even though he claims to hate that term at one point.

Somebody just brought devdas out of the 1917 novel and made him a very real character living in the 21st century-without taking anything away from his EMOTIONAL ATYACHAAR, and did a damn good job with it.*Applause*

RAM SENE: DECODED!

2009-02-14T10:07:00.000-08:00

Anybody in India who considers himself a normal youngster who likes to work hard and play harder, who knows he deserves to live his life and enjoy it the way he wants to, who is actually proud of being an Indian because,among other things,he is thoroughly kicked by the fact that the country is coming out of the closet and recognising the terrific intimacy of man-woman relationships,and the new found spunk in Indian women that makes them more attractive at large: would have re-assessed all these thoughts in the past 2 weeks. Goons enter an upmarket bar in Mangalore and beat up girls randomly.No,they even beat up boys,who we are told were terribly un-Indian for accompanying girls to the bar.This, at a time when the country is beating its chest about how united it is in the face of terror and jihad.Things like these keep happening and clearing one layer after another we find we were never in the game: there are too many people who cant mind their own business, too many people who think they can impose what they think because thay are well-backed politically and financially, too many people who are downright jealous of those who are doing well and too many people who cant stand the thought of the existence of an idea different from theirs.Also,sadly,too many people who just dont care.

Consider the most possible scenario in the mangalore bar: young guys and girls in their early 20's who have just started getting kicks out of the fact that they are finally in college and that life is as beautiful as they saw in all those romantic movies.They are thoroughly Indian mind you-they probably leave home after puja, touch their parents feet before leaving home,have a gruelling day at work and to break the monotony, go drinking in the nearest pub.Now its important to know that bars are not just about the alcohol-the music, the casual atmosphere, the conversations get easier and more relaxed(despite the loud music) and a bit of dancing here and there.What part of it does the Ram sene have a problem with?What part of it is un -suitable for a woman to do?Were the guys forcing themselves upon girls?NONE of that happened.

The problem is: among the many nutcases we have in the country, the ram sene people are of a weirder type.They are people who have never been able to enjoy the good things in life for whatever reasons, and cant tolerate other fortunate ones enjoying them either.Even as i make a pathetically guilty attempt of understanding these people, I find that they have never felt or been inclined to feel all those magically amazing things we do in youth: wooing a girl,and the pain or thrill associated with whatever the result,smiling at the endearing conversation an otherwise reserved guy makes when under influence and driving a drunk friend back home.This is not about drinking and Indian culutre, lest we venture into that territory.All i insist upon is-each one to his own.For every Ram sene activist who harps on about Indian culture and isolating ourselves from other influences, I hear Thomas Friedman telling me how flat the world is.Just as i want to give the ram sene some consideration,if even for a second, Mr. Friedman tells me, in a harsher voice this time-that the world is not just flat, its also hot and crowded! And crowded, as i now realise, with the kind of people who enjoy a weird satisfaction over insulating themselves from all the good,bad and ugly that is there to see.Apparently,more important than what they want is that other people must want what they want.Now without even attempting to judge their actions through a moral magnifying glass-I just wish they had the basic common sense to understand that it DOES NOT WORK THAT WAY.They have to realise that the world HAS indeed become smaller-it is not a choice we make.It is the reality and whatever has to follow will.

We will be a much happier society if we can just muster up enough courage to live our lives the way WE want to,and enough consideration to let others live their lives the way THEY want to.

We probably dont take it seriously because it sounds too simple, and for good or for bad, we hardly give simple solutions the respect they deserve,but we could try it for once.After all, it is the exception that proves the rule.

THE ONE WITH ALL 6 OF THEM!!

2008-06-14T06:37:00.000-07:00

I cant help saying that FRIENDS,or wait,F.R.I.E.N.D.S is not all about a Chandler cracking needless jokes and making no bones about being commitment-phobic, or Joey wanting to sleep with every female(and God knows what else), or Rachel's hairstyles and style quotient ,or Ross talking about dinosaurs when 'flirting'(the way he knows it!), Monica being a cleanliness freak and Phoebe being..err..just a freak! Now if you are reading this, I know you like F.R.I.E.N.D.S and because you like it, I know you know all of this too damn well,but what saves my face is that just for F.R.I.E.N.D.S, you'll read this anyway!So,more than anything else, F.R.I.E.N.D.S tells you why contrast is so beautiful! Its about Chandler being the first to get married despite all hang-ups and that SENSE OF HUMOR!(forget Ross and his weddings,thats another story) and Joey not wanting to sleep with JUST THOSE THREE despite being a rampaging casanova.Its about all those moments everyone wants but is too scared and timid to grasp.The entire Ross-Rachel episode that extends the entire series is a study in why love is so remarkably strange! They have little in common-Rachel is hot to begin with, and Ross..well..err..always the 'nice' guy any other girl would have wanted to stay 'Just friends' with. That they fall in love and 'go on breaks' in the course of all 10 years is so amazingly indicative of why love follows anything but a structured,logical pattern.(Dont get me wrong-like all guys i would scoff at anyone saying this to me but F.R.I.E.N.D.S makes me believe it and thats why its so different!).It was only fitting though, that Chandler had Joey as a roommate.For he needs someone who can be a 'butt' of all his jokes.Although Joey wouldnt be as delighted as he was while being Al-Pacino's butt for a movie(to which Mr. Chandler had said,'You've finally managed to crack your way into showbiz!') but at a deeper level,thats the way just about everything worked with them-nothing was ever done to please the other guy.They just got each other perfectly! Thats how all guys want to be with each other even when they are 30 yrs old and talk about only when they are drunk and extremely random!And no one gives a better name to being random than PHOEBE! The lady dates everyone from a nerdy scientist to a cop, is a masseuse, is unapologetic about her step-dad and whoever else going to prison, sings the stinking smelly cats with so much conviction that its no longer brave to accept you like it, and has no qualms about donning some REGINA FELLANGEE'S avatar when she fells flirty, gets emotional when she gets to know of her birth mother(Okay she's not that random people!),and-IS SO PROUD OF IT ALL THAT SOME OF IT RUBS OFF ON US!Monica is hot, sweet, funny,sexy, but despite all that, she opens your eyes to how irritating such women can be when they are obsessed with themselves and cleanliness. What happens is that however good a cook she is, it ultimately leaves a bad taste in the mouth!(Chandler must have said that some time!).But hold on, she is amazingly endearing on most occasions and thats why she is special too.Ross is weird.Even though he doesnt have Chandler's sarcasm, he still has the last laugh- he gets Rachel despite himself! In a lot of ways, he redefines being nice, being weird, being sissy, being a victim and-being a palaentologist too! I wont analyse him more and spoil the fun, but i guess marrying a lesbian and 2 other failed marriages were just the price he paid for Rachel!And Rachel?!..spoilt brat with a drinking problem,as Phoebe says. If you wanna look for depth, look here.She makes you feel all those emotions you ought to feel as a human being-lust,anger,envy,laughter,love,respect-everything! She's a bitch when she has to be, she's this girl who cant come to terms with her parents' separation, one moment she hates Ross more than anything else and on another, Ross is all she wants and needs.What always stays the same though is that Gunther doesnt ever count!In a nutshell, the show is not about winners or people living extraordinary lives.I dread to think that was ever the idea,because if it was,unlike any other idea, the makers have got it wrong here.Because as i see it, its about 6 losers who come together and eventually win-by staying together!
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4:23:00 AM
by juggernaut