Of censors and bans

So I was watching "Enemy at the Gates" the other day. For people who have not seen it, the plot revolves around two sharpshooters in opposite camps in the world war, trying to kill the other and win the proverbial bout. Well, for a such a movie, there is bound to be a sizeable number of shots fired, people bloodied and killed. Saw it a while back and sat down to watch it again, to relive the moments. But all I got to see were dialogues. All the shooting scenes were cut from the script. All the murders and killings removed. Even innocent kisses failed to get past the censor board. I was left with a feeling that was a concoction of fury, amazement and disappointment. I was ready to take a gun and kill the editor point blank, wouldn’t even need the scope.

Not to be undone are my society people. Now mumbai is a city of immigrants. It’s a city where young people out of colleges and universities come to work, earn and burn. When I first came to mumbai, the thing that I liked was that there are every strata of people here, from the poorest to the vulgar rich. Also all ages, from all regions of india with the same objective, make a living. No doubting that this is the financial capital of india. So first there was this tomfoolery about marathi manoos, as if they were rightful owners of the state and jobs should be reserved for them. Well, if that does become their stance, there is no doubt jobs will move elsewhere, bases will shift to other avenues. Good then that this died down. But the more perplexing trend is of no flats to be leased to bachelors. This reason alone makes a more compelling argument for marrying than anything else. But again a higly skewed perspective of the bygone generations. Anywhere else I would have accepted this conservatism, but to witness the same in mumbai is disheartening to say the least. Then there is the gunda mentality of the ruling polity that mandates the name of shops and organizations to be spelled in marathi or hindi. While we yearn to give an outlook of an open society, such censures, bans and diktats just accentuates our hypocricy. Time will only tell if people here truly open up or implode under the weight of all the rules it puts up under various pretexts. And im surely hoping that it is the former rather than the latter that happens.

Boogie Woogie dancin shoes...

There are some triggers which bring back memories of your childhood. different people would have different triggers, some would have food, some places which remind them of their childhood; mine is music. and not just any song, the really old english songs which my dad taped during his time on the ship. in a way it was a great thing that he was in merchant navy and roamed the world at a time when there were no cellphones, no emails to let your near and dear ones know that you are safe. ships were slower, loading/unloading took time, and so my dad had plenty of time to visit all the places and stay at a port city for a week or more. so he taped songs on cassettes, almost obsolete these days. and we played it in our car stereo when we were very young, and one of the only families in the locality to have a vehicle. we went on many tours, every year someplace new, and the tapes would play all through the route. we didnt really know much about songs and music then, but some songs got embedded in my system. everytime i listen to them, it brings back a flood of memories of dad driving the car really fast, me and my brother jostling to get between the two front seats of the maruti and cheering him on to overtake any vehicle we could see ahead. and all the time, the tape was playing in the background. we used to play the same tapes when we got up and got ready for school, such classics as harry belafonte, percy sledge, songs like blue bayou, boogie woogie dancing shoes, songs that i once played recently while driving with friends and was dissapointed at their lack of appreciation for them as they made fun of them and said how they sounded like right out of some 1960 movies. maybe...but then like revisiting my childhood sometimes, and whenever i feel the urge, i just pop open my laptop and get transformed into a kid againwith such timeless melodies!

Butterflies!

This boy always took the same path to school every day with his brother alongside; walked past the sweepers in the morning as they raised a plume of dust sweeping away leaves and sand on the graveled road. They didn’t mind, dust and dirt did not matter yet. They walked past mounds of sand that lay on the side of the road; occasionally went through them, which filled their shoes with sand. The boy liked the sinking feeling, like quick sand gulping him down. They walked through the park, despite it being a detour, occasionally riding the swings or watching others riding them; walked on the border path, past the flowers of mind boggling varieties, not knowing what they were called and not bothering to know, children playing Frisbee with their parents, people walking their dogs, their tails wagging in obvious delight. And finally he reached the destination, perhaps a few minutes late, but he didn’t mind, well who would mind getting late to school. Studies did not interest him, except a few subjects. What he did enjoy was the company of friends, the banter, the lunch hour, the mischief with the girl’s hair who sat in front and when the teacher was scribbling on the board, the games session when he ran mindlessly in the playing field, sometimes on his own, and the end of day’s bell which signaled an end of torture with the books. The way back was not the same as the one taken in the morning. It was a long detour that led to a marshy land which had acres of wild flowers and millions of butterflies. It was time for some of them to be petted. The one hour session spent chasing butterflies and then stacking them together in a jar to take home was seen as something of a ritual. Not that it came to anything, once back home, the jar was let open, for them to wander in the house, for mom to scream out in dismay as they flitted in the kitchen and then escaped through open windows.



Then college came, the path became longer, but the boy didn’t mind, he still walked on some days, took the over-crowded bus on others. He saw the sweepers as a nuisance; the dust had him hiding his face behind the handkerchief. It got in his head and on his shirt, which bothered him now; it would spoil his looks, his appearance in class. The mounds of sand were left un-noticed, no longer walked upon or even ventured near. The park was now no longer a detour, yet the path through it went right across, diagonally through the lush green field instead of around it on the path. Time became more important, attendance a word of importance in the daily vocabulary. The college was still though a place to meet friends, to discuss of plans for movies or eat-outs, plans of visiting new places. No longer was the teacher required to look towards the board for mischief to be done, impudence was cool now; being sent out of class a thing to be proud of. No bells rang for end of the day, people made do with their watches to remind the professor it was time for them to go. The walk back was with friends, stopping at the numerous stalls lining beside the road for “chai” or some snacks or for no reason at all, something that became called as “adda”. Fights became more common, mostly for girls as they were in short supply. Money management became very important, as money was also in short supply for the never-ending desire for newer clothes, movies, restaurants and “addas”. Gaming outdoor became less frequent; the new buzzword was LAN gaming with friends, into the dead of the night, eyes sore and rash throats from all the shouting.



Then came office and work, the path now was rarely walked upon, rickshaws were used. Time was of the essence. Same mounds of sand were cursed upon, for obstructing the path of traffic. The parks were left on their own, never visited, viewed from the outer as people went through their early morning jogs and walks. The office was no longer a looked forward to destination; it didn’t contain many friends, just colleagues, with families of their own, discussions always veering on the markets or general work. Here, the day ended when the boss told you that it would, 9 to 5 concept became something of a theory, something that existed on paper, though never to be followed. Here the path back was not lined with any tea stalls or marshes with butterflies, no friends walked alongside sharing their day or the latest gossips. The only companion was your everlasting shadow, never talking back or differing in opinion. Money was now no longer an issue. Gaming outdoor became a forgotten concept, gaming indoor became single player; friends almost never there at the same time.



This boy looks at his life now, he has everything that he could ask for, enough money for unlimited movies; enough games at home for a lifetime of gaming; what he doesn’t have is time, friends close by or those wonderful butterflies that ran amok in his house, spreading color in what has become a colorless life.

A Taxi Ride

The drive from our hotel to the airport in Phuket was all of 40km.As is usual, our last minute follies ensured that we were hard pressed for time to reach the airport before the check-in counters closed. We exited our hotel in search of a cab to drive us to the airport, but the late evening ensured that the streets were vacant and the only taxis in sight were the motorcycle taxis which promised us “Boom Boom and cheap lady”!(a good alternative if we missed our flight) So we progressed down the small street (called soi in Thailand) towards a wider more frequented road in search of an elusive taxi when we heard a man calling out from a very old looking Ford vehicle (looked more like NE 118 to me). He would take us to the airport and would charge us pretty much the same as a normal taxi would. For lack of a better option, we decided to board the rickety vehicle and thus commenced a hilarious conversation that would be one of the longest that I have had with a native during my week long stay in Thailand.

He checked us up in the rear view mirror, eyes squinting. I had an impression he was trying to size us up. Not in a menacing way as Thais seemed to me a race unable or incapable of causing harm to others. After about 5 minutes, when he reached the highway, and I half expected him to speed up, he slowed down, changed lanes to one which had slow moving traffic and started speaking.

TD (Taxi Driver): “Where you come from?”

Us: India

TD: “Aah..India…..so you Hindu…or……(looking at us with a solemn expression)

Us: Yes Hindu

TD: (face lighting up) Gooood…..you no Muslim…….good…

Us: Why you say so? You no like Muslim? (When in Rome, be like Romans. I used improper English to make him understand)

TD: Noooooo….I can talk to youuuuu….Muslim……lower level…..u know….(smiling and gesturing with hands to signify lower…like to say smaller)…..I no talk to Muslim…..I can talk to you……

Us: Why?

TD: Muslim people no good!! Theyyyy….aaahhh…they tricking…they lying…they thieving….u know….aaah you know!! They near border……aah….no no…they no good! They bombing, they drugs….u know…..aah you know….Pakistan eh! (breaking into a knowing smile which we were forced to join in)…..Yeah….u I can talk to…..we respect….

Us: (No response other than a smile)

TD: India….aah…I like very much…..aah…..many computer…..u computer man?

Us: Yes

TD: Yes yes….you looook like computer man….he he….yessss….india very good in computer…….also…I like very much…..indian movie industry….yees…I like very much…..i see many movie….yes!! I like….that hero….aah…what is his name……aah I like very much……Indian hero….

Us: Amitabh Bachhan?

TD: No no….aah he come movie…aah I don’t remember name….Asssoka…aah

Us: Ashoka….Shah Rukh Khan?

TD: Yeeeeeeeeeeeeesss!!! Very good herooo….good looking Sharookh…..i see many movie….yes yes….a good man…..dance very nice…..I like very much

Us: But he is a Muslim (with a sly smile)

TD: WHAT!! (almost bringing car to screeching halt, looking in the rear view mirror incredulously at me….while I couldn’t stop laughing)……..no no…..Sharookh muslim…..oho……I not know…….oho……no no…Muslimma….no good!! No watch his movie from now….(Sharook muslim….muttering under his breath again and again while I burst laughing watching his transformation from being happy and gay to start moaning as if somebody died)

He was quite for some time, sinking in the new and very painful information. Then he started again

TD: You know…….aah….yes…there is no…*$%#@ here (I couldn’t quite get what he was referring to)…..so I can speak to u yees…..yes….i no like the king….yes yes I can say to you….cannot say that in open…..

Us: Why you do not like him? (Just to pass time rather than really interested in knowing)

TD: No no…..he not good…..he like monfoly……you no monfoly…yes?

Us: Monopoly?

TD: yes yes……aah he use monfoly……no change…..old people like him…..they yellow shirt….i red shirt…..i like change…u no….(holding the collar of his shirt to show its red..(was greean actually)…..king’s wife no gooood….take to much moneeyy….Thailand no doing good………….i like democaracy…….but that also has......what to say……some bad things…….i like prencc….u know….prencc…

Us: WTF? French?

TD: yes yes…..prenccc…..i like prencc very……they like democaracy……and communistic……and like both mix…..i like mix….take gooood of democaracy…..and gooood of communistic….and mix (whapping both hands together to form a ball..…like capturing a mosquito in between, incredulously, no hands on the steering wheel)………aah……u no America…….aah America……they very samart…..they know…..

Us: What? (Losing completely the track of where he was heading with this argument)

TD: U no sapechy??

Us: Specie?

TD: aah yess…..sapechy…..sapechy sapechy do not change……u no…(finds completely blank faces when he sees us through the rear view mirrors)…….aah like…….dog….dog is dog……dog not human……dog not cat……u no

Us: Okaayy (getting a feeling he was either drunk or delusional both)

TD: America……..they put pig flu in mexico………and they see……u know pig flue…

Us: Swine flu?

TD: yes yes…….pig flu……they put in mexico and they see…….they put that flu in china last year…..then they see……they see what happen………very samart……u no…pentagan…..aah yes yes u no….pentagan yes yes……they have lab under pentagan…….they make flu…..they make calone (clone)…..they very samart (pointing his fingers to his forehead to signal intelligence)……very samart america

We were amused more than anything listening to this conspiracy theory of his, unfortunately we had to ask his to quicken up, we were in real danger of missing our flight. He did so and got us there just in time. Along the way he asked us about India, places to visit, told the story how he got dengue fever and lost one year of pay and losing a lot of money, exchange rates, and much more. Needless to say, it was one of the most entertaining taxi rides I’ve had.

"The Wall" shall always stand tall

I have often bred a distaste for cricket of any form in the near past as I feel the game is the bane of Indian sporting fraternity. So while other sports have been languishing for want of funds, the BCCI, governing body of cricket in India has been awash with it. So much so that it is the envy of even the ICC. With money comes power, amply illustrated by the impunity with which World Cup hosting rights were gazumped by the Indian body despite it being Australia's turn to host the big show. The mass marketing and appeal of the players attract imitations and hero worship from parents and their kids alike, which is why every street can be seen with makeshift stumps hunched kids, rather than a football and kids running helter skelter. The cricketers, every other one being hailed as the next genius by the commentators increases my distaste for the game and the word genius itself. While players obviously riding the cash wave and the celebrity status flaunt girlfriends and cars and bikes which make the other athletes look downright pauper-esque in comparison. But in all this hubris, one man has been my sole so called bright star in an otherwise dark night, the only man who has displayed dignity on and off the field, who has behaved like a Man both in victory and defeat and hasn't batted an eyelid when all his years of servitude to the nation have almost been overshadowed by every new kid on the block. The man is Rahul Dravid.
Starting his career on the English tour, with the seaming,swinging,overcast and cold blustery conditions is not the easiest introduction to cricket. Yet, in typical fashion, the successful introduction to cricket that Dravid had was overshadowed by Ganguly in the series. Coming in with India at 5-202 and just the tail enders to follow was not the situation for a traditional top order batsman to commence his test career. Yet Dravid took to the task like duck to water and gave a sumptuous display of strokeplay which had the purists cheering. With the South African home and away series next, it was baptism with fire for him. Yet Dravid gave a glowing account of his talent. People would forget statistics over time. But ask any cricket lover, and he would tell you that India folded up for 100 and 66 in the two innings of the Durban test in the 1996 season. Few would remember that Dravid stood unconquered in the second innings scoring nearly half the Indian total. He went on to top score for India on the unsuccessful tour, almost setting up a stunning victory in the final test, only to be denied by a Messrs Klusener and the timely intervention of rain.
Statistics confirm that Dravid has been the best away batsman for India over the past decade. Indian batting for long was also termed as the paper tigers, good only at home. Yet Dravid would be sole exception having averaged better on away matches than at home. It is then unsurprising that he has been the mastermind of many a famous victory, the one against Australia in Adelaide in the 2003-04 season being the most remarkable. For until Tendulkar's recent maturity in closing out matches notwithstanding, Dravid was the most dependable batsman in a run chase in difficult conditions. McGrath regarded him as the most difficult batsmen to get out in the Indian batting order, better than even Sachin when India toured in 2003. Nicknamed "The Wall" for his tight defence and ability to shut out opposition seamers, Dravid was again the unsung hero when Laxman became the toast of the cricketing fraternity in the famous Kolkata test against Australia, many forgetting that it was Dravid who held forte at one end while Laxman butchered the Aussie bowlers at the other. Many attribute that turning point to be the turning point of Indian cricket, when we metamorphosed into a team of believers. Fitting then, that Dravid was one of the vanguard of this change.
Few have been shuttled up and down in the batting order like Dravid has, having played at every position from 1 to 7 in tests. He donned gloves despite being a top order batsman in the ODIs to provide balance to the team. He opened the batting when no other dared to, made the number 3 position his own. Not surprisingly, it is the most important position in a batting line-up, coming in when an opener has fallen early with the responsibility to shied the middle order from the new ball. He accepted captaincy when others had declined, gave it up of his own accord, convinced that it was time for the younger brigade to take over, and lost his place in the ODI team shortly thereafter despite a healthy record. Protests broke out when Ganguly was dropped from the ODI side for poor performance, barely an eyebrow was raised when Dravid was. That in essence sums up Dravid's contribution to Indian cricket. Always willing to fight it out and ready to be the fall guy, sacrificing glory in the greater good of the team, but significantly, always staying out of the limelight and below the radar of any controversy, Dravid has quietly penned his name in the list of all time greats. As the sun sets on his brialliant career, it is time for us to appreciate and applaud a true gentleman, the likes of whom the game may never see again for generations to come.

Writer's Block??

Been a long time since I put pen to paper (or my fingers to the keyboard to write more than a scrap or my email id). So today I write. Hmm…but what to write on. No, not the sorry state of the economy, the sorry state of my investments or the sorry state of placements in college affecting all my friends. That is a saga that has been going on for far too long and will proceed for another year if all economists and analysts are correct, which they seldom are. Hmm..So what to write on. No, not the idle time I spend in office daily, fretting on losing my job, doing a little more than sipping on vending machine brewed coffee, working out in the gym and going through the news which has made me a walking encyclopedia of corporate news, bankruptcies etc. No, not of the time spent with friends, visiting places just to kill the time and that of others too. Not of the expensive gaming console that I have bought which I stay glued to for a couple hours every night as a religion, the kaam-waali related issues which keep coming up every month and the recent movies, the over hyped slumdog which has captured everyone's imagination. The roadies and the made up banter and profanities therein which have all eyes glued to the show and its re-runs. Not even of the terrorist strikes, the meek Indian reaction to it, or of the first black president who has promised much en-route to his arrival on the big stage, towards whom the entire world is looking for some cues to bring an end to this crisis. I don’t even have the will to write about game which has me hooked to the tele, and my favourite club which must be setting records for tarnishing all previous game records recently. Not even of the exam that I have enrolled for, sunk in half a lakh rupees for and the books of which are attracting everything except my attention from me. So, I have pretty much exhausted all possibilities, and am left with nothing to write about. A heads up from any eves-dropper on my blog will be appreciated.