tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33865042092605078182024-03-22T07:25:20.136+05:30A Peep into my Pensieve...Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.comBlogger103125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-52353291664011488412012-12-29T23:29:00.001+05:302012-12-29T23:29:03.805+05:30In God We trust...<p><font color="#ffff00">This was written before Sachin retired. I had every intention of posting it before that day. My PC stubbornly refused to start. It was right after the Kolkata test match. Before the world changed.</font></p> <p align="center"><font color="#ffff00" size="5">***</font></p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-i3wHDg05c24/UN8vVnZafII/AAAAAAAAAj4/rd3bAf38Fdo/s1600-h/sachin_tendulkar%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="51515919" border="0" alt="51515919" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-uIsOT9YqE4c/UN8vWzBcD1I/AAAAAAAAAkA/OOUUYajyNiY/sachin_tendulkar_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="344" height="234" /></a></p> <p>This is one of the most difficult times for you, Sir. This is one of those times when you have to dig deep and pull out a gem. And you did. Against England. You dug deep into that limitless talent pool of yours and pulled out one. It did not satiate many. They’re still calling for your head. It’s evident Sir, your time in the sun is running out.</p> <p>Many say that cricket is the only life you’ve ever known. Well, cricket without you is a life I’ve never known too. And I don’t want to. I remember running home from school on match days to breathlessly scan the scoreboard. If the wickets column was anything but Zero, and you weren’t on strike I would frantically search the screen for the familiar short statured, wide legged figure at the other end, one hand on the hip and body weight resting on the bat handle. It had such a calming effect. It didn’t matter then if we were 10/1 or 10/3 because you were at the other end. Nothing mattered.</p> <p>Just like the bowler never mattered to you. You were more concerned about the sight screen. It was just a white background for most batsmen but not for you. You were finicky about it. It used to be followed by the most ungainly, recognised and characteristic set of movements - that adjusting of the guard in the front of the pants. And you were ready<font color="#cceedd">. So were</font> we. As the bowler went up in appeal, a billion heartbeats would stop, there would be a billion sharp intakes of breath followed by fervent prayers to various Gods. The umpire shakes his head and a billion would then sigh in relief.</p> <p>As the bowler went back to the mark, the fervent prayers would resume. A nation would stop as the bowler steams in from the top of his run up. He pitches it just short and you pounce on it quickly. A reassuring thump off the back foot from the iconic MRF blade, that image of the ball searing through the covers, a quick nod of the helmeted head. And living rooms and stadiums would erupt in joy. The bowler charges in again and strays, every so slightly, onto the leg stump and it is followed by the trademark flick, not so much of a shot - just giving the ball direction. And all else is forgotten. The World is Sachin and Sachin is the world.</p> <p>We all have tried to imitate that nod of the head, that ungainly adjusting of the guard but we could never even come close to playing <em>THAT</em> straight drive or the backfoot punch or the uppercut. Other batsmen could play the cover drive too. But none like you.</p> <p>You made children complete their homework early, made housewives forget their daily chores. You made the ailing feel healthy and the healthy to call in sick at work. You’ve made the weak strut and the strong tremble. You’ve stopped Bombay, You’ve stopped India why, even Time stood still when you batted.</p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Kg2ELZeKmWs/UN8vX2NqSfI/AAAAAAAAAkI/9vDdRlmzO7s/s1600-h/Sachin-Tendulkar%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; margin: 0px auto 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="Sachin-Tendulkar" border="0" alt="Sachin-Tendulkar" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-97rC5GUcQGM/UN8vY9py4uI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/hRRxitFr1uY/Sachin-Tendulkar_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="330" height="273" /></a></p> <p>In those dark days of mediocrity and inconsistency, you were the only hope we could all look up to. In our eyes, you were Superman, the hero we all craved for. You wielded the willow like it was Thor’s hammer. Impregnable in defence, rock-solid yet destructive. The one who would offend and not defend. Yes, you were larger than life and we always expected too much from you and much less from the other ten. Yes, and we expected it every time. You were superhuman, yet a kid with our middle class values. An <em>Aapla manoos</em>. We were the junkies and you were our fix. </p> <p>Yet, your time in the sun seem to be running out Sir. It’s painfully clear but yes it is. That twinkle in your eye seems to be missing now. You look worried. It worries us too. </p> <p>It seems that it was not so long ago that every thing was alright. We remember it what it was like. We who have missed flights but not fights for you. We who turned living rooms into stadiums and stadiums into bull rings. We who have seen you spoil equations and destroy reputations. We who have seen you weather storms and invoke sandstorms. And now, we are just as flustered. </p> <p>Yes, you are 39 now and questions about your future are bound to arise. Yes, the score board makes unhappy reading and you’ve fallen to better deliveries in the past but there still are legions – lots and lots of people who still believe in you and want you to do well. If you wish to retire, let it be your decision only and not because some half wit asked you to. Your time in the sun may be running out, but his never came.</p> <p>May that day never come Sir, but if a day comes when you decide to call it a day and tuck that bat away; we will retire too. We will follow the odd game, cheer an Indian victory and even gasp when Kohli tries a Tendulkar, but it’ll never be the same. We are a generation that grew up watching you and learning from you. We know what it’ll mean when you would no longer be there. It means that our time in the sun, will be up too. </p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-38667256764682241952012-11-29T21:44:00.001+05:302012-11-29T21:44:10.297+05:30That Streetcar named Desire...<p><strong><font size="3">“Whoever you are... I have always depended on the kindness of strangers...”</font></strong></p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-oY2O-SzAaD0/ULeJuLbzWTI/AAAAAAAAAjE/qb54NtdGg6Q/s1600-h/Streetcar%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="Streetcar" border="0" alt="Streetcar" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-JeNmIyo0VfA/ULeJvhisdVI/AAAAAAAAAjM/EETUBrOIWXY/Streetcar_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="407" height="194" /></a></p> <p>I first heard the dialogue in a play called “All about my Mother” where Ratna Pathak essays the role of Blanche DuBois. I loved the dialogue and it stayed on my mind. A Streetcar named desire, was always a Brando movie for me. Until yesterday.</p> <p>The movie is set in New Orleans with Blanche boarding a Streetcar named ‘Desire’ to visit Stella, her sister. Stella DuBois, now Stella Kowalski is married to Stanley Kowalski (Marlon Brando). Stanley takes an instant dislike to Blanche. </p> <p>Upon realizing that Blanche has ‘lost’ her family’s ancestral property, Belle Reve, Stanley takes it upon himself to prove to his wife that her sister, Blanche is phony. He believes that Blanche squandered the family money and has cheated his wife of her inheritance. Blanche, on the other hand calls the boorish Stanley an ‘ape’ and constantly berates her sister to have <font color="#cceedd">married</font> a brute. </p> <p>Blanche coquettishly warms up to Stanley’s friend, Mitch. It acts as the catalyst and Stanley cruelly exposes Blanche’s past. </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-3VOjcCpJNS4/ULeJxFxqJII/AAAAAAAAAjU/VM_2rOspC74/s1600-h/Streetcar%252520II%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="Streetcar II" border="0" alt="Streetcar II" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-8n4mmEvZjdo/ULeJy1I38DI/AAAAAAAAAjc/MnzNVIFA9lo/Streetcar%252520II_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="400" height="331" /></a></p> <p>Whatever the theme of the movie maybe, for me, it is the showdown between Stanley (Marlon Brando) and Blanche (Vivien Leigh).These two, for sure, can never be BFFs! Their conflict is epic and the tension is palpable every time Brando enters the room. It is like the ultimate battle of the sexes.</p> <p>Not for once, do you feel that this is Brando’s second film. His dialogue, “Hey Stella” just echoes into the night. Even the most mundane acts, like that of changing a shirt, has it’s own distinct style. His anger is so intense that you too, cower along with Stella and Blanche when he ‘Clears the table’ and offers to clear theirs as well. </p> <p>The star is Vivien Leigh albeit by a small margin. She plays Blanche with such panache and adds such complexity to the character that she makes it her own. Blanche is Leigh and Leigh is Blanche. Some of the most tender scenes are when She goes on a date with Mitch. She seems so pathetic in the scene that you want Mitch to embrace Blanche and at the same time you realize that Mitch has to run away from the trainwreck called Blanche. Her disdain for realism and a desire for magic is so incredibly portrayed. It’s only when she is faced with reality, her voice deepens and she looks bitter. The following line is so heartbreaking..</p> <p><strong><font size="3">“I don’t want realism. I want magic! Yes, yes, magic. I try to give that to people. I do misrepresent things. I don’t tell truths. I tell what ought to be truth.”</font></strong></p> <p>Finally, the enmity culminates in an ugly triumph. That’s when Blanche gives a weak smile and delivers that cathartic and deeply disturbing dialogue about depending upon the kindness of strangers. She kills you when she walks with the doctor. And that was when I realized that while Brando had raw, animal magnetism; Blanche too had the same magnetism, only that it was weak and broken. <br /></p> <p> </p> <p>P.S. I don’t know how to end it.  <img style="border-bottom-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; border-left-style: none" class="wlEmoticon wlEmoticon-disappointedsmile" alt="Disappointed smile" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-rvvsvLnQ2y4/ULeJz3tXEWI/AAAAAAAAAjg/vyfIcCPumTY/wlEmoticon-disappointedsmile%25255B2%25255D.png?imgmax=800" /></p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-4633835254665360442012-11-15T00:25:00.001+05:302012-12-04T12:39:46.167+05:30On a Ventilator? Seriously?! :D<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-qXFZK8F_Mks/UKPpCSpYjsI/AAAAAAAAAic/7fN-_8en8qE/s1600-h/tiger.jpg%25255B3%25255D.png"><img alt="tiger.jpg" border="0" height="302" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-mP6qZwOM_mo/UKPpFF3YByI/AAAAAAAAAik/XubB9pvkLQQ/tiger.jpg_thumb%25255B1%25255D.png?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="tiger.jpg" width="274" /></a><br />
<br />
Are you on your deathbed Sir? <br />
I heard that you’re dying of old age. Please, Sir please tell me this is not true because if it is, then I swear Bombay will burn. Yes, Bombay will burn, <em>bhaiyyas</em> will be beaten up, we’ll throw out some Muslims & Madrasis, molest some women and tear down a couple of Archies’ and McDonald’s for good measure.<br />
I cannot believe it, Sir! It seems like it was only yesterday that you set Bombay on fire with your fiercely communal speeches. I was a kid back in ‘92 and I thoroughly enjoyed all the holidays that I got because of your frequent <em>bandhs </em>(My father used to grumble about missing office though!) Not me. I revered you for bringing out the bile in the poor, working class people. Your opposition to the Valentines’ day celebration on grounds that it was poisoning our minds was legendary too!<br />
And of course who can forget your act of transforming the city of maximum debauchery, Sins and Migrants to a cultural hotbed of jingoism, narrow mindedness & hatred by simply renaming it! You speeches were so awesome. You used to mimic your rivals in such a wicked manner. You pointed out the flaws in the ruling party so well. It’s a different matter that you never said what you’d do if elected. I still loved your speeches. I used to envision an India under your rule and I used to shudder sorry, I used to get goose bumps!<br />
I’ll miss you so much. I made a living out of hating you and making fun of you. If you die you’ll be relegated to a second grade portrait in future SS gatherings.<br />
I so wish you live another five years! Your health is so poor that you cannot threaten the Pakistani team anymore if they come to play in Bombay. Or threaten me for using the forbidden ‘B’ word. It’s such a pity that you cannot enjoy the millions and zillions which you too, embezzled. <br />
<br />
<br />
I’d humbly request you to slog it out for another five years. So that your party does not come to power on votes given out of sympathy. You can then watch the wretch you call a son squander all your ‘good’ work. Besides, it’d be easier to believe in God if he extends your miserable life.<br />
I know you have only hours if not weeks left.. but I sincerely hope.. pray that your misery continues..<br />
<br />
<div align="right">
Yours lovingly,</div>
<div align="right">
A gleeful Indian</div>
<div align="right">
.</div>
</div>
Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-85472805760876506852012-07-17T22:45:00.001+05:302012-07-17T22:45:37.226+05:30Does Truth really Triumph every Sunday?!<p><em></em></p> <p><em><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-o2qsIoeOvTU/UAWdsAl2CxI/AAAAAAAAAh4/J-HVQUCTK_k/s1600-h/satyamev-Jayate6.png"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; margin: 0px auto 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="satyamev Jayate" border="0" alt="satyamev Jayate" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-vXFCVT02eD4/UAWdt74yo4I/AAAAAAAAAiA/XGAFK5TDbKk/satyamev-Jayate_thumb2.png?imgmax=800" width="260" height="179" /></a></em></p> <p><em>Does Satyamev Jayate work? </em>Asked Pritish Nandy. It’s the same question that I’ve been asking myself since Episode One. TRP wise, yes it works big time. It also serves as a catharsis for so many ‘worldly-wise’ individuals. It puts Aamir on a different plane altogether considering the fact that his contemporaries did mediocre shows like <em>“Kya aap paanchvi pass se tez ho?”</em> or <em>“Sawaal Dus Crore kaa”. </em>But does it <em>really</em> work the way that it set out to or it <em>claims</em> it set out to?</p> <p>The show is presented & packaged very well. But the approach is dubious.The title says “Truth shall prevail” but Aamir just dons the hat of a journalist and peeks into the lives of unfortunate, downtrodden and affected people.<font color="#a5b592"></font> It’s no different from the other voyeuristic news <font style="style">programmes</font> that we’ve been accustomed to. Aamir takes a moral high ground, zooms into the lives of victims and makes them relive their worst memories. </p> <p>As audience, we click our tongues patronisingly at the alcoholic journalist who threw it all away. We blame the doctors for being so money-minded, for conducting sex determination tests & abetting female foeticide. We berate our leaders for not making India a disabled friendly country. We blame parents of children who were sexually abused for not paying heed and finally, we LOVE to blame the younger generation for drinking and driving! </p> <p>This is where the show succeeds. While Aamir tries to pinpoint the ills that plague “Our” nation, we look at the mistakes of “Other” people. Along with him, Aamir successfully elevates us to a morally higher ground as well. </p> <p>The format of the show is the same every time. Aamir begins with a sombre soliloquy and then invites a couple of victims with sob stories to share. Aamir then dutifully sobs at each story and gasps as well, lest the sobbing become boring and one dimensional. Then walks in an expert who gives his two cents and sometimes a celebrity is thrown in for good measure. All through the show we are bombarded with facts and trivia that we are only too aware of. It’s the same story the next week as well albeit, a different problem. </p> <p>Maybe I am being too harsh here and the show has indeed affected a lot of people. But as I said in the beginning, it’s the approach that concerns me. The show is nothing more than a news report with a glamorous, weeping anchor who pretends to understand. It’s a welcome change from the macabre news reporters of India TV. The show pretends to attempt to make a change but Aamir stops short of it by a long, long way. And that, is a big flaw.</p> <p>Each issue, is accorded an episode. These things can only be resolved by proper, regular and annoying follow ups. Else, what do we do with so many sad stories? Aamir merely presents the problem, never the solution. I would love to see him file an RTI or a PIL. To be fair to him, he could’ve done a “<em>Paanchvi Pass se tez ho</em>” as well but he chose to differently. As Nandy says, Aamir isn’t a change agent but he has attempted something. Hats off to that, and hopefully truth shall prevail someday.</p> <p>Until then, it’s not <em>Satyamev Jayate</em> every Sunday it’s our version of the Oprah Winfrey show and that’s a big compliment! </p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-7571981796743008892011-03-21T16:45:00.000+05:302011-03-21T16:46:52.025+05:30Office Journeys...<p> </p> <p>                  <a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TYczoHMW6wI/AAAAAAAAAhw/AL80xGXuXL4/s1600-h/Poor-Puppy-1-1152x864%5B5%5D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="Poor-Puppy-1-1152x864" border="0" alt="Poor-Puppy-1-1152x864" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TYczo9AleWI/AAAAAAAAAh0/zwbatz7vYEA/Poor-Puppy-1-1152x864_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="196" /></a></p> <p>Having missed the regular bus for Office, I was running late. It could have been worse but it was thankfully, a Friday, which meant that I could just slip into a pair of jeans and head for Office.</p> <p>   I did not have to wait for long for another bus to arrive, it came almost immediately. Thanks to some brilliant planning on part of the local Government, the road outside my house is always dug up and traffic snarls are as common as muck. It then immediately opens into a broad, lush road. Drivers can’t resist speeding there having just gotten out of a traffic jam.</p> <p>Our Bus Driver was no different. We were cruising at a fairly high speed. I was standing by the rear window when the Driver applied a sudden brake. Everyone was thrown out of his seat and poor standees like me fell upon poorer standees. Some people bumped their heads on the railing and some, like our Bus Conductor, just swore. It was evident that the bus had run over someone. Slowly the bus moved ahead. It was moving too slowly, in inches,  obviously the driver was carefully avoiding something. The passengers were glued to their windows, anxiously looking at the small crowd that had already gathered.</p> <p>           I was the first one to see it. As the Bus moved ahead at a snail’s pace, I saw a puppy lying on the road. It was very small and was lying helplessly on the road. On the other side of the road was it’s Mother, down to her hunches and whimpering, fearing the worst. The other passengers too saw the scene and realised that their Bus had ran over someone who had a life. The anger immediately dissipated and it gave way to an overwhelming wave of pity. Nothing evokes more guilt than a dead puppy. We all were sadly looking at the dead creature and the bus was also trundling guiltily. </p> <p>       And then it happened! The puppy moved a little and in one moment, it was jumping around as if it got a new life. Apparently, the driver had saved a life and not taken one. It’s mother was caressing it and jumping at the same it. I could feel the Mother’s relief in it’s joyous barking. And then I heard clapping. People around me were jumping around and clapping as well..!! </p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-35206860731156679932010-10-15T06:38:00.001+05:302010-10-15T06:38:19.989+05:30You know you work at a Call Centre when...<p> </p> <p><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Call center 1" border="0" alt="Call center 1" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TLepglGLNuI/AAAAAAAAAhg/VFwh1Kkxhoc/Callcenter1_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="265" height="294" /></p> <p>1. When ‘First Shift’ means going to work at 5.30 in the evening.</p> <p>2. When you find that you’re more familiar with the 50 states of the U.S. than our 28 states. (Or is it 29 states)</p> <p>3. When you say that you had a ‘good night sleep’ and you actually mean that you slept from 6.00AM to 4.00PM.</p> <p>4.  When you say your name and your company’s name at the beginning of every call and still get asked ‘Who’s this and what company are you calling from?’</p> <p>5. When you compare your company’s hold music with that of other companies’.</p> <p>6. Everytime your phone rings, you have an inexplicable desire to put  on headphones.</p> <p>7. When your Manager calls for a meeting everytime he feels lonely. </p> <p>8.  When you’ve mastered the art of twiddling your pen, using the keyboard, waving at your friends and of course, talking with the customer at the same time.</p> <p>9. When your Manager calls the above activities ‘Multai-tasking’ when he really means Multi-tasking. </p> <p>10. When you pronounce ‘Zed’ as ‘Zee’</p> <p>11. When you discuss the climate of Florida and that of Arizona as if it’s really in your backyard</p> <p>12. When you regularly get called by something other than your name.</p> <p>13. When you're more comfortable with a Coffee vending machine than a real coffee boy.</p> <p>14. When every other person you meet tells you conspiratorially that he just wants to get out of this industry and that he ‘just isn’t interested in making a career in this industry.’ </p> <p>16. When you know that B stands for Bravo and not Bombay and though you know what L stands for, you don’t even have a clue as to what ‘Lima’ actually is! </p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-40336109921416660272010-10-10T02:44:00.000+05:302010-10-12T14:09:51.304+05:30Needh kaa Nirmaan Phir Phir...<p align="center"><em>    <a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TLQe0s8qYaI/AAAAAAAAAhY/xyG5fj1nZj0/s1600-h/Treeandstormclouds_MG_24367.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Tree-and-storm-clouds_MG_2436" border="0" alt="Tree-and-storm-clouds_MG_2436" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TLQe1QoKzwI/AAAAAAAAAhc/RTP4z0IaqQM/Treeandstormclouds_MG_2436_thumb3.jpg?imgmax=800" width="361" height="253" /></a> </em></p> <p><em>           The clouds gather ominously. The gentle breeze starts blowing with the force of a gale. Lightning strikes. It hasn’t begun raining yet, but you can smell the rain. Trees are ravaged, bent over double by the gust and the only sound you can hear is that of leaves swishing violently and that of tin boards of shops falling over. The sky darkens even more as the sun sets and it is accompanied by loud thunder. All you can see is clouds of dust rising up towards the sky and it is difficult to keep your eyes open. You look up towards the sky and you see that one sparrow which is being bullied mercilessly by the wind. It looks so vulnerable, a small sparrow braving the mighty wind. For every thrust ahead, it is pushed twice backward. And sideways. Still, it fights doggedly and survives another storm.</em></p> <p><em>And then sheets of water start pouring. </em></p> <p><em>And people scamper for safety.</em> </p> <p>It reminds me of a Hindi poem that I learnt in school and I love quoting it. It is written by Harivanshrai Bachchan and it’s based on perseverance & re-generation. I couldn’t recall the whole poem and therefore googled it. I shall soon post a translation as well.</p> <p> </p> <p align="center"> </p> <p align="center">Yah Uthi Aandhi Kii Nabh Main <br />Chaa Gaya Sahsa Andhera <br />Dhooli Dhoosar Badalon Ne <br />Bhoomi Ko Iss Bhaanti Ghera <br />Raat Saa Din Ho Gaya <br />Phir Raat Aayi Aur Kaali <br />Lag Raha Tha Ab Naa Hoga <br />Iss Nisha Ka Phir Savera <br />Raat Ke Utpaat Bhay Se <br />Bheet Jan-Jan Bheet Kan-Kan <br />Kintu Prachi Se Usha Ki <br />Mohini Muskaan Phir Phir, <br />Needh ka nirman phir phir <br />Neh ka avhaan phir phir! </p> <p align="center">Kruddha Nabh ke Vajradanton Main <br />Usha hai muskaraati, <br />Ghor garjanmay gagan ke <br />Kanth main Khag pankti gaati <br />Ek chidiya chonch main <br />Tinka liye jo jaa rahi hai <br />Vah sahaj mein hi pavan unchaas ko <br />Neecha dikha rahi hai. <br />Nash ke dukh se kabhi <br />Dabta nahin nirmaan ka sukh <br />Pralay ki nistabdhata mein <br />Srushti ka navgaan phir phir. <br />Needh ka nirmaan phir phir <br />Neh ka aavhaan phir phir</p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-26698221630173904132010-08-17T16:33:00.001+05:302010-08-17T16:33:08.776+05:30Revisiting the tryst with destiny...<p><em>"I still remember, I was in parliament on the midnight of Aug 14. There was a huge gathering in the hall and we were jostling for space," said  Bal Krishna Khurana, who migrated from Pakistan in 1943 at the age of 25. </em></p> <p><em>"When Pandit Nehru uttered the words 'long years ago, we made a tryst with destiny...' there was not a single person in the hall who didn't have tears in his eyes," </em></p> <p align="right"><em>-Hindustan Times</em></p> <p> </p> <p>Nehru’s ‘Tryst with destiny’ speech is one of the best speeches I have read. I have seen the video a million times and it still has the same effect upon me - A sense of pride, the proverbial  lump in the throat and a familiar glistening of the eye. </p> <p>I always felt that this speech deserved to be up there among the greatest speeches along with Martin Luther King’s ‘I have a dream’ and Winston Churchill’s ‘Britain's finest hour’. What makes it even more deserving is the fact that this speech was made impromptu i.e. without any advance preparations.</p> <div style="padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: none; padding-top: 0px" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:4717561a-b6fb-4e10-8ee4-7a26e25e93da" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent"><div id="3908bef8-2c7a-4201-9c41-7233460c305f" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline;"><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1wUcw8Ufx_Y&feature=related" target="_new"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TGpsaLH19kI/AAAAAAAAAhI/3HdhAWBYCe8/videocc0466fe56e8%5B15%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-style: none" galleryimg="no" onload="var downlevelDiv = document.getElementById('3908bef8-2c7a-4201-9c41-7233460c305f'); downlevelDiv.innerHTML = "<div><object width=\"398\" height=\"333\"><param name=\"movie\" value=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/1wUcw8Ufx_Y&hl=en\"><\/param><embed src=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/1wUcw8Ufx_Y&hl=en\" type=\"application/x-shockwave-flash\" width=\"398\" height=\"333\"><\/embed><\/object><\/div>";" alt=""></a></div></div></div> <p>(<a href="http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/A_Tryst_With_Destiny" target="_blank">Full text of ‘Tryst with destiny’ available here</a>)</p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p>Very similar is Nehru’s ‘The light has gone out of our lives’ speech. Sincere, emotional, eloquent and touching and not to forget, impromptu. Nehru almost chokes with emotion during the speech and it is easily one of the finest eulogies in Indian history.</p> <p>  </p> <div style="padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: none; padding-top: 0px" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:40d4da3d-4685-4f56-bff4-3535f8c16f75" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent"><div id="79b7f927-32d1-4803-833d-dc97cd78e523" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline;"><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DH68tmqNhBE&feature=related" target="_new"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TGpsa2DIhVI/AAAAAAAAAhM/fjSiqfBxfPA/video53f940e685e8%5B10%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-style: none" galleryimg="no" onload="var downlevelDiv = document.getElementById('79b7f927-32d1-4803-833d-dc97cd78e523'); downlevelDiv.innerHTML = "<div><object width=\"386\" height=\"323\"><param name=\"movie\" value=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/DH68tmqNhBE&hl=en\"><\/param><embed src=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/DH68tmqNhBE&hl=en\" type=\"application/x-shockwave-flash\" width=\"386\" height=\"323\"><\/embed><\/object><\/div>";" alt=""></a></div></div></div> <p></p> <p>(<a href="http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Light_Has_Gone_Out" target="_blank">Read the full text of ‘The Light has gone out of our lives’ here</a>.)</p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-30153357212944777922010-08-01T10:08:00.002+05:302010-08-02T12:13:20.466+05:30My looniest essay ever..!!I was asked to write anything that started or ended with ‘One dark, stormy night..’ It was one of those times when you can really write stupid essays and still stand by your taradiddles. So reader, I warn you.. it is NOT a nice, wise post.. :D :P <br /> <br /> <div align="center"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large">***</span></div> <p>Gotham City was being battered by rains that night. It was one of those nights which would’ve otherwise scared the whole of Gotham City but not now. Most of the criminals of Gotham City were safely behind bars. Still, an entire city was asleep and it’s protectors were held back by the forces of nature. This made Gotham City vulnerable to attacks by dark, nefarious elements.  <br />From his customary spot at the top of a building, The Batman kept a lonely vigil. He knew the criminals would be wary of his presence tonight and they might just let the storm pass. He let his thoughts drift... <br />Lately, all his thoughts or all his drifted thoughts revolved around only one person – The Catwoman. He was unable to get her off his mind. He recalled the day they met for the first time. He had relived the moment a thousand times but the memory still excited him. He then recalled their first date –at KFC. How the Catwoman had emptied bucket after bucket of chicken! He smiled. He had only $2.25 with him and The Catwoman would have to foot the bill in the end.<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TDyJ4s71x0I/AAAAAAAAAgc/dJECFtXuQ0Y/s1600-h/batman3.jpg"></a> <p><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="batman" border="0" alt="batman" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TDyJ5vokn_I/AAAAAAAAAgg/c2wtdq-Q5N4/batman_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" height="283" /></p> <br />And so it happened. The Catwoman had to pay for the chicken and later they went for a walk in the nearby park. Halfway down the garden path, they stopped. And then they kissed. It was the wildest sensation he had ever experienced. </p> <p>‘It’s a dark, stormy night.’ He said.</p> <p>‘No, you clumsy fool! It’s 3 in the afternoon.’ The Catwoman replied. ‘Your hood has fallen over your eyes.’</p> <p>‘Duh..’ He said,‘But I thought I heard thunder.’</p> <p>‘No dearie, it wasn’t thunder. It’s just the chicken that I had.’</p> <p>And the gaseous thunder rolled in again.</p> <p>The Batman smiled at the nostalgia and resumed his vigil. The rain had stopped a long time back. Even the sun was ready to shine. </p> <p>‘So much for his lonely vigil!’ Said The Catwoman to herself. ‘Falls asleep on top of a building every night. How I wish he could stop fantasizing about that dark, stormy night!’</p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-62971878366712180422010-07-30T16:01:00.001+05:302010-07-30T16:01:32.673+05:30Pressure or no pressure…<p>This is inspired from reading the newspaper this morning. (Perhaps it’s one of the ways of overcoming a blogger’s block!)</p> <p>Well, it was about the ongoing SSC admissions that have finally begun after an eternity of waiting. A whopping 13500 students scored 90% or more this year compared to Karnataka’s 7000 odd whereas UP and Bihar have 2 and 4 students scoring more than 90%. Andhra Pradesh leads the pack with 140,000 students crossing the coveted threshold. During my school days, there wasn’t even a single student in 15 years who had breached the 90% mark but now the smarty’s list at school is inundated with ninety percenters. This is so reminiscent of the ‘.com’ or the 'stock exchange’ bubble. This is also a bubble waiting to be burst. </p> <p>While the parents of the super kids would be gloating over the success of their kids, little do they realise that their kids might find it very difficult to end up in colleges of their choice despite having scored so heavily in the examinations. One can’t blame the Kids for that because it seems that the entire state is scoring in the 90s now-a-days. By the time the kids get a grasp of what’s happening they are already past school and doing something they don’t want to do.</p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TFKqAFhqjTI/AAAAAAAAAhA/5zCzNAlGd1Y/s1600-h/student%5B3%5D.jpg"><img style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px" title="student" border="0" alt="student" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TFKqA72DQGI/AAAAAAAAAhE/uIP0U90JVZ8/student_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="255" height="262" /></a> </p> <p>What’s more ironical about this ‘90% era’ is the increasing number of protests about the pressure of studying in a school or the weight of a school bag. When we were in school we used to carry the same number of books and the teachers used to spank as well. And the State hadn’t started the much anticipated dumbing down processes as well.</p> <p>However, there is no denying the fact that there is more pressure on the students now than ever before. However, the source of this pressure is rarely due to a heavy bag or a ‘strict’ teacher, it is more often than not the Parents themselves. Nowadays, kids are enrolled in everything possible right from Hindustani Classical Singing to Salsa, Cricket and Acting classes. Mostly, just to assuage a wealthy Parent’s ego.</p> <p>Rarely do we see kids chasing butterflies. Or dreams. And that’s the real problem. </p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-77908012710228036212010-07-21T02:31:00.002+05:302010-07-22T00:30:56.955+05:30The Interview Room<p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TEYOk_Nu9GI/AAAAAAAAAg0/GE7iAkQIMMI/s1600-h/interview_cartoon%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="interview_cartoon" border="0" alt="interview_cartoon" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TEYOl66BsNI/AAAAAAAAAg4/iRbHjpCgnQc/interview_cartoon_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="277" height="268" /></a> <br />As the title suggests, this is about an interview room. Generally it so happens, that at an interview one gets to see all kinds of people wearing a multitude of expressions. I feel very content to observe them from a distance. Tired by the waiting, this group of interviewees formed a circle to share their miseries and while away time. <br />Like every group, this new assortment of individuals too, had those stereotypical members - A garrulous know-it-all, a wild party animal, his sidekick,  a petite bimbo and her loyal buffalo. <br />The Party Animal started the whining, ‘I heard this place has no good pubs or bars around. I doubt if I would survive here for more than two months.’ <br />His sidekick nodded faithfully. <br />‘I heard this job required knowledge about Servers and all.’ Wailed the Bimbo.  <br />‘Naaah! This job is a cakewalk’ Said the Know-it-all, ‘Literally a       c-a-k-e-w-a-l-k’ <br />‘I have done my Majors in Computer Science but I don’t even have a clue about computers.’ The Bimbo continued pitifully. <br />‘Bah! I have worked in this process all my life. All they might ask you is about the OSI Protocol or something about DNS.’ He replied with such pompousness that the Queen would’ve been humbled. <br />The Buffalo joined the party, ‘I have only worked as a receptionist in my previous company and I have no clue as to what am I doing here.’ <br />The Bimbo in an attempt to allay the Buffalo’s fears said, ‘If I get through, you’ll get through too, savvy?’ <br />These wise words somehow seemed to placate the Buffalo. <br />Then the Party animal took over. It was a colossal monologue about how his previous job was fun and how they did everything except work and yet commanded an obscene salary. The Sidekick played his part to perfection by nodding fervently at all the right time. <br />Throughout the monologue, the Buffalo’s eyebrows kept on rising and at one point, I feared it might hit the ceiling if he did not stop at once. <br />Finally it began and the interviewer called took them in one by one. <br />The Bimbo came out first. Her expression gave everything away. <br />Still, The Know-it-all asked, ‘How was it?’ <br />She gave a pitiful smile. <br />He prodded further. She replied, ‘He asked me many questions which I couldn’t answer. He finally asked which OS do I have installed on my laptop. I said it is ‘Window 2007 version 8’. Then he looked at me incredulously to which I said that I have sufficient knowledge about computers but just don’t know the terminologies.’ <br />The Know-it-all laughed cruelly and said, ‘He was so impressed by my resume that he didn’t even dare to ask me a technical question. So I cracked a joke, made him laugh and walked out.’ <br />The Buffalo seemed so tickled by this that all the adipose tissue on her body started heaving up and down as if she were sitting on the bonnet of a moving tractor. She then added, almost apologetically, that she didn’t fare too well in her interview either. <br />           The Know-it-all then, true in the manner of those self-professed intellectuals, told the Buffalo that she would definitely find a job somewhere and left the sentence hanging midway as if it was upto her to figure out that some companies in the world still hired cretins.                                                                                                          The Interviewer then came out and said that out of the five, only one had cleared it. He then looked at the Bimbo meaningfully who took cue and left. The Party Animal and the Sidekick had left already. And then true to the manner of the cruel twists of fate, the Interviewer looked at the Know-it-all, who was by now grinning ear to ear, and said that he too, has been rejected on technical grounds.</p> <p>Now it was his turn to look at the Buffalo incredulously. She replied coolly, ‘I am Bimbo’s classmate. I too, Majored in Computer Science!’ </p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-19687553152894859772010-07-17T10:30:00.001+05:302010-07-17T10:32:38.424+05:30Natarang – Mesmerising, charming..<p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TEE47PTiDVI/AAAAAAAAAgk/nPhy7M8iZSg/s1600-h/Natarang_film3.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="Natarang_(film)" border="0" alt="Natarang_(film)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TEE48jJ0ujI/AAAAAAAAAgo/ZHidzN3CsjI/Natarang_film_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="203" height="390" /></a> </p> <p><em>Natarang</em> released on the 1st of January 2010 and I have been a fool to have missed it for such a long time. While I watched overrated duds like <em>‘Lalbaug Parel’</em> and <em>‘Mee Shivajiraje Bhosle Boltoy’</em> on the first day itself, I somehow missed this movie despite the fact that it starred one of my favourite actors - Atul Kulkarni. </p> <p>Atul Kulkarni plays Guna, a poor labourer who barely manages to keep the food on the table for his family. He is enamoured by Tamasha     (Folk Art) much to the chagrin of his father. Tamasha was considered to be an immoral form of act in those days. When his only source of income is taken away from him,  He goads his friends into starting a theatre troupe. He assumes the responsibilities of a writer/lyricist. Soon, they realise that their Tamasha would not draw crowds unless they have a female lead. So,they scrounge into the nearby villages for a female lead and finally manage to convince a dancer. The Dancer puts forward a condition that the troupe should also have a <em>Nachya</em> (A Pansy character) who will provide comic relief and also will be a crowd puller. Nobody is willing to play the character fearing the consequences and due to the stigma and the social taboo attached to eunuchs. </p> <p>Finally, a reluctant Guna, has to play the <em>Nachya </em>and he takes it up as a challenge. Then follows his struggle to gain acceptance in a society which identifies actors with the characters they portray. </p> <p>             Atul Kulkarni’s transformation from the heavily built Guna to the slim and slender <em>Nachya</em> is astounding. It is said that he gained and lost 16kgs in 42 days for the role. But what is more noteworthy is the ease with which Atul Kulkarni switches from the rustic Guna to the graceful and elegant <em>Nachya. </em>He pumps the testosterone levels in the first half and then drowns everyone in oestrogen in the second. He captivates you and while you’re still gawking at his physical transformation, Atul Kulkarni moves on and mesmerises you with his acting. </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TEE49lvS-cI/AAAAAAAAAgs/odJADuV4SA8/s1600-h/natarang_02054.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="natarang_0205" border="0" alt="natarang_0205" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TEE4-ilazJI/AAAAAAAAAgw/1YuxWMgi_UU/natarang_0205_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="232" /></a> </p> <p>Kishore Kadam is also brilliant as Guna’s manager, Pandoba. Sonali Kulkarni is also charming as the female lead. Guna’s wife, Darki has a half baked character and she complements it with an equally listless performance.</p> <p>The musical score is simply outstanding especially <em>“Atta vajile ki baara”</em> (It’s midnight) and<em> “Apsara Aali”</em> (The Celestial Nymph has arrived) which make you want to get up and dance.</p> <p>This is a must, must watch movie. I rate it as one of the very best of the Marathi film industry and it easily makes into my list of recommendations..!! </p> <p>Take a bow, Mr. Kulkarni..!! :)</p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-49076969333083770192010-07-12T16:03:00.001+05:302010-07-12T16:03:47.796+05:30The Litterateur’s languor<p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TDrvhajh6bI/AAAAAAAAAgU/SXZk87Z-XV0/s1600-h/writers-block-1%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: auto; border-left-width: 0px; margin-right: auto" title="writers-block-1" border="0" alt="writers-block-1" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/TDrvilU1_DI/AAAAAAAAAgY/ODdEFtmFOjI/writers-block-1_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="235" height="366" /></a> </p> <p>A Writer’s Block is supposed to affect a writer. I am, at best,  a Non-Writer. I have a blog and I like to think that I am blogger. So, I surmise I have the ‘Blogger’s Block’ then because I no longer contribute to the poor creature.</p> <p>I was always pretty regular with my posts in the Blogosphere. I never scrounged for ideas they just came to me. But for the last few months, I have just not been able to type anything that’s even remotely sensible. Not that it has bothered me too much, blogging was always just another hobby but somewhere deep down, I guess it matters. The bar on the right hand side which shows the number of posts per month reveals a drastic downward curve and leaves little to the imagination.</p> <p>Still, I have so many ideas and they all just fail to manifest and become a post. The drafts section has about 18-19 incomplete posts with some being very stimulating to be the mind, they just don’t make it to the blog somehow. </p> <p>The fact that I haven’t done anything in months that could be termed as ‘activity’ is one excuse I can offer. I haven’t stopped reading though. On the contrary, I have been reading some seriously ‘serious stuff’ off late almost as if to make up for my lack of contribution to a very relieved blogosphere. </p> <p>I have been thinking of writing a mean review of some of the landmark movies that have released this year or perhaps about some book that I have read recently. Or perhaps, rant about politics or just fume over the ‘Blogger’s block!’</p> <p>Or write trash, which comes naturally!! :D</p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-81104810189477230772010-05-01T18:13:00.001+05:302010-05-01T18:13:33.142+05:30Faiz revisited...<p> </p> <p><font size="2">आज एक हर्फ़ को फिर ढूँढता फिरता है ख्याल,</font></p> <p><font size="2">मध् भरा हर्फ़ कोई, ज़हर भरा हर्फ़ कोई,</font></p> <p><font size="2">दिलनशीं हर्फ़ कोई, कहर भरा हर्फ़ कोई,</font></p> <p><font size="2">आज एक हर्फ़ को फिर ढूँढता फिरता है ख्याल...</font></p> <p><font size="2"> </font></p> <p><font size="2">हर्फ़-ए-उल्फत हो कोई, दिलदार-ए-नज़र हो जैसे,</font></p> <p><font size="2">जिससे मिलती है नज़र, बोसा-ए-लब की सूरत,</font></p> <p><font size="2">इतना रोशन की सरे मौजा-ए-ज़र हो जैसे,</font></p> <p><font size="2">सोहबत-ए-यार मैं आगाज़-ए-तरब की सूरत,</font></p> <p><font size="2">हर्फ़-ए-नफरत कोई शमशीर-ए-ग़ज़ब हो जैसे,</font></p> <p><font size="2">आज एक हर्फ़ को फिर ढूँढता फिरता है ख्याल...</font></p> <p><font size="2"> </font></p> <p><font size="2">ता आबाद शहर-ए-सितम, जिससे तबाह हो जाएँ   </font></p> <p><font size="2">इतना तारिक, के शमशान की शब् हो जैसे </font></p> <p><font size="2">लब पे लाऊँ तो होंठ सियाह हो जाएँ  </font></p> <p><font size="2">आज एक हर्फ़ को फिर ढूँढता फिरता है ख्याल...</font></p> <p align="right"><font size="2">- फैज़ अहमद फैज़</font></p> <p align="right"> </p> <p align="right"> </p> <p align="left"><font size="2">Urdu-English translation:-</font></p> <p align="left"><font size="2"></font></p> <p align="left"></p> <p>Aaj ek harf ko phir dhoondta phirta hai khayal </p> <p><em><font color="#ffff80">(My mind is groping for a word today,)</font></em></p> <p>Madh bhara harf koi, zeher bhara harf koi </p> <p><em><font color="#ffff80">(A word as sweet as wine and as bitter as poison)</font></em></p> <p>Dil-nashin harf koi, qeher bhara harf koi</p> <p><em><font color="#ffff80">(A word that bewitches but is full of rage)</font></em></p> <p>Aaj ek harf ko phir dhoondta phirta hai khayal...</p> <p><em><font color="#ffff80">(My mind is groping for a word today...)</font></em></p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><em></em></p> <p>Harf-e-ulfat koi dildar-e-nazar ho jaise</p> <p><em><font color="#ffff80">(A word as desirable as the lover herself)</font></em></p> <p>Jis’se milti hai nazar bosa-e-lab ki surat</p> <p><em><font color="#ffff80">(Whose glance is like a kiss on the lips)</font></em></p> <p>Itna roshan ke sare-mauja-e-zar ho jaise </p> <p><font color="#ffff80">(As radiant as a sea of gold)</font></p> <p>Sohbat-e-yaar main aghaaz-e-tarab ki surat</p> <p><em><font color="#ffff80">(In the company of a lover, where love is blossoming)</font></em></p> <p>Harf-e-nafrat koi shamsheer-e-ghazab ho jaise,</p> <p><em><font color="#ffff80">(A hateful word cuts like a terrible sword)</font></em></p> <p>Aaj ek harf ko phir dhoondta phirta hai khayal...</p> <p><em><font color="#ffff80">(My mind is groping for a word today...)</font></em></p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p>Ta abad shahre-sitam jis’se tabah ho jayein</p> <p><em><font color="#ffff80">(A word that could destroy this city of sorrow forever,)</font></em></p> <p>Itna tariq ke shamshan ki shab ho jaise</p> <p><em><font color="#ffff80">(As dark as the grave,)</font></em></p> <p>Lab pe laoon to mere honth siyah ho jayein</p> <p><em><font color="#ffff80">(So dark that my lips turn black,) </font></em></p> <p>Aaj ek harf ko phir dhoondta phirta hai khayal...</p> <p><em><font color="#ffff80">(My mind is groping for a word today...)</font></em></p> <p> </p> <p align="right">- Faiz Ahmed Faiz</p> <p> </p> <p>P.S. I have translated parts of the Poem, but a lot of credit goes some prior translations on the internet and a certain Sikander Fayyaz who was patient enough to sit through agonizing trial and error session(s) .</p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-74386554064234484622010-03-17T12:24:00.001+05:302010-03-17T12:24:35.191+05:30The Plight of the Indian ‘Picasso’<p align="left">                  <a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S6B8lFCXddI/AAAAAAAAAfg/EvrcOJij2rQ/s1600-h/mfhussainbig4.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="mf-hussain-big" border="0" alt="mf-hussain-big" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S6B8mNsiz7I/AAAAAAAAAfk/ouUAvMJ4f2c/mfhussainbig_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="259" height="341" /></a> </p> <p align="left">While the papers were going gaga over Sachin’s stupendous feat, it also modestly reported the MF Hussain story. While the story did not gain the mileage it should’ve, it was yet another defeat of the secular India that our leaders had fought for. The Hindu Taliban won again as we continue our steady march towards becoming a Hindu Rashtra where minorities cower and dare not meddle with the Brave majority. </p> <p>It’s time our bourgeoisie intelligentsia wakes up, shrugs off it’s mask of nonchalance and takes up the cudgels on behalf of a 95 year weary,  old man who is too tired to fight his own countrymen. It’s time the isolated voices unite and become a movement requesting the return of the one who was once hailed as the ‘Picasso of India’ by Forbes. The Government could have convinced him easily. Shamefully, they chose not to ‘hurt sentiments’ again.</p> <p>                 <a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S6B8nXPYj4I/AAAAAAAAAfo/z6_qDpSvnOg/s1600-h/MFHussain2_04.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="MF-Hussain2_0" border="0" alt="MF-Hussain2_0" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S6B8ob3vweI/AAAAAAAAAfs/s0-kJZ4RdIs/MFHussain2_0_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="242" height="295" /></a> </p> <p>Nudity has been a part of India’s iconography since centuries. Besides, what good is art if it does not provoke or trigger a debate? But then, the country of Hussain’s choosing is equally worse. He would be allowed to paint as many naked Gods and Goddesses as he wants, but can he paint an Arab woman in the nude? Or can he roam famously barefooted in Qatar? Will he have gushing fans in a land where artistic freedom is still a foreign concept? And will have any outraged fan to stand by him if he rubs the Qatari Royalty the wrong way?</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S6B8pdVpEII/AAAAAAAAAfw/JS2fPIrd-DI/s1600-h/MFhussain6.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="MF hussain" border="0" alt="MF hussain" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S6B8qa-5WCI/AAAAAAAAAf0/49WZEKlMoVY/MFhussain_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="376" height="286" /></a> </p> <p>Still, Hussain’s rejection of India is a shameful indictment of a nation that has treated it’s most famous face so callously. Thousands of Indians give up their citizenship willingly every year to become citizens of U.S., Canada or Australia and we have no shame in claiming them as our sons and daughters every time they make it big. Hussain, on the other hand, walked barefoot into the greatest of International galleries and made the country proud each time. And we shunted him out of the country. I shudder to put myself in his shoes. We don’t deserve someone like MF Hussain. He could’ve so easily and deservingly been Bharat <em>Ratna. </em>(India’s Jewel)</p> <p>Shame.</p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-11772558219443110072010-03-16T14:36:00.001+05:302010-03-16T14:36:31.556+05:30Sach00!! Sach00!!<p><font color="#ffff00">This is a post I had written on the day Sachin scored ‘The’ Double..! For reasons even I don’t know, I did not post it. So reader, please imagine you’re reading this the day after Sachin broke the record.. it’ll might make more sense then..!!</font> </p> <p align="center"><font size="6">***</font></p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S59KCAv4mpI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/1HvNFaZyw2U/s1600-h/sachin-ramesh-tendulkar1%5B2%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="sachin-ramesh-tendulkar1" border="0" alt="sachin-ramesh-tendulkar1" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S59KDEpKp_I/AAAAAAAAAfU/iLpVm0Sh5cY/sachin-ramesh-tendulkar1_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="176" height="244" /></a> </p> <p>And so finally somebody broke Saeed Anwar’s 13 year old record!! And it had to be Him! </p> <p>Just a couple of days ago I spoke about how Sachin makes Indians proud and brings the country to a standstill and how he has ruled the hearts of millions. How an entire nation breaks into an applause everytime the little master dances down the track to hit a six. Or how everytime a billion hearts stop beating when he is on 99. Or how everyone, young and old, forget to breathe when Sachin is on song. Or how, all of a sudden, every person in Bombay seems to be in a great mood..! Or smile when people say, ‘Commit all your crimes when Sachin is batting, because even God is busy watching!’ Today, Sachin, did all of that once again. </p> <p>            <a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S59KEWpKgcI/AAAAAAAAAfY/x2RN34hIhNM/s1600-h/sachin%20200%5B4%5D.jpg"><img style="border-right-width: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" title="sachin 200" border="0" alt="sachin 200" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S59KFTxiRfI/AAAAAAAAAfc/k9IhWFoxmE8/sachin%20200_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="288" height="220" /></a> </p> <p>Although I have so much to write about this breathtaking display of batting, I have run out of words! It’s impossible to try and explain Sachin in words.. </p> <p>Take a bow, Master..!! :) </p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-60613881767615870652010-02-21T13:15:00.001+05:302010-02-21T13:15:32.091+05:30An Open letter to – The Saviour of Saviours…<p>Disclaimer :- Bloggers are <a href="http://underneath-the-masquerade.blogspot.com/2009/02/blogger-be-aware.html">liable to the content they publish</a> and therefore, I will use some easily guessable monikers to save my behind. Besides, I hate to ‘hurt’ public sentiments..! </p> <p align="center"><font size="5">***</font></p> <p>To</p> <p>The Goonda of all Goondas ,</p> <p>The Führer of Bombay oops, Mumbai,  The King of the Great Warrior Clan- The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schutzstaffel">SS</a> (what an apt acronym!), To the Great Remote Control wielding Tiger, Beholder of our destinies... I prostrate myself before you..!! </p> <p>                                                                                                                          <a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S4DkaDSziQI/AAAAAAAAAeY/wAjQ7MWMreI/s1600-h/thakre11%5B5%5D.jpg"><img title="thakre11" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="214" alt="thakre11" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S4DkayTxvmI/AAAAAAAAAec/vpcvA99pTao/thakre11_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="252" border="0" /></a> </p> <p>I am Ayyappan Pillai. I am a nobody. An Indian by Citizenship, Tamilian by birth and a Maharashtrian by domicile. I hate to disturb your afternoon siesta by writing this letter about a trifling issue. But these Middle-Class values just don’t seem to die. </p> <p>Not long ago, your Son was talking about how he needed to change the image of violence attached with the SS and how he needed to work in the rural pockets of Maharashtra and gain their trust as well. I heard him extolling the benefits of welfarist politics and about resorting to the SS’s original ‘80% Social Work and  20% Politics’ motto.  Well, he is not the first politician to do a <em>volte-face</em> nor would he be the last, but your Son had briefly won my admiration and a silent acceptance. But now, He seems determined to wrench your political legacy (Of Hatred, Violence and Intimidation) from your nephew.</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S4DkcUrBDMI/AAAAAAAAAeg/hvT23S7kFIc/s1600-h/uddhav_raj_thackrey_cartoon_20070115%5B7%5D.jpg"><img title="uddhav_raj_thackrey_cartoon_20070115" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="239" alt="uddhav_raj_thackrey_cartoon_20070115" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S4DkdpRM5YI/AAAAAAAAAek/j87UrNdXYf8/uddhav_raj_thackrey_cartoon_20070115_thumb%5B5%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="399" border="0" /></a> </p> <p>I can, therefore, understand the ‘Patriotism’ behind your Son’s opposition to the Pakistani players taking part the IPL. And everyone knows your penchant for digging up pitches and the Government also took your threat to poop on the seats seriously. But even I, your most ardent fan, was pleasantly surprised to know that you always were referring to the seats of the movie theatres. What a ruckus it created, Sir! Every newspaper was lauding your parochial politics. We always knew that the Khan was always a loudmouth, and a migrant loudmouth at that. The exercise proved beneficial for the both of you sir, The Khan’s movie became a raging hit and your Party’s sagging fortunes were revived.</p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S4DkhV7SzEI/AAAAAAAAAeo/Vpgh5ZkkqcY/s1600-h/Cartoon_20100123_jpg_26553f%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="Cartoon_20100123_jpg_26553f" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="270" alt="Cartoon_20100123_jpg_26553f" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S4Dkicd-VmI/AAAAAAAAAes/kK18K49y7Is/Cartoon_20100123_jpg_26553f_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="407" border="0" /></a> </p> <p>I was also pleasantly surprised when you opposed the inclusion of Australian Players in the IPL as their countrymen were guilty of beating up the citizens of our country. Well, that sounded a bit rich coming from you Sir, as you have beaten more of our Countrymen than the Aussies ever will..! Besides, an IPL without the Pakistanis, The Australians, The Bhaiyyas, Muslims and the Madrasis would no longer be the (I)PL, perhaps you should rename it as well..!! </p> <p>You claim to speak for the Marathis and the Maharashtrians but you seem to have targeted the most prominent and loved Marathis. Would you allow Sachin to play in Bombay, because Sachin is also guilty of being an Indian. And Sachin has made the <em>Marathis</em> and more so The Indians, more proud that you can ever!! He too, is guilty of bringing Bombay to a standstill by smashing the Aussies but the difference was that Bombay was always too thrilled to stop – And watch Sachin bat..!</p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S4DklKBj3FI/AAAAAAAAAew/xoWBp7zgWIQ/s1600-h/shiv-sena-cartoons-3%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="shiv-sena-cartoons-3" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="300" alt="shiv-sena-cartoons-3" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S4DkmntXbLI/AAAAAAAAAe0/HK-rN5FSlQg/shiv-sena-cartoons-3_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="394" border="0" /></a> </p> <p>At a time, when the whole world is moving forward at a dizzying pace, Sir, you with your parochial politics, are doing no good for the people of Maharashtra. Rather than scaring away the investor or bullying them with frivolous demands like Marathi signboards, we should find ways to woo them. Look at Mr. Modi, once he too indulged in exploiting people’s fear but soon he realised that it serves only a limited purpose. Setting up the odd Vada-Pav stall would do no good for the Marathi Manoos or to the state’s economy. It’s high time you realise that Bombay is in Maharashtra and not otherwise..!!</p> <p align="right">- Ek Maharastrian <em>Manoos</em></p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-23041298394682347632010-01-31T17:26:00.001+05:302010-01-31T17:26:21.384+05:30Tahaan – A Delight..!!<p>I was intrigued by the movie long back when I saw it’s trailers. The star cast was impressive and the plot was interesting as well. Set in the backdrop of Kashmir, it was the story of a small boy and his pet donkey. I managed to miss the movie, but with so much left to catch up when it comes to movies and books, it is not difficult to forget one movie. Until recently.</p> <p>            Perhaps, it was Friday, when the name of the movie cropped up. A friend casually mentioned that the protagonist of the movie, is my Dentist’s son. I happen to be one of the Dentist’s regular patients (Sigh!) My Dentist is a very handsome chap so his son in the movies was not something unimaginable. Predictably, I went home and <em>googled</em> ‘Tahaan’. It was indeed my dentist’s 8 year old son in the movie. </p> <p>               I picked up the title the very next day. And was very excited about watching a movie I had long forgotten about. The prospect of watching Sarika, Rahul Bose, Anupam Kher and Victor Bannerjee was mouth watering. And of course, it featured my Dentist’s son! The title of the movie intrigued me. <em>Tahaan</em> in Marathi means thirst. I could not recall what it meant in Hindi or Urdu. Upon googling it, I realised that it meant ‘Merciful’ in some languages and in Bengali it meant ‘Tolerance’. In the end, Tahaan turned out to be the Kid’s name. </p> <p>                                Tahaan’s mother (Sarika, expectedly brilliant performance) sells his pet donkey to a businessman make both the ends meet. The movie revolves around a distraught Tahaan trying to get Birbal, his pet Donkey, back. (Apt name for a donkey too!) Tahaan believes that his life’s purpose is to get his donkey back and would do anything for it. </p> <p> </p> <p> <a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S2Vv4JAdyyI/AAAAAAAAAd0/Vx96vzrN3xA/s1600-h/tahaan_011%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="tahaan_011" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="229" alt="tahaan_011" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/S2Vv48O8icI/AAAAAAAAAd4/JJZmUNS6q6E/tahaan_011_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="397" border="0" /></a> </p> <p> </p> <p>The Kid (Purav Bhandare) was a revelation. He was so cute and so vulnerable at times, that you almost reach out to him to protect him from this world. Innocence , sensitivity was like second nature, when he cried, I smiled benignly almost as if to say, ‘Kid, don’t worry nothing’s going to happen, Indian movies have happy endings!’ Aah, how I wish I was a child again..!! :D</p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-49343592521032846572009-12-28T11:28:00.001+05:302010-02-21T13:28:34.229+05:30A Case of The Rich vs The Poor…<p>    <a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/SzhJAFVAmuI/AAAAAAAAAc8/pKrmHA4twF4/s1600-h/rich_poor%5B6%5D.jpg"><img title="rich_poor" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="281" alt="rich_poor" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/SzhJA_UwwWI/AAAAAAAAAdA/3K0TmTNjvqk/rich_poor_thumb%5B4%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="400" border="0" /></a> </p> <p>                    </p> <p>I got a message asking me to wear white on the 26th of November in memory of those who died in last year’s carnage. I dutifully wore a white tee and was very pleasantly surprised to see a whole city in white. Not all had obliged but in a city of 19 Million, even if a miniscule percentage complies… it becomes a swarm of white. You can do the math if you want.</p> <p>There was a countdown to the anniversary of 26/11. The Media, fresh from a couple of very recent countdowns (viz, Tendulkars 17,000 and Tendulkar’s 20 yrs of cricket or Tiger Woods’ bedding count for that matter!!) appeared frenzied about the event’s aniversary, almost as if hoping for the carnage to reoccur and boost the TRPs again. The Times of India released a Black and White edition and the same images have been splashed over and over again for the last 10 odd days. If the idea is to make the people of Bombay remember, it is a touching gesture. But what about the people who want to forget and move on and still they  wake up everyday to see their loved ones sprawled across the floor every morning?</p> <p>What if the places under attack were not The Taj and The Oberoi but the other 54% of Bombay – our slums?! The Media would have given it the same coverage, but would our ‘conscious and aware ’ citizens then flock to the disregarded slums of Dharavi and light candles for them? Or shout slogans like “Bharat Maa kii shaan hai.., Mumbai meri jaan hai!”? (I’m still talking about the lesser of the two Mumbai<em>s</em> here.) </p> <p>Isn’t is a point worth pondering whether the NSG would have even been dispatched if Dharavi would have been the point of attack? </p> <p> </p> <p>          <a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/SzhJBx7mmpI/AAAAAAAAAdU/rppCQB64dlE/s1600-h/dharavi-industry-615%5B8%5D.jpg"><img title="dharavi-industry-615" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="265" alt="dharavi-industry-615" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/SzhJC21CGXI/AAAAAAAAAdY/S2ZrOE_NKEs/dharavi-industry-615_thumb%5B6%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="389" border="0" /></a> </p> <p> </p> <p>    The elite commandoes, the Home Minister’s visit, posse of policemen and the tributes of all the high profile ministers were given just because the point of attack was The Taj. Maybe they were secretly thanking their stars for having chosen some other place to squander taxpayer’s money that day!! </p> <p>Maybe I am being too harsh.</p> <p>I know the terrorists were being gracious in choosing the elites once and including them in our misery. The fact that they chose the iconic CST as a point of attack was an equaliser of some sorts as it was the Common Man’s Taj Mahal. </p> <p>But I would be a hypocrite if I would say that I wasn’t hurt by the attack on Taj and The CST. A visit to Bombay is incomplete without gawking at The Taj. Though it is only a hotel, it enjoys equal popularity in the city when compared to it’s more illustrious namesake in Agra. Thousands throng to The Gateway of India everyday, admire it and then turn around to look at the most splendid structure of Bombay. So many times have we seen the newly-wed middle class husband show his wife The Taj proudly and then whisper conspiratorially in her ear, ‘Do you know, a cup of tea here costs Rs. 200/-’ (God knows why are we so fixated with the cost of tea at Taj and but each of the 19 million residents of Bombay are guilty of uttering the statement!) An attack on The Taj was not only an attack on India’s claim for being safe for tourists, it was also an attack on the psyche of the happy go lucky Bombayite. </p> <p>The siege lasted 60 hours and it had kept an entire nation on it’s tenterhooks. After it was over, the whole nation heaved a sigh of relief and what followed was a tremendous wave of anger. In an unorganised show of solidarity, thousands had thronged to the Gateway of India to express their solidarity with those who lost their loved ones and also to declare their love for their city. 80% of the people who had come for the March had never been to The Taj and in all probability might never ever afford The Taj’s obscenely priced meals, but The Taj for the Bombayite, goes much beyond being our premier 5 star hotel.</p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/SzhJDn5jGJI/AAAAAAAAAe4/lcdN8dIxbMc/s1600-h/taj%20at%20night.jpg"><img title="taj at night" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="242" alt="taj at night" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/SzhJE8OBCTI/AAAAAAAAAfA/_Cym1mVPWlw/taj%20at%20night_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="422" border="0" /></a> </p> <p> </p> <p>Still, what prompted me to write this was a nocturnal visit to the city on Christmas Eve. My friends wanted to munch on the famous kebabs from the Kebab Corners behind the Taj and when we had reached The Taj, I observed that the short stretch of road was guarded like Fort Knox. It’s a very small road and yet a slew of policemen were stationed, checking upon every motorist and trespasser. For a minute I thought we were somewhere near the border, but then I realised that the rich were attacked a year ago..!! </p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-413371875529550492009-12-10T23:42:00.001+05:302009-12-12T08:53:29.656+05:30HIStory..<p>Just felt that today's date was ‘very important’ to me and that it should be etched, immortalised in my HIStory….. </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p>Thanks..!! :)</p>Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-8150518025253596012009-11-26T23:07:00.000+05:302009-11-27T02:02:40.021+05:30A year on…<p><em>                   <a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/Sw7l40rvMzI/AAAAAAAAAcw/cW1WsxpS6Ak/s1600-h/parade%5B8%5D.jpg"><img title="parade" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="228" alt="parade" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/Sw7l5p89kHI/AAAAAAAAAc0/omrir7dBTeM/parade_thumb%5B4%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="269" border="0" /></a> </em></p> <p><em></em></p> <p><em>‘We were playing a mindless game in The Office. It was the end of the day. I was juggling college with Office back then. Suddenly, my trainer got a call and his face hardened. </em></p> <p><em>“There has been a bomb blast in Vile Parle.” He said before plunging into his phone again. Sometime later, his phone rang again. “There has been some shooting reported in The Taj Mahal Hotel. Some gangs decided to slug it out in the open it seems. The blast in Vile Parle was just a rumour, I guess.” </em></p> <p><em>Then suddenly a girl from our team started throwing a fit. I thoroughly disliked her, let’s call her Ms.Loosepants for the time being. Apparently her brother was a member of the staff at The Taj Mahal hotel and for once, I did not find her to be attention grabbing. Everyone consoled her and said that it was just some gangsters slugging it out and not something serious. It had little effect on her. And soon news started trailing in that it was no gangwar at The Taj. Bombay was facing it’s first ever hostage situation. I still did not know what would the next 60 hrs have in store for me. I was just hoping to have a dekko at the news at home and resume reading Mohammad Hanif’s ‘A Case of Exploding Mangoes.’  </em></p> <p><em>Soon, it was time to leave. It was only after I reached home that I realised the gravity of the situation. Of course, we were stopped thrice in the 20 minute drive from The Office to my house with Policemen pointing guns at us (That IS a scary experience!) and frisking everything, literally everything. I admit I was intimidated. I also did not fail to see the sheer number of makeshift bunkers that had come into place within two hours. </em></p> <p><em>I had reached home at midnight. I remember watching the news until 5AM. I still remember the anguish that had set in when I saw the Taj on fire. I called Ms.Loosepants to check upon her brother. She said that her brother had called and had said he was fine and was hiding in the basement with some guests. I reassured her and asked her to go to sleep. I knew sleep would be hard to come by for the both of us. And to a lot of other people as well….</em></p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><font size="3">Yes. Bombay was under siege last year.. this hour of the day.. </font></p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-67920988837011865982009-10-10T12:50:00.001+05:302009-10-10T12:52:01.303+05:30My brilliance.. in virulence..!<p> <strong>Statutory Warning # 1</strong>: Reading this post may irritate some dunderheads. Who might later storm my house and beat me up..! I give two hoots..!! :D   </p> <p> </p> <p><strong>Statutory Warning # 2 :</strong> Please, don’t view my posts as Anti-Marathi, they are Pro- India.</p> <p>                      *********************</p> <p> </p> <p>             <a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/StA1mXalpsI/AAAAAAAAAcg/1_8e_8_JIc4/s1600-h/1209086.jpg"><img title="120908" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="231" alt="120908" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/StA1ndebZJI/AAAAAAAAAck/A20D9dKquTU/120908_thumb4.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" border="0" /></a></p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p>What if our Chota Cub passes out of Bombay Scottish, sails through college, does exceedingly well at the incumbent CAT and actually gets a call from one of the IIMs?</p> <p>And what if it turned out to be IIM - Lucknow?</p> <p> </p> <p>Any ordinary Marathi <em>Manoos</em> would have been in a dilemma. But not Cub Sir.</p> <p>He roars into the mike, “My Son conquered IIM Lucknow, but he would not study there. He won’t step into the state that has been Maharashtra’s undoing..!”</p> <p>A thunderous applause follows.</p> <p> </p> <p>                    <a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/StA1oa304_I/AAAAAAAAAco/4mR0yfKrp5A/s1600-h/rajth4.jpg"><img title="raj th" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="323" alt="raj th" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/StA1pS3psAI/AAAAAAAAAcs/IT9wPaP4KHw/rajth_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="230" border="0" /></a> </p> <p> </p> <p>And all of a sudden, I pop out of nowhere and grab the mike from Cub Sir’s hands. <em>(It’s MY blog, you see!)</em></p> <p> </p> <p>I roar into the mike now. </p> <p> </p> <p>“All hail the upholder of Maratha Pride! It is He who has shown us The Way. Like scattered sheep we were wandering aimlessly but now, we’ve found our Shepherd. Like Moses parted the Sea with his staff to make way for the Christians, Cub Sir would part the Indians to make way for the <em>Marathis</em>! </p> <p>      My fellow Maharashtrians, let us all, at this solemn moment, pledge to not waver like Cub Sir. Let His wisdom give us the strength to emulate him. </p> <p>             Let us all pledge to never desert Maharashtra. Even if our kids make it to the IITs and the IIMs, let them serve Maharashtra in Maharashtra, for we were fortunate enough to be born here. So, let our children live, rot and die here without ever stepping out of Maharashtra for they were equally fortunate to be born here. Let us kill them all by confining their bright, young minds within the walls of a city and the confines of a language. Let’s poison their thoughts while our leaders indulge themselves in a disgusting orgy of renaming schools and erecting token memorials! Let us rest on our laurels, slip into a trance and croak our throats out over our superiority over the rest of ‘them’! Croak – yes.. we’ll croak because we’re no better than the proverbial frog in the well..!”</p> <p> </p> <p>I am finished. I return the mike to Cub Sir.</p> <p>There is pin drop silence. One man gets up and yells an obscenity at me. Others follow suit.. soon they start throwing slippers at me.</p> <p> </p> <p>Alas! Nobody likes to listen to the truth..</p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-69868688771065648472009-10-04T03:33:00.002+05:302010-02-21T15:43:23.977+05:30When Karan kowtowed…<p>                        <a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/SsfKErq_NrI/AAAAAAAAAcA/sQ977IqUBLs/s1600-h/Bombay_dogs_animated_movie%5B7%5D.jpg"><img title="Bombay_dogs_animated_movie" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="315" alt="Bombay_dogs_animated_movie" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/SsfKFswvg-I/AAAAAAAAAcE/43CGqCXaSXI/Bombay_dogs_animated_movie_thumb%5B5%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="223" border="0" /></a> </p> <p></p> <p> </p> <p>               Karan Johar is indeed a lucky chap that I am busy with my examinations. He is a great director and I love his movies because they so wonderfully espouse the Indian values and demonstrate to the world the greatness of the Indian culture. Though his last movie was a preposterous story about adultery and independent women, I liked it because both make good fiction. I was keen to watch his new movie, Wake Up Sid. But I won’t be watching it now.</p> <p>Not because my friend said that it was a terrible movie, but because Karan Johar, with this movie, showed how ungrateful he could be to the city that gave him everything. Calling the city by it’s colonial name is sacrilege. The mere mention of the dreaded word, Bombay brings into mind hideous memories of our terribly secular, cosmopolitan, inclusive, spinster-like past. Bombay was a city riddled with problems. Slums, People, Women, Muslims, Madrasis, Stray Dogs etc. defiled the city. Our Beloved Leader had redeemed us and had solved our problems with one move. He renamed the city, and Bombay was gone! We were given a new city to live in. Since then, we have seen so many concrete steps (pun inserted by accident) being taken to prevent influx of poor people into the city. Barring the occasional bomb blast or the accidental flood, we have seen virtually no crime save a few rapes and some silly murders. </p> <p>In fact, Mumbai is looking forward to a great future. We have just inaugurated the costliest bridge in all of Asia (by way of toll costs too) . We consume the least power in the country (As we don’t have it for the better part of the day!) Our airport (Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport) is undergoing renovation, so is our railway station (Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus) and our museum (Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vaastu Sanghralaya) is already a Grade I heritage structure. In some years, we will have a statue of Maharaj in the middle of the Arabian sea. It is rumoured to be taller than the Statue of Liberty itself. Contrary to popular perception, it is not a lavish indulgence on part of the Government, but it is a clever ploy to attract more tourists from the sea. (Accidental pun # 2) </p> <p>Coming back to the main topic, that ungrateful Karan Johar will lose out on Rs.160 as I am not going to watching a movie which ‘hurt’ my sentiments. Besides, the entire movie does not feature a single Marathi actor and the dialogue writer was some South Indian half-wit who dared to refer to Mumbai as Bombay. Do we call his city Madras or Trivandrum? </p> <p>Our Tiger Cub saved Karan Johar from our Beloved Leader’s wrath and Karan Johar rightfully paid obeisance to Mr. Cub and accepted his mistake. Cub Sir has dared people to use the tabooed word again and face dire consequences! Chota Cub Sir though, studies in Bombay Scottish. Cruel twist of fate. </p> <p>Cub Sir’s secret obsession is to rename Bombay Times, the only problem is that they are too powerful for Cub Sir’s liking!! </p> Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-15458874340702478572009-09-19T02:44:00.005+05:302009-09-20T01:37:20.724+05:30Ismat Aapa Ke Naam…!!<p> <a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/SrP4FiryNMI/AAAAAAAAAbo/kkY5idPx0CQ/s1600-h/ismataapaknam4.jpg"><img title="ismataapaknam" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="291" alt="ismataapaknam" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/SrP4GmrdgOI/AAAAAAAAAbs/kt7NfElSOoQ/ismataapaknam_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="363" border="0" /></a> </p> <p> </p> <p> I was looking forward to this day a lot. I had tickets for the Motley Theatre Fest’s play ‘<em>Ismat Aapa Ke Naam’</em>. It is the enactment of three short stories by the famed and controversial Urdu writer, Ismat Chugtai. Motley prefers to call it a story telling session, but it is an enactment actually. With no change to the original dialogues, minimal props and despite having only one actor for each story, it still didn’t come across as a story telling session. It was enacted by three masters, from the same family – Naseeruddin Shah, Ratna Pathak and Heeba Shah. </p> <p> I saw the last two Motley plays at Prithvi (Bombay’s Mecca of theatre) and NCPA ( Mecca II, maybe!) respectively and I knew that a certain B.N. Vaidya Hall (What a dicey name!), however good it may be, would disappoint me. I was not wrong. It turned out to be King George school’s (Predictably renamed as Raje Shivaji School) auditorium. The crowd too, was the all too familiar assortment of the too affable, art loving, bourgeoisie intelligentsia. Everyone, with the exception of my friend and me, seemed to know each other. The only consolation was that there were more younger people. The last time, at NCPA, we were the only 20 something among a crowd of 100 people who had come to see ‘<em>The Caine Mutiny Court Martial’.</em> Everyone seemed to be on the wrong side of the 60<em>s</em> there<em>.</em> </p> <p><em> </em>The play (or should I say, the story telling session) began at 8.00 PM as scheduled. And right away, we were transported to middle class Muslim families in U.P.</p> <p> The name of the first story was ‘<em>Chui Mui’</em> and was portrayed by Heeba Shah. Her diction and narration was flawless, as she told us the story of a pregnant <em>Bhabhi Jan</em> from the eyes of a young girl. It hit me in the face, the contrast between the pampered rich <em>Bhabhi Jan</em>, and a poor woman. </p> <p> I was still applauding for Heeba Shah when the second story began almost immediately (No props, you see!). It was the moment I was waiting for. It was ‘<em>Mughal Bachha’</em>, Ratna Pathak’s turn. My Friend and I, are unabashed admirers of Ratna Pathak, and were very keen to see her performing an Urdu rendition.She looks more stunning in real life than in TV. Her tone, her pitch and those expressions were picture perfect. To say that she played her part with panache, would only state the obvious. Or perhaps it is a huge understatement.</p> <p> </p> <p> <a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/SrP4HpUIQYI/AAAAAAAAAbw/O3Gz8tcLC54/s1600-h/IA13.jpg"><img title="IA1" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="311" alt="IA1" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/SrP4Ib-ZkDI/AAAAAAAAAb0/4SSwC6tTzL8/IA1_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="209" border="0" /></a> </p> <p> </p> <p> They had reserved the best for the last. Pop! Jumped in Naseeruddin Shah with a delightful comic caper. The name of the story was “<em>Gharwali</em>” and I don’t think lust was ever portrayed in such a funny manner and not once did it appear raunchy. From the feisty, carefree Lajjo to the bumbling, old bachelor Mirza, Naseer jumped in and out of characters with ease, as the audience watched, mesmerised. He had the audience guffawing one moment, and sit upright the very next moment. His mastery of the art shone through his performance which, was the cherry on the cake, literally!</p> <p> </p> <p> <a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/SrP4JUAEuvI/AAAAAAAAAb4/PsH_AGW6qG8/s1600-h/IA33.jpg"><img title="IA3" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="284" alt="IA3" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/SrP4KIYrKBI/AAAAAAAAAb8/Wi3Y5nNVdGw/IA3_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="206" border="0" /></a> </p><p><br /></p> <p> </p> <p> In the end, I realised I was standing, clapping loudly like small kid who’s just seen the magician pull a rabbit out of his hat! </p><p><br /></p> <p> </p> <p><strong>P.S.: </strong>Tomorrow is the <em>grand finale</em> of the Motley Fest as they perform their most famous, longest running play – Samuel Beckett’s <em>‘<b>Waiting for Godot</b>.</em>’ I doubt if I’ll be able to sleep tonight..!! :D</p>Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3386504209260507818.post-15155623303726421272009-09-16T02:19:00.003+05:302009-09-16T02:34:04.390+05:30Foyer Voyeur..!<p> </p> <p> <a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/Sq_913q8o5I/AAAAAAAAAbg/ZmpI6yjvuXc/s1600-h/voyeur%5B5%5D.jpg"><img title="voyeur" style="border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; border-left: 0px; border-bottom: 0px" height="267" alt="voyeur" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_W5BpZo7jtew/Sq_93OELuuI/AAAAAAAAAbk/d7L0SSqa6zQ/voyeur_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="397" border="0" /></a> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><strong><em>“When the chips are down, these civilized men won’t hesitate to eat each other!”</em></strong></p> <p> </p> <p>This is a dialogue from the movie The Dark Knight. This is where The Joker tries to explain to The Batman about the futility of standing up for the civilized society. The Joker had the best dialogues in the movie but I felt this was a little too much. I rolled my eyes back then. Later, the more I thought about it, the more it became evident. Scratch the surface, our holier-than-thou façade starts to fade and we can see the real self. The Self that The Joker was alluding to. The one that would not hesitate to kill The Other at the drop of a hat. It is well concealed beneath the pleasantries and the etiquettes. The real us is always lurking near the surface though. It’s like a bunch of vampires trying hard to lead a life between a bevy of beautiful girls. This façade nauseates me. Underneath the masquerade, everybody is a voyeur and a savage.</p> <p> It is not a very unknown part of us. Man recognized his Frankenstein long back, but we have now started to feed the voyeur within us. It is despicable. Collect some celebrities and put them in a room full of cameras for the world to see. We all sit glued to it, fascinated, watching the celebrity eat and drink like us. It makes us feel better when we see that they too, break wind like us. And if not celebrities, bring a middle aged Mom to the hot seat and put her through the most uncomfortable and sadistic of questions and make her answer them for the lure of money. The audience won’t even know the name of the 50 something Mom and, in all probability, would never bump into her, yet they are transfixed to the seat during the commercial break post which she will reveal her husband’s role in her son’s birth. People forget to eat, they wait with bated breath as the skeletons tumble out of her closet.</p> <p> The other day, Amma was watching something on her Tamil channel. It was the interview of a man who lost his limbs while trying to cross railway tracks. He explained how the railway station has no foot-over-bridge for people to cross over and said, amidst tears, how his life had grinded to a full stop after the accident. That he was the sole breadwinner of a poor family and how his illiterate wife now struggles to make both ends meet. It was immediately followed by the story of a Kid who was blinded in the Slumdog Millionaire style. The next week they were to air the story of a Kid who was raped by her father. I was all ears, disgusted with myself for being the voyeur that I was.</p> <p> The other day, I was at the bus stop, at 12.30 AM. It was the last bus of the day and we were an impatient crowd waiting for it. It arrived finally and all hell broke loose. People jumped upon the bus like a pack of wolves over a solitary lamb. Forget about queue etiquettes and chivalry, even children were not spared. Once inside the bus did people realise that it was an empty bus. People were now smiling sheepishly at each other from the comforts of their window seats.</p> <p> It disgusts me. When I see people craning their neck from the window of a bus to get a better view of the drunkard who is beating his wife or when people rush too see an accident site and are almost disappointed when there are no casualties. Or when I see civilized women pull each other’s hair in public over matters as quotidian as a window seat in a bus and when the other men stand on their seats to get a better view of the fight. </p> <p> These educated educated people define a voyeur as the ‘<em>one who peeps into the ladies’ rooms</em>.’ What about the people who peep into other’s lives? Aren’t they voyeurs as well? </p>Ayyappanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03303674609374590723noreply@blogger.com16