Its 10 past 10, you remember the meeting was at a quarter to and then panic strikes: What will one say!! Imagine coming face to face with the grumbling MD, this was an important one. And out you whip your mobile messiah, lies that lie close at hand. Stuck in traffic, was unable to get through, bad signal area!! Absolution and that too anonymously. Mobiles have not only given us instant communication but instant communion and confessional as well.
What if mobiles could talk to each other. Share the true thoughts of their owners. The millions who have no fingerprints left and no conscience.
SMS: Grt party last night (Mobile: Yup he smsd 30 ppl about the bad food!)
SMS: Sorry not too well going to bed early (The wife’s just offered him sex after a decade !)
SMS: Stuck in traffic (Still at home)
SMS: Lets catch up soon!! (don’t want to see you in a hurry)
SMS: Can we delay by 15 minutes (The presentation is still not ready)
SMS: What are u up to ?? (I’m bored with my lunch date/my work/ my life)
Could we do all this face to face, or have mobiles helped in removing our conscience as well. How many times has truthfulness, been replaced by 160 characters of pulp fiction. I once had a colleague who even found a novel way of sending sympathetic messages of self pity to dear friends that unfortunately made there way to me her bosses phone! If her phone had a conscience it would have died on her. I have classified my mobile friends into categories.
Forwarding friends: The ones who have the maximum spare time on there hands! Either they are out of work or out of whack or disguised employees of mobile companies!!
Spelling bees: D 1 who kild d dctnry
Hindi homelands: Zinke msg bhasha ki instant khicdi karte hoon aur grammar ka bhi!
Below jobs: The blackberry keyboard texters under the rim of meeting tables!
Perpetual procrastinators: I’ll get back to u!
There are many more but let this not dissuade my friends from sending me congratulatory messages on this column!
Beep beep : Oops that’s my mobile! Kindly pay ur bill by today or phone will be disconnected
Got to go!!
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Lingweenie
I have discovered a series of articles I had written for The Week magazine, these were about 2 years ago. But it seems the intention though honourable from both ends never got us to a concrete end. So here they are posted and preserved. May the be of some purpose to someone this week or the next or whenever...
LINGWEENIE
Children are angels till they find words!! My son has crossed that laxman rekha, he is all of 3 and a half years old and as such it is time to pattern the syllables escaping his lips, Its time to look for a school. The search begins and the fear hangs over our head like the sword of Damocles. My wife has been fretting and fuming for a few centuries saying we need to see the schools, I’m a little amazed as I existed in a time when there were no options you either went to the Girls school or Boys school and the maximum choice was Hindi Medium or English and Government or Private.
As such I surveyed a certain number of schools and was amazed to see the various options available: Australian curriculum, IB, Marathi, Hindi, English medium, schools that take children from particular communities, others that encourage pin code segregation. Imagine a child talking to another: I’m Mumbai 53 U are ? Mumbai 61! Oh sorry my mummy and daddy only allow me to speak to 55 and 54. There birthday parties are nearer to our home!
Schools with playgrounds, schools that our multi storeyed, schools that ensure international placements to universities, schools that have uniforms, schools that interview children who are 3 , schools that interview parents till 3 (pm) and schools that expect parents to attend schools as well.
Having assumed some semblance of a scholarly concerned father I attend an orientation by one school. The teacher starts in earnest, “ Werlcome tyu the bestest school in town! For the sake of not torturing your ears I will keep it short. The teacher had an accent picked up between the French and American embassy and I have it on good authority that her visas to both were rejected. But 10 points for imagination! She even found r’s to roll in words that don’t contain the alphabet.
I also noticed a unique fact, the school took great pains to say that they do not discriminate between boys and girls and your child will always be looked after. He will grow up to be strong of will, he will discover new things, he will play and learn…Some prejudices are better removed from the mind rather than paid poor lip service to.
I hastened to her after the session: Madam when will you put up the interview list
Dunno as yet will get back to you asap!!
MY mind processes the don’t know and says so should I call back
Yep If u wanna!!
I imagined my son walking in and say: Gu morn da! He would have willingly participated in the murder of the language as I knew it. But look and listen, the words have changed. A wedggie is not a short form for a plant eater but a crease riding your butt leading to strictly non vegetarian thoughts. Ginormous is not a double patiala peg of gin but something bigger than gigantic and enormous. Chillax, is not the ax murderer who got locked out on Christmas day but hanging out with friends. These words are real and they exist and each generation adds its favourites to the chain of spoken word, but the murder of the existing words is a crime we commit daily. Primary school teachers who are irrigating the fertile soil of imagination have a responsibility to them as well, to speak the language as it was meant to be, to strain the influence of the affected affluence of sources and let the synthesis of cultures do its best to grind a few syllables together and create a new word when the child has a mind of his or her own.
My son goes to a simple school now and each day I spend some time trying to inculcate in him a love for the language I have learnt to express and absorb with.
Call me old fashioned but I am not a lingweenie and look that up in an online dictionary before you cast aspersions on my sexual prowess in any way!!
LINGWEENIE
Children are angels till they find words!! My son has crossed that laxman rekha, he is all of 3 and a half years old and as such it is time to pattern the syllables escaping his lips, Its time to look for a school. The search begins and the fear hangs over our head like the sword of Damocles. My wife has been fretting and fuming for a few centuries saying we need to see the schools, I’m a little amazed as I existed in a time when there were no options you either went to the Girls school or Boys school and the maximum choice was Hindi Medium or English and Government or Private.
As such I surveyed a certain number of schools and was amazed to see the various options available: Australian curriculum, IB, Marathi, Hindi, English medium, schools that take children from particular communities, others that encourage pin code segregation. Imagine a child talking to another: I’m Mumbai 53 U are ? Mumbai 61! Oh sorry my mummy and daddy only allow me to speak to 55 and 54. There birthday parties are nearer to our home!
Schools with playgrounds, schools that our multi storeyed, schools that ensure international placements to universities, schools that have uniforms, schools that interview children who are 3 , schools that interview parents till 3 (pm) and schools that expect parents to attend schools as well.
Having assumed some semblance of a scholarly concerned father I attend an orientation by one school. The teacher starts in earnest, “ Werlcome tyu the bestest school in town! For the sake of not torturing your ears I will keep it short. The teacher had an accent picked up between the French and American embassy and I have it on good authority that her visas to both were rejected. But 10 points for imagination! She even found r’s to roll in words that don’t contain the alphabet.
I also noticed a unique fact, the school took great pains to say that they do not discriminate between boys and girls and your child will always be looked after. He will grow up to be strong of will, he will discover new things, he will play and learn…Some prejudices are better removed from the mind rather than paid poor lip service to.
I hastened to her after the session: Madam when will you put up the interview list
Dunno as yet will get back to you asap!!
MY mind processes the don’t know and says so should I call back
Yep If u wanna!!
I imagined my son walking in and say: Gu morn da! He would have willingly participated in the murder of the language as I knew it. But look and listen, the words have changed. A wedggie is not a short form for a plant eater but a crease riding your butt leading to strictly non vegetarian thoughts. Ginormous is not a double patiala peg of gin but something bigger than gigantic and enormous. Chillax, is not the ax murderer who got locked out on Christmas day but hanging out with friends. These words are real and they exist and each generation adds its favourites to the chain of spoken word, but the murder of the existing words is a crime we commit daily. Primary school teachers who are irrigating the fertile soil of imagination have a responsibility to them as well, to speak the language as it was meant to be, to strain the influence of the affected affluence of sources and let the synthesis of cultures do its best to grind a few syllables together and create a new word when the child has a mind of his or her own.
My son goes to a simple school now and each day I spend some time trying to inculcate in him a love for the language I have learnt to express and absorb with.
Call me old fashioned but I am not a lingweenie and look that up in an online dictionary before you cast aspersions on my sexual prowess in any way!!
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Going for a song!!
Saturday nights are battles for the remote. I was at my father in laws house and he had invited some friends over. We were moving from Idol to Sa Re Ga Ma Pa. At Idol I noticed Emon being eliminated. Prashant and Amit Paul remained composed and so did the young Emon. People muttered under their breath about biased voting and not fair. We also switched to Voice of India where apparently a Saradr singer is making waves in his community. But somewhere beneath the surface can we not see what is going on.
Regional states which have been marginalized of an identity are finding a new way to express themselves. The sms vote at 3 to 6 Rupees makes for great empowerment. Shillong, Darjeeling are becoming a reality, a living breathing entity beyond the customary bamboo dance shot in national integration videos. So as judges grind their teeth and fans react to their idols exit, the faces in Shillong and Darjeeling will be glowing tonight. I remember when we were shooting Public Demand and would travel to Ambala, Shimla, Ajmer the response would be much better than jaded Mumbai and Delhi. The urge to be on camera, to share the spotlight, to be noticed was so much more. And so the magnified resposne via sms!!
When Debojit won Sa re ga ma pa year before it was the same thing. The only fallout was that everyone from Assam still expects him to perform for free their as they CREATED him.
I recently heard that Hindi literacy numbers have improved due to a small innovation in Chitrahaar; it runs with subtitles like a karaoke song. Of course the added benefit is that some parts of India can appreciate the wonder of new age lyricists and can invent their own langaguge: Zubi Zubi, Ding Dong, Pant bhi sexy, Dhamaal, etc.
If Prashant teh sepoy wins the further marginalized will express their voice, I fear they may not have enough mobiles between them. Amit Paul will bring Shillong into the mainstream!! While perhaps better singers fall at the altar of mobile manipulation. 50 lakh smses for Prashant. Lets do a back of envelope calculation!! 50,00,000 X 3= 1.5 crores. Split this into 10% for the rights holder, 30% for channel, the rest split between servcie provider and technology provider.
And if this is per episode!! lets make the regions war for more as everybody hears the cash register ring!! Right now talent is going for a song, or an sms!!
Regional states which have been marginalized of an identity are finding a new way to express themselves. The sms vote at 3 to 6 Rupees makes for great empowerment. Shillong, Darjeeling are becoming a reality, a living breathing entity beyond the customary bamboo dance shot in national integration videos. So as judges grind their teeth and fans react to their idols exit, the faces in Shillong and Darjeeling will be glowing tonight. I remember when we were shooting Public Demand and would travel to Ambala, Shimla, Ajmer the response would be much better than jaded Mumbai and Delhi. The urge to be on camera, to share the spotlight, to be noticed was so much more. And so the magnified resposne via sms!!
When Debojit won Sa re ga ma pa year before it was the same thing. The only fallout was that everyone from Assam still expects him to perform for free their as they CREATED him.
I recently heard that Hindi literacy numbers have improved due to a small innovation in Chitrahaar; it runs with subtitles like a karaoke song. Of course the added benefit is that some parts of India can appreciate the wonder of new age lyricists and can invent their own langaguge: Zubi Zubi, Ding Dong, Pant bhi sexy, Dhamaal, etc.
If Prashant teh sepoy wins the further marginalized will express their voice, I fear they may not have enough mobiles between them. Amit Paul will bring Shillong into the mainstream!! While perhaps better singers fall at the altar of mobile manipulation. 50 lakh smses for Prashant. Lets do a back of envelope calculation!! 50,00,000 X 3= 1.5 crores. Split this into 10% for the rights holder, 30% for channel, the rest split between servcie provider and technology provider.
And if this is per episode!! lets make the regions war for more as everybody hears the cash register ring!! Right now talent is going for a song, or an sms!!
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Bhaag Lo
Zindagi ki har paristhiti mein humare paas do raaste hote hain : Bhaag Lo ya Bhaag Lo!!
Aajkal bhaagne se rishta zyaada hai. Wazan kuch zyada ho gaya hai is liye bhaagna padta hai, biwi ke comments se, doston ki muskurahat se, producers ki nazar se. Kabhi kabhi sheeshe mein mujhe achambe se dekhte us pratibimb se jo kabhi main tha.
Har shehar hum par apni koi chaap chor jaata hai. Lucknow ne mujhe zehniyat di, Dilli ne maulat, Mumbai ne daulat. Lekin har shehar suut samet apne asal ki wasooli bhi karta hai. Lucknow thoda meherbaan tha, usne zyaada kuch nahin maanga, kuch bachpan ke romance, kuch school ke jhagde, kuch medal jo main jeet na paaya apne paas rakh liye.
Dilli connection ka shehar hai. Das saal mein dus dus percent lete lete usne mujhse bahut kuch wasoola. Sabse pehle to mujhse masoomiyat cheeni. College ke dino mein lagta tha ki ek hur pari milegi. Woh aasman se zameen par tapak kar mera haath thaam legi. Lekin aisa na hua, panchi ko dana daala to gaya, lekin phir hur hur karke mujhe dara bhi diya gaya. Accha hi tha, maine apne aap se kaha, daane ke neeche humesha jaal hota hai.
Alhadh pan se jawani tak ka safar badi teezi se nikla. Lekin ekdin pata chala. Hum bade ho gaye hain. Kaam samhala, naam samhala. Phir dilli ne dastak di. Ama mian, zara kuch apna bhi chodte jaao. Baut kuch chora. Kuch aur rishte girvi rakhe, dosti mein bhool huyi, shadi mein chook. Lekin itni maulat milti gayi ki har bhool chuk maaf ho gayi.
Phir 99 mein Mumbai ki taraf udaan bhari. Daulat aur Shohrat dono payi. Saccha Pyaar bhi mila. Mujhe laga ek naya sapna shuru hua hai. Dheere dheere is shehar ke thekedaar bhi aa gaye wasooli karne. Pehle waqt chin gaya. Phir chain. Jaise kisi local main achanak chain kheench di ho kisi ne aur lambe safar par sota passenger sakpaka ke uth jaaye.
Main aaj bhi Mumbai mein hoon. Bhaag daud ke is shehar mein Bhaag leta hoon. Har roz din se joojhta hoon, samay ke court mein duhai deta hoon, kuch lamhe de do apnon ke saath, apne aap ke saath. Faryaad suni nahin jaati. Kaha jaata hai ye sab tumhare haath mein hai!
Zindagi ki har paristhiti mein humare paas do raaste hote hain : Bhaag Lo ya Bhaag Lo
Bhaag lete lete main ek Mahal main pahunch gaya hoon. Jaise hi seedhe chadta hoon peeche ki seedhe gir ke gayab ho jaati hai. Uski jagah kuch aur chehre aa jaate hain. Hanste chehre, hairaan chehre, tareef karte chehre, tareeqi chehre.
Koi aur chaara bhi nazar nahin aata. Badhte jaoo, chadte jao.
Andar se ek awaaz kuch kehti hai, lekin matlab samajh nahin paata:
Bhaag Lo, Bhaag Lo, Bhaag Lo.
Aajkal bhaagne se rishta zyaada hai. Wazan kuch zyada ho gaya hai is liye bhaagna padta hai, biwi ke comments se, doston ki muskurahat se, producers ki nazar se. Kabhi kabhi sheeshe mein mujhe achambe se dekhte us pratibimb se jo kabhi main tha.
Har shehar hum par apni koi chaap chor jaata hai. Lucknow ne mujhe zehniyat di, Dilli ne maulat, Mumbai ne daulat. Lekin har shehar suut samet apne asal ki wasooli bhi karta hai. Lucknow thoda meherbaan tha, usne zyaada kuch nahin maanga, kuch bachpan ke romance, kuch school ke jhagde, kuch medal jo main jeet na paaya apne paas rakh liye.
Dilli connection ka shehar hai. Das saal mein dus dus percent lete lete usne mujhse bahut kuch wasoola. Sabse pehle to mujhse masoomiyat cheeni. College ke dino mein lagta tha ki ek hur pari milegi. Woh aasman se zameen par tapak kar mera haath thaam legi. Lekin aisa na hua, panchi ko dana daala to gaya, lekin phir hur hur karke mujhe dara bhi diya gaya. Accha hi tha, maine apne aap se kaha, daane ke neeche humesha jaal hota hai.
Alhadh pan se jawani tak ka safar badi teezi se nikla. Lekin ekdin pata chala. Hum bade ho gaye hain. Kaam samhala, naam samhala. Phir dilli ne dastak di. Ama mian, zara kuch apna bhi chodte jaao. Baut kuch chora. Kuch aur rishte girvi rakhe, dosti mein bhool huyi, shadi mein chook. Lekin itni maulat milti gayi ki har bhool chuk maaf ho gayi.
Phir 99 mein Mumbai ki taraf udaan bhari. Daulat aur Shohrat dono payi. Saccha Pyaar bhi mila. Mujhe laga ek naya sapna shuru hua hai. Dheere dheere is shehar ke thekedaar bhi aa gaye wasooli karne. Pehle waqt chin gaya. Phir chain. Jaise kisi local main achanak chain kheench di ho kisi ne aur lambe safar par sota passenger sakpaka ke uth jaaye.
Main aaj bhi Mumbai mein hoon. Bhaag daud ke is shehar mein Bhaag leta hoon. Har roz din se joojhta hoon, samay ke court mein duhai deta hoon, kuch lamhe de do apnon ke saath, apne aap ke saath. Faryaad suni nahin jaati. Kaha jaata hai ye sab tumhare haath mein hai!
Zindagi ki har paristhiti mein humare paas do raaste hote hain : Bhaag Lo ya Bhaag Lo
Bhaag lete lete main ek Mahal main pahunch gaya hoon. Jaise hi seedhe chadta hoon peeche ki seedhe gir ke gayab ho jaati hai. Uski jagah kuch aur chehre aa jaate hain. Hanste chehre, hairaan chehre, tareef karte chehre, tareeqi chehre.
Koi aur chaara bhi nazar nahin aata. Badhte jaoo, chadte jao.
Andar se ek awaaz kuch kehti hai, lekin matlab samajh nahin paata:
Bhaag Lo, Bhaag Lo, Bhaag Lo.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Teeja Rang
I have now seen the movie Chak De twice, each time the song Teeja tera rang tha main toh plays, it touches a chord. Initially I didn't get the word, till I realized its significance. Teeja rang, the third colour of the flag, the green in our flag that connotes the Indian farmer or as many say the Indian muslim. Our founding fathers chose our flag with care. Our politics is based on subtle messages, we as a nation hate being direct so if peace was the white then the saffron and the green symbolized the two communities that make the largest part of the nation, and the white probably was a hope for relations between both communtiies to be peaceful. Or so I feel.
The song means a lot to a secular muslim. I have been bought up by parents who respected religion yet rejected its impositions. We didn't pray 5 times a day, yet we observed Moharram and celebrated Eid, we also celebrated Diwali, Raksha Bandhan, yet avoided Holi as we found the muck raking mixed with the colour strange. I remember how the Nukkad Ahuja Speaker would cough to life on Holika night and blare bhajans in praise of Sri Krishna and film songs in praise of the latest heartthrob. We absorbed influences from all around, we sat at tea time and discussed God, religion, physics, particulate matter etc. Many years later I won an episode of Antakshari purely due to the songs I heard on Holi.
We travelled to school in a cycle rickshaw that was communal harmony at its best. A christian boy from near Gadbadjhala, the sons of a Halwai from Aminabad, a Hardware merchants son near Latouche road.
We would all bow before every church, every temple on the way. There were never too many mosques on the main road. When the rhetoric around Babri/Ram Mandir changed to a shrill cry for blood, small children roamed the streets of our locality with Gadhas shouting Mandir wahin banayenge. These were the same children who would play marbles all day outside our house and watch Chitrahaar on Thursdays in a community viewing at ur house. Earlier they used to run out when we caught them playing marbles as they would block our main door, now they played with a laconic ease. As if they were marking their territory. It was around this time that my father fortified the windows at home with a solid grill.
Years passed, occasionally i felt this label appear like a hidden attack of a dormant virus. When I searched for a house in Delhi my muslimness showed up!! When I spoke English in the traditional muslim community in Chawk they laughed at me for my alien behaviour. I have attended weddings in Gurdwaras and temples, sat through Havans in Bihar, attended Church services. I am the loudest in the cinema hall singing the national anthem.
Yet somethings changing, today in Mumbai I feel the lack of a certain rootedness. I am neither a devout Muslim nor an athiest. I try and follow reason and logic, a religion called humanitarianism. There is a sher I like " Ghar se Masjid hai bahut door chalo aisa kar lein, Kisi rote huye bacche ko hasaya jaae"
Yet with each Hyderabad blast, and failed bombing in London, with each deportation I feel the walls keep closing in. This city knows the language of money and hard bargains, nobody discusses religion or identity. Those who do are labelled intellectuals. Where does a secular person go!! What does he do to spread the word of oneness. With a polarized nation what do those who do not pick a side do? How do i prove my secular credentials?
I have no answers instead when I hear the song somehow I feel a tinge of remorse
mitti meri thi tu hi wahin mere ghee aur churee
wahin raanzhen mere wahin heer
wahi savaiyaan wahin kheer
tujhse hi rooth na re tuzhe hi manana
tera mera naata koi dooja na jaana
teeja tera rang tha main to
jiya tere dhang se main to
tu hi tha maula tu hi aan
Maula mere le le meri jaan…….
Maula mere le le meri jaan…….
Maula mere le le meri jaan…….
The song means a lot to a secular muslim. I have been bought up by parents who respected religion yet rejected its impositions. We didn't pray 5 times a day, yet we observed Moharram and celebrated Eid, we also celebrated Diwali, Raksha Bandhan, yet avoided Holi as we found the muck raking mixed with the colour strange. I remember how the Nukkad Ahuja Speaker would cough to life on Holika night and blare bhajans in praise of Sri Krishna and film songs in praise of the latest heartthrob. We absorbed influences from all around, we sat at tea time and discussed God, religion, physics, particulate matter etc. Many years later I won an episode of Antakshari purely due to the songs I heard on Holi.
We travelled to school in a cycle rickshaw that was communal harmony at its best. A christian boy from near Gadbadjhala, the sons of a Halwai from Aminabad, a Hardware merchants son near Latouche road.
We would all bow before every church, every temple on the way. There were never too many mosques on the main road. When the rhetoric around Babri/Ram Mandir changed to a shrill cry for blood, small children roamed the streets of our locality with Gadhas shouting Mandir wahin banayenge. These were the same children who would play marbles all day outside our house and watch Chitrahaar on Thursdays in a community viewing at ur house. Earlier they used to run out when we caught them playing marbles as they would block our main door, now they played with a laconic ease. As if they were marking their territory. It was around this time that my father fortified the windows at home with a solid grill.
Years passed, occasionally i felt this label appear like a hidden attack of a dormant virus. When I searched for a house in Delhi my muslimness showed up!! When I spoke English in the traditional muslim community in Chawk they laughed at me for my alien behaviour. I have attended weddings in Gurdwaras and temples, sat through Havans in Bihar, attended Church services. I am the loudest in the cinema hall singing the national anthem.
Yet somethings changing, today in Mumbai I feel the lack of a certain rootedness. I am neither a devout Muslim nor an athiest. I try and follow reason and logic, a religion called humanitarianism. There is a sher I like " Ghar se Masjid hai bahut door chalo aisa kar lein, Kisi rote huye bacche ko hasaya jaae"
Yet with each Hyderabad blast, and failed bombing in London, with each deportation I feel the walls keep closing in. This city knows the language of money and hard bargains, nobody discusses religion or identity. Those who do are labelled intellectuals. Where does a secular person go!! What does he do to spread the word of oneness. With a polarized nation what do those who do not pick a side do? How do i prove my secular credentials?
I have no answers instead when I hear the song somehow I feel a tinge of remorse
mitti meri thi tu hi wahin mere ghee aur churee
wahin raanzhen mere wahin heer
wahi savaiyaan wahin kheer
tujhse hi rooth na re tuzhe hi manana
tera mera naata koi dooja na jaana
teeja tera rang tha main to
jiya tere dhang se main to
tu hi tha maula tu hi aan
Maula mere le le meri jaan…….
Maula mere le le meri jaan…….
Maula mere le le meri jaan…….
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