Aaj subah naashte mein ai khuda tu itna kar
Biscuti se chehre hon aur muskurahaton ka ghar
Ek hansi jo chini mein ghuli hui si ho
Aur ek nanhi si jo doodh se dhuli si ho
Mil sake to saath khasta sa bhi ek khwab ho
Aur garma garm pyaar ki chaunk behisaab ho
Side mein kuch bikhre lamhe sek jinmein pyaar ki
Toast pe ho angdai leti
Lekin subah aur sab, na jaane kyun the so rahe
Apne khwab dekhte wo sab kahin the kho gaye
Chule pe pakti zindagi mein thandi karke pee gaya
Basi sa kal ki namuradi, do nivalon mein nigal gaya
Halak mein ek dard tha
Sachai thodi tez thi
Main akela chal pada
Khali nashte ki mez thi
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Saturday, May 16, 2009
The Dot...which signifies an end and a beginning
I am delighted at the election results. What a resounding slap to those with regional interest. To the religious sectarians. And all because of the power of a silent majority. The power of the dot.
Rahul Gandhi with boyish charm and a disarming appeal, through blogs n bhashans, through action oriented decisions has made a difference. He did not give in, he did not give into Mayawati or the vily Amar Singh, to Lalu or the left.
For once the Congress did not get into bargains. While Manmohan a little old school still tried to defend his regional partners, I loved it when Rahul said we will look for new partners and alliances. In with the new out with the old!!
For once watching a shame faced Lalu, Maya, Amar n Karat delights me. It is a slap in the face of these power mongers. Whose outdated policies only think of their own survival. A slap from the hand which pressed the button!!
BJP targeted Manmohan as weak, Mayawati was busy packing bags for Delhi, Amar uncle was thinking will he play Circuit in Munnabhai 3!! But ye public sab janti hai!!
In hindi there are two words Sata(politics) and satta (gambling). For those who differentiated between politics of a kind and another there is victory for those gambling with our futures there is none.
As Nandan Nilekani says "India today must exploit, the dividend of its demographics, the rich ideas of its youth. We have limitless potential which can only come from an education of the masses, from building our infrastructure. "
We need to create a nation of hope, where people benefit from social welfare schemes. We need a justice system that is swift and free of consequence. We need policies that do not create slums and shanty towns but centres of excellence, a country where entrepreneurs are appreciated, and enterprise is rewarded. We need change too.
Sonia Gandhi must be very proud, she has nurtured both a party from the edge of despair and a son far removed from politics to the centre of it.
A dot will end this post but another dot will be not the end but a begining for our nation.
Rahul Gandhi with boyish charm and a disarming appeal, through blogs n bhashans, through action oriented decisions has made a difference. He did not give in, he did not give into Mayawati or the vily Amar Singh, to Lalu or the left.
For once the Congress did not get into bargains. While Manmohan a little old school still tried to defend his regional partners, I loved it when Rahul said we will look for new partners and alliances. In with the new out with the old!!
For once watching a shame faced Lalu, Maya, Amar n Karat delights me. It is a slap in the face of these power mongers. Whose outdated policies only think of their own survival. A slap from the hand which pressed the button!!
BJP targeted Manmohan as weak, Mayawati was busy packing bags for Delhi, Amar uncle was thinking will he play Circuit in Munnabhai 3!! But ye public sab janti hai!!
In hindi there are two words Sata(politics) and satta (gambling). For those who differentiated between politics of a kind and another there is victory for those gambling with our futures there is none.
As Nandan Nilekani says "India today must exploit, the dividend of its demographics, the rich ideas of its youth. We have limitless potential which can only come from an education of the masses, from building our infrastructure. "
We need to create a nation of hope, where people benefit from social welfare schemes. We need a justice system that is swift and free of consequence. We need policies that do not create slums and shanty towns but centres of excellence, a country where entrepreneurs are appreciated, and enterprise is rewarded. We need change too.
Sonia Gandhi must be very proud, she has nurtured both a party from the edge of despair and a son far removed from politics to the centre of it.
A dot will end this post but another dot will be not the end but a begining for our nation.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Glumdog millionaire
My son today asked me what kind of a dog was a slum dog. He is 6 years old and I guess the hype has got to him too. I smiled and explained the concept to him. A person who leads a dogs life and lives in a slum...(and then thought to myself)...a person we meet everyday. At street crossings vending bootleg books or fresh graveyard flowers, at airports with trolley stands and markets with DVD portfolios, at restaurants with table swabs and chaiwallah stalls with grimy glasses.
As India steps out of a capitalist kennel it seems preened for a global dog show, then how can it expose its slumdogs to the world. We rant and rave about poverty pornographers. Poor Danny Boyle. He must be amused at a raving Bacchan and a giggling Barkha Dutt who seemed to almost gush over the sweet Dev Patel and his mosquito marne wali mom, or a Chaste Anil Kapoor who spoke of charity. The man made a movie but stirred a hornets nest amongst the glumdogs.
A friend of mine once told me our social conscience ends at our doorsteps. All semblance of hygiene and health leaves us as we set out. For the world outside is a slumdog world. Where we squeeze ourselves into the last second of a green light, when we slip the 50 rupee note to a traffic cop, when we break a cue to get ahead, where we bribe touts for passports and turn a blind eye to a wrapper thrown on the seat.
As long as we can push an electronic power window as a veil across this reality all is fine. Tu kaun main khamakha...(who are you and what do I care)...Beggars used to first moan and make faces, now they rattle your window or run a dirty cloth on your wind screen. They have found a way to invade your world. And a quick shoved 10 rupee note buys you a minute of peace till the next crossing. And the next invasion.
We the glumdogs lack a civic sense, we are all slumdogs, apathetic to our surroundings. Which have been pissed upon by politicians, bastardized by our bureaucrats and exploited by the establishment. Each year the same road is reconstructed, the same drain dug up, but as long as I can squeeze past it with a deft driver I am spared the need to step out, question, confront and take action. And spoil my schedule. I am so busy earning my next meal (albeit a five star one) that these things don't count. They will slip away into the slums they come from and hopefully be reborn as Gandhians someday or be relocated outside city or civil limits.
The truth is, slumdogs dont die. Slumdogs grow up in the shit and the squalor. As fetters corrode the flesh, persecution corrodes the mind. They live in such apathy that they learn only one code. The code to survive...the next day, the next riot, the anext raid, the next eviction. Whatever it may take. If a package needs delivery, the price is asked not the content. If a job needs to be done it must be done, or someone else will take it.
And this code makes them servants to a bigger dog. The three headed dog that guards the gate to Hades( allow me the mixing of genres and metaphors) . They find rabid causes to make them bark at. They mix a heady concoction of power, position and paisa. That is all they look for. There impotency is translated into a rage that can shake the universe. The slumdogs together can change the course of an election. A few dead in a booth capture makes no difference. they see death so often that they do not value life. And that gives them a strange power over the glumdogs. You and me who go about our humdrum existence. Complaining, complaining and criticizing, criticising and critiquing. We who blame the universe for our woes. We who have had a collar of class around our neck so long that even if its not there we feel a leash straining at us. A leash of propritey, of dignified behaviour, of things done and not done!! In a streetfight we always lose. In a manicured lawn, they find no entry. Adn so we mark our territories with grime and gore and gates and guards.
But between the dogs of India we despise the full moon night or a movie that shines a light upon us . And when it happens we collectively howl at the source, hoping the spotlight turns away and we can all go back to our own personal slums... secure in the anonymity, the apathy.
As India steps out of a capitalist kennel it seems preened for a global dog show, then how can it expose its slumdogs to the world. We rant and rave about poverty pornographers. Poor Danny Boyle. He must be amused at a raving Bacchan and a giggling Barkha Dutt who seemed to almost gush over the sweet Dev Patel and his mosquito marne wali mom, or a Chaste Anil Kapoor who spoke of charity. The man made a movie but stirred a hornets nest amongst the glumdogs.
A friend of mine once told me our social conscience ends at our doorsteps. All semblance of hygiene and health leaves us as we set out. For the world outside is a slumdog world. Where we squeeze ourselves into the last second of a green light, when we slip the 50 rupee note to a traffic cop, when we break a cue to get ahead, where we bribe touts for passports and turn a blind eye to a wrapper thrown on the seat.
As long as we can push an electronic power window as a veil across this reality all is fine. Tu kaun main khamakha...(who are you and what do I care)...Beggars used to first moan and make faces, now they rattle your window or run a dirty cloth on your wind screen. They have found a way to invade your world. And a quick shoved 10 rupee note buys you a minute of peace till the next crossing. And the next invasion.
We the glumdogs lack a civic sense, we are all slumdogs, apathetic to our surroundings. Which have been pissed upon by politicians, bastardized by our bureaucrats and exploited by the establishment. Each year the same road is reconstructed, the same drain dug up, but as long as I can squeeze past it with a deft driver I am spared the need to step out, question, confront and take action. And spoil my schedule. I am so busy earning my next meal (albeit a five star one) that these things don't count. They will slip away into the slums they come from and hopefully be reborn as Gandhians someday or be relocated outside city or civil limits.
The truth is, slumdogs dont die. Slumdogs grow up in the shit and the squalor. As fetters corrode the flesh, persecution corrodes the mind. They live in such apathy that they learn only one code. The code to survive...the next day, the next riot, the anext raid, the next eviction. Whatever it may take. If a package needs delivery, the price is asked not the content. If a job needs to be done it must be done, or someone else will take it.
And this code makes them servants to a bigger dog. The three headed dog that guards the gate to Hades( allow me the mixing of genres and metaphors) . They find rabid causes to make them bark at. They mix a heady concoction of power, position and paisa. That is all they look for. There impotency is translated into a rage that can shake the universe. The slumdogs together can change the course of an election. A few dead in a booth capture makes no difference. they see death so often that they do not value life. And that gives them a strange power over the glumdogs. You and me who go about our humdrum existence. Complaining, complaining and criticizing, criticising and critiquing. We who blame the universe for our woes. We who have had a collar of class around our neck so long that even if its not there we feel a leash straining at us. A leash of propritey, of dignified behaviour, of things done and not done!! In a streetfight we always lose. In a manicured lawn, they find no entry. Adn so we mark our territories with grime and gore and gates and guards.
But between the dogs of India we despise the full moon night or a movie that shines a light upon us . And when it happens we collectively howl at the source, hoping the spotlight turns away and we can all go back to our own personal slums... secure in the anonymity, the apathy.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Mumbai Meri Jaan
I have sat for 2 full days next to a TV set. Where various channels speak in various voices. While E24 and India TV are supremely irresponsible, some others try to maintain a voice of reason. When a beleaguered husband is asked about his missing wife and what he will tell his daughters, even NDTV steps out of line. Barkha is an extremely responsible journalist so I can forgive her this error.
Times NOW and Arnab Goswami have stood steadfast in the midst of this all. When his own journalist was about to divulge sensitive information he stopped her. When Narendra Modi spoke some channels including his blacked out his venomous poison.
Where are Raj Thackeray and Balasaheb! I keep getting sms's to that effect. Whatever happened to those who were baying for the blood of the partisan ATS? Maybe they are satisfied that some stray bullets have done what they perhaps wished for silently.
The lies that we are fed in the name of politics are laid bare but then we will again pick up our laptops and lives and our burden with it, log into living and log out of this horrible scenario. We have to earn a living out of work. Not from spouting platitudes and accusing political parties. Not from playing a blame game or protecting vote banks.
I think we have been let down by the state. We need a new Agency to fight terrorism something run as a civilian corporate initiative. For we saw on live TV how with impunity Politico's treat the police. Abu Azmi from the SP walked past a cordon line as he wanted to go into the lobby of the Taj. As if the hotel was open for dinner again. He had a journalist asking him inane questions along the way with him offering equally inane answers. Heres a sample: he had come to offer food to an MLA of his party and check on his well being!! How stupid and appalling is that. And when a policeman asked them to go behind the cordon line, his tone was to be heard...He would have shortly asked for the cops rank and name to admonish him later...till he realized he was on camera.
Such is the state we live in!! All forms of communication are given to rumor mongering. Mails on how this is a Mossad-VHP conspiracy and equally that it is a Pakistani attack and we should vote for the BJP have hit our inboxes. We have had sms's on signing petitions and marching on Wednesday to the gateway. I think the time for marching is over, it is the time for action. And we will turn as a nation to those who can deliver us that.
To our commandos and forces, we have faith in the allegiance you bear to the flag, to the Taj and Oberoi we are humbled by your ability to serve others before yourself even at the risk of death.
Declare an Emergency, let the people of this nation get a secure nation before casting a ballot. For we cannot let Bombay become Bali as Suheil Seth rightly said.
Mr Shivraj patil hope you have enough suits for the press conference!
Times NOW and Arnab Goswami have stood steadfast in the midst of this all. When his own journalist was about to divulge sensitive information he stopped her. When Narendra Modi spoke some channels including his blacked out his venomous poison.
Where are Raj Thackeray and Balasaheb! I keep getting sms's to that effect. Whatever happened to those who were baying for the blood of the partisan ATS? Maybe they are satisfied that some stray bullets have done what they perhaps wished for silently.
The lies that we are fed in the name of politics are laid bare but then we will again pick up our laptops and lives and our burden with it, log into living and log out of this horrible scenario. We have to earn a living out of work. Not from spouting platitudes and accusing political parties. Not from playing a blame game or protecting vote banks.
I think we have been let down by the state. We need a new Agency to fight terrorism something run as a civilian corporate initiative. For we saw on live TV how with impunity Politico's treat the police. Abu Azmi from the SP walked past a cordon line as he wanted to go into the lobby of the Taj. As if the hotel was open for dinner again. He had a journalist asking him inane questions along the way with him offering equally inane answers. Heres a sample: he had come to offer food to an MLA of his party and check on his well being!! How stupid and appalling is that. And when a policeman asked them to go behind the cordon line, his tone was to be heard...He would have shortly asked for the cops rank and name to admonish him later...till he realized he was on camera.
Such is the state we live in!! All forms of communication are given to rumor mongering. Mails on how this is a Mossad-VHP conspiracy and equally that it is a Pakistani attack and we should vote for the BJP have hit our inboxes. We have had sms's on signing petitions and marching on Wednesday to the gateway. I think the time for marching is over, it is the time for action. And we will turn as a nation to those who can deliver us that.
To our commandos and forces, we have faith in the allegiance you bear to the flag, to the Taj and Oberoi we are humbled by your ability to serve others before yourself even at the risk of death.
Declare an Emergency, let the people of this nation get a secure nation before casting a ballot. For we cannot let Bombay become Bali as Suheil Seth rightly said.
Mr Shivraj patil hope you have enough suits for the press conference!
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Record player
I was 17 when I listened to my first record. It was in park Street Calcutta at the house of Sanjit Basu. Debating rival from school, admired friend over letters. In those days it was possible to be Pen pals!! It was our face book or email!! Babu and I would write 4 page letters extolling on the virtues of Debating, the walls of school, the teachers, the tutes, the morals.
But when i heard Pink Floyd or backward child or Harry Belafontaine come to life on that Machine it was a joyous experience. The familiar scratch of a protesting needle. The steady turn of the LP, the warm voices almost a touch away!!
I could not afford a record player then, we had an old broken down 2 in one. With no top, it had got burnt I remember or broken!! I then heard a record player at my ex father in laws house. He played Zorba the Greek!! Again their was a connect I cannot put my finger on!!
or can I!!
I hate perfection, I love the little quirks, I enjoy the possibility of the needle getting stuck. I look out for the scratches they make life more real I guess!!
Day before I purchased a Project studio debut 3 Turntable. It is solid and nice. The cartridge I was told is the key, the needle. I had but one record at home, an old one I bought from France. That too in a jumble sale. And the kind store owner gave me a Eva Cassidy record.
I got home, my excitement is indescribable now. But my heart was racing. I connected it, sat on the terrace and listened. The warmth, the scratch, the flawed reality of a record. Black and etched with lines. If I place my palm on the needle will it read it too. Will it run over my scratches and whisper them aloud?? Or will it cover my hand with a black lacquer, a fine shiny surface!!
Fields of Gold and Somewhere over the rainbow, Eva Cassidy and Good wine for company. ..a perfect evening, where I wish the record of life had remained stuck!!
But when i heard Pink Floyd or backward child or Harry Belafontaine come to life on that Machine it was a joyous experience. The familiar scratch of a protesting needle. The steady turn of the LP, the warm voices almost a touch away!!
I could not afford a record player then, we had an old broken down 2 in one. With no top, it had got burnt I remember or broken!! I then heard a record player at my ex father in laws house. He played Zorba the Greek!! Again their was a connect I cannot put my finger on!!
or can I!!
I hate perfection, I love the little quirks, I enjoy the possibility of the needle getting stuck. I look out for the scratches they make life more real I guess!!
Day before I purchased a Project studio debut 3 Turntable. It is solid and nice. The cartridge I was told is the key, the needle. I had but one record at home, an old one I bought from France. That too in a jumble sale. And the kind store owner gave me a Eva Cassidy record.
I got home, my excitement is indescribable now. But my heart was racing. I connected it, sat on the terrace and listened. The warmth, the scratch, the flawed reality of a record. Black and etched with lines. If I place my palm on the needle will it read it too. Will it run over my scratches and whisper them aloud?? Or will it cover my hand with a black lacquer, a fine shiny surface!!
Fields of Gold and Somewhere over the rainbow, Eva Cassidy and Good wine for company. ..a perfect evening, where I wish the record of life had remained stuck!!
Monday, June 2, 2008
IPL: Mano-Ranjan aur hum sab ka baap!!
A last ball win, to a team with more balls than many others, a tournament comes to an end, Shane Warne gets a new lease of life, forgotten are the sexual escapades and the sms legends of yore, there is a full page ad advertising his solution to hair loss, do not be surprised if soon he sells you life insurance, bank accounts, clothing etc. There were posters held up at the finals saying India's next coach, Shane Warne!! The players rejoice, Yusuf Pathan gets a recall to the team, Goni is not a word for a sack but a Punjab player we all admire. Dhoni displays strength and character in adversity. He sure will be a great captain and will handle the BCCI well.
Evenings will never be the same again. Catatonic cricket viewers will go back to triple cut soaps and serial killers. Panchvi Pass will probably do better. Dus ka dum will entertain us with the Bad Boy of Indian Cinema, Salman Khan. Even the Gods bow to cricket, Sony decided wisely to launch the show post IPL, Salman deigned to perform and promote his show in the finals. perhaps the only battle this year that Shahrukh King Khan lost will be to our collective cricket obsession for he decided to take Cricket head on with his TV show and failed.
I have a confession to make. I was an IPL skeptic !! I never thought it would work. My reasons were the following.
- We do not have city loyalties
- We hardly know the players
- Our stadiums lack infrastructure.
- We can handle one a few matches at a time but 2 months of cricket??
All these points are true!! But what came as a slap was the public's answer
- We do not have city loyalties but we are loyal to cricket
- We hardly know the players but we are sick of our old icons and need new heroes to worship.
- Our stadiums lack infrastructure but our drawing rooms are airconditioned comfort zones and this was entertainment for viewers at home, who cares if the stadiums were filled on purpose or otherwise.
- We can handle only a few matches at a time but for 3 hours its the best entertainment we can get. A movie each day with new heroes and villains, saviors and vanquishers. All packed into a 3 hour spectacle with bikini clad babes and background music scores.
In the wave of cricketainment the Aarushi murder case, Lalit Modi's past convictions, Karnataka elections, American primaries, the Grover murder all were sidelined. While the public made merry, Bookies made 20,000 crores, BCCI made 350, cricketers made 3 to 4 crores each.
Life returns to normal but there is talk of a women's league, an international IPL etc.
Mano aur Ranjan ka baap has sown his seed and taken care of our needs every night!!
This conjugal bliss between spectator and sport will sprout a hundred new leagues, sponsorship deals etc. And we will wait for the next IPL!!
Congratulations aap baap ban gaye hain!!
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Journalism ko Kyun Mara
The double murder in Noida has suddenly filled the headlines. The news channels who were making do with controlled IPL reporting have been unshackled. In self righteous indignation they scream from the rooftops. Headlines after headlines are vying for attention!!
"Papa tune kyun mara" says AajTak. A multiple award winning news channels whcih doubles up as manohar kahaniyan for the starved masses.
Sample an excerpt. A frail looking driver sits behind a computer generated graphic PAPA TUNE KYUN MARA!! Blood splattered on the graphic. Two journalists bristling with moralittude (i know its not a word but then this is a journalism of invention so why can't I invent a word).
Journo: Sandigh mujrim Hemraaj se aap kab mile (When did you last meet the supposed criminal Hemraj!! )
Driver: Sahib hum to sirf 2 minute ghar mein chabi lene jaate the (I only used to go into the house for 2 minutes)
Journo: Yani aap ko Hemraj se milne nahin diya ja raha tha. Kyun? (SO you were not allowed to meet Hemraj. why??)
Driver: Nahin aisa nahin tha, hame toh abhi bhi vishvas nahin hota ke ek baap apni beti ko mar sakta hai!! (No it wasn't like this, I still cannot believe that a father would kill his daughter)
The journalist thinks on his feet. Thsi man is a plant, he will spoil the slant of the story, the fatehr is a depraved maniac and nobody can convince him other wise. Journo makes another attempt or two to put words into his mouth!! But the driver though frail sticks to his guns. Frustrated the journalist changes tac.
Journo: Aap ko studio mein kisne bheja, sandigh mujrim ke parivar ne??!! (who sent you to the studio, a member of the family??)
Drver: Renu ji ne (Renu did)
This is a crucial fact, he is now ready to hang the driver
Journalist: RENU KAUN HAIN (WHO IS RENU??)
In the 2 seconds before the driver answers the pause is pregnant with possibiliites.
(Renu is the missing link. Renu is perhaps the 3rd lover. Renu is the neighbour who is the doctor's admirer...Renu)
Driver: Renuji...aapki studio ki incharge (Renu is your studio person)
While the journalist fumbled, paused, found a new tantalizing thread and bumbled on, his compatriot in her shrill rabble rousing voice gave us some more gory details!! graphics replaced the dumbstruck man.
I switch channels. One shows images of the dead girl's mother. Under it they play the song from Taare Zameen Par ..Tujhe sab hai pata meri ma!! (Mom you know everything!!). Some editor and reporter must be gloating at the beauty of the communication. This is his/her masterpiece!!
A third has two people in a makeshift court where the alleged killer, the girls father is shown as a still in the katghera (the witness stand).
I sit and think of free speech and what Oscar Wilde said," “The public have an insatiable curiosity to know everything. Except what is worth knowing. Journalism, conscious of this, and having tradesman-like habits, supplies their demands.”
I want to launch an investigation: Journalism ko kisne kyun mara!!
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