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!

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!!

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!!

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!!

दुबई कि यादें (memories from dubai)

मेरा एक घर था घरोंदा था आशिअना था
बड़ा छोटा था और बेहद पुराना था

अब रेत के किले में बैठ कर याद करता हूँ
वो बारिश कि बूँदें
वो चीटियों जैसी गाड़ियों कि कतारें
कोई किसी जल्दी में नहीं
सबको ये यकीन कि पह्नुचेंगी कहीं
मैं चाहता था तेज़ रफ्तार

तेज़ ज़िंदगी, तेज़ और तेज़
अब उस तेज़ी में गिरफ्तार
याद करता हूँ वो धीरी पकती दल
पड़ा था जिसमें सालों का प्यार
वह हस्ती सुबह वह झिलमिल दोपहर

यहाँ बस तेज़ रौशनी है
बदन कटती धुप दिल चीरती हवाएं
सब धोके का सहारा लेते हैं
झूटी सर्द से घरों को ठंडा करते हैं
फिर भी दिल जलते हैं

रेत का क्या पता, कुछ ठोस नहीं होता
बंजर ज़मीन पर बंजर सुनसान इमारतें
इमारतें हैं घर नहीं हैं

मेरी खिड़की से दिखती ज़िंदगी
बिकती बनती बिगड़ती पा इन्दगी
शीशे से सब कितना दूर सा लगता है
या दिखता है अपनी ज़िंदगी का अक्स

ये चुब्ती है वो नर्म कितनी थी
ये रेत है और वो मिटटी थी

Gogurgaon.com

As you drive into Gurgaon, concrete fists start appearing in a straight line. Its as if you are seeing a 3d X-ray of a patients spine. Or a communist rally against the mass industrialization of the city.

Dust clouds are everywhere, the familiar whirring of jackhammers and pneumatic drills have replaced the chirping of birds or the barking of dogs.

I am in Gurgaon to attend a convention for our company. I see BPO bound Qualis' driving data crunching dilettante's to their destiny. Packed like peas they share sandwiches, smokes and yes even shawls. It is a strange camaraderie borne out of despair.

Gurgaon is the mecca of materialistic bliss, the page 3 celeb of India's achievement story. Here apartment complexes rub shoulders with malls and multiplexes, brushing away the small hutments that appear like a rash in between.

I see a few rickshaws( adult tricycle's used for transport if I can call them) in the midst of a sea of cars, buses, autos, cabs. They take my mind to a story I read a while back. Some months ago a gang of Gurgaon killers, whose parents had sold their tracts of farmland and drunk away the money. These young men were uneducated, unemployed and the stillness of their life in the midst of the bustling pace of Gurgaon had jolted them to action. They found a pastime that gave them potency and power. They drove cabs and murdered unsuspecting passengers. The first for 40 rupees!! 17 murders later they languish in jail. Perhaps content in the certainty of an end to their story. They will either hang or get life imprisonment. Their families since the discovery of their deeds have disowned them, but destiny had disowned them long before.

My friends in Bombay often nervously joke of how beggars have graduated from requests to threats, from gestures to noisy assaults on your window, from cupped hands to ring clad fingers clenched into fists rapping an incessant beat till you relent. The conversation ends with similar thoughts: will they soon just block your way to demand their keep. How long before the marginalized stand at the gates of mecca?

Soon the metro will run smoothly over the elevated MRT tracks, erasing the erratic bumps on the road. The dust clouds will settle and many more will flock to the land of opportunity.

As I gaze out of my car I see a rickshaw that leisurely makes its way to a nearby market. I am sure they too will disappear of the roads soon, bowing to the demands of a nation racing against time to save the rest of the world some time. Below the rickshaw is an advertisement dulled and scratched: Moving houses contact "gogurgaon.com "

Chak De Disc 2

My dear friend in Australia, Mitu was kind enough to send me a DVD of Chak De through its director Shimit Amin. I met Shimit (a woody allenesque man). Got him to autograph a copy!

I was so excited to watch it that I bought an HDMI cable and linked the projector. My 5 year old son who has seen the movie twice jumped with joy at every goal India scored. We hugged like it was all happening infront of our eyes. I need to thank Shimit for the many hugs and innocent kisses I got because I could tell who would score next in the film!!

I then saw DISC 2 the extra's. DO NOT MISS THESE!! There are gems in the deleted scenes and many stories that never unfolded on the real screen. Like the taming of the dreaded 3 senior players, which makes the dahi chawal reference so much more significant! The Antakshari session, the Aliya Bose playing truant piece, Nethra meeting her dad the groundsman! But most of all what touched me was the Gul Iqbal story.

The famous parent tag which she has to get rid of!! With the Germany-India semi final. A thriller that ends with a penalty shot in the last 2 minutes of the game.

I messaged Shimit saying he needs to amke a directors cut, what he wanted. I don't know if he ever will. Please see the second disc. The interviews are fun but I can tell you the real thrill is in reliving the whole process of the two years it took to make the movie, the casting the rehearsals etc. WOW what inspiration.

Everyone has a movie inside. I have many stories but still wait for my movie to shake me up!! For my muse to whisper the narrative one night to me. To awaken charged with the unshakeable belief that I must do it NOW!!

All this business of the discs set me thinking. About our lives and Disc 1 that plays out each day for all to see, neatly edited. While Disc 2 stays hidden somewhere. With all our extra's. The fight you had at home in the morning, the barb someone made to you about success, the poem you learnt in class 1, the dirty song you used to sing in college, the one hidden road you know to nowhere in particular, the job you almost took, the rbonze medal you won.

Keep an eye on your own disc 2, share it with people sometime. They will know you better!