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!

Spinning around

The class is filled with a variety of people. Some body shapes distinctly have never been to a gym before. A few look toned and gladiatorial. They could walk out of the spinning class and straight to a Miss India contest.


In the midst of this I stand a new initiate. The music blares I am on a stationary cycle. As the beats thump thump a steady rhythm I look around and see sweaty bodies dripping the sins of yesterday's chocolate mouse, or the ghee dolloped biryani.


After 45 minutes I am light headed; possibly I would have been in Bandra by now if I had cycled. But here I am attempting a new world record in spin cycling, my wife who has just had a baby 3 months ago, smiles at me in encouragement. Through the sweaty haze I look around. The man next to me seems so desperate for company that he makes every attempt to talk, to me, the petite girl across from him , another person who has missed a class before, perhaps this is as much a social outing for him as an exercise regimen.

A housewife who has suddenly woken up to her reality pedals across furiously. Furious at herself for just letting it all go, furious at her husband for not having enough time, furious at life having given her the short shrift.

A super well built amazonian who is scared she is becoming too muscular, a merchandiser counting shipments and orders along with calories.

In the light headedness I see a vision, of life in Mumbai. Everyone furiously pedaling, their wares and goods. Sweating profusely yet maintaining the perfect look. And in the end still at the same place where they started.

My vision clouds further, I am in a park in Lucknow, grass unmowed for kilometres, my father taking an unhurried walk. People exchanging greetings, sharing newspapers, some leisurely doing yoga. Mostly the people are old, time is for them a throwaway commodity, a few young girls accompany their parents, their frenetic pace is in keeping with our time, a few college graduates with degrees and no jobs hang around playing romeo to these mobile Juliet's.

1,2,1,2,1,2,1,2 the trainer exhorts.

That's what we are, singles and couples, singles and couples...

1,2,1,2,1,2,1,2 he barks

Divorce rates are up, uncoupled singles are copulating with new partners!!

And suddenly the class is up!

I would have been in Mahabaleshwar by now!! With a cool breeze in my hair. I could have stopped on the roadside and had a hot cup of sweetened tea. An odd shaped stone would have bounced across the road. Some cows would have brushed against my cycle.

The air conditioned sweat drips down my brow. A hand towel shakes me back to reality. And as I leave class I cannot help but gaze at the slim mobile phone in the hand of the obese man running on the treadmill as he negotiates his stocks and shares through the dizzying sensex.

Mobile Mantra

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!!