RANDOM THOUGHTS

I resolve....

2012-01-01T10:30:00.000-08:00

Resolutions. They hardly last even the full day on Jan 1! Why do we even bother with making new year resolutions? Because it is a small way of saying to ourselves, "You are far from perfect, my friend--you need to improve!" So at least we are not complacent, we are a little self-critical, and most of all, we are optimistic!
Two resolutions I have been breaking consistently are, to write more often and to lose weight! But 2012 has come and with it have come redoubled efforts to add to my writing and subtract from my weight.
I would like to tag Shruthi,Thirty,Sachin,Ron, Rads, Pixie,Rohini,Krish ---please write at least two resolutions you always break yet don't give up on!
A Happy 2012, and may it turn out that the Mayans were wrong after all!

Good intentions

2010-10-15T02:37:00.000-07:00

So much for aiming for a post a day!Does it count if we post two or three times a day, to make up for the missed ones?
So the Commonwealth Games came to a close with a grand finale yesterday. Maybe I'm being cynical, but the thought which struck me was: as a city, do we go back to being our messy selves now? I didn't venture much into Delhi during the games, but when I did, the roads were comparitively empty. There was a buzz in the air, and every evening, smiling faces on TV told us that we had hauled in another load of medals. It is like when we have a party at home--the best linen and china comes out, the kids are on their best behaviour, the hostess is smiling, gracious and efficient, the host is jovial and welcoming, and we always feel, why can't it be like this always? So also with the city. Yes, there are some permanent "gifts" to Delhizens, like the Metro, spruced up roads, pavements and flyovers. But I wish the general feeling of bonhomie would also remain.

Phantom nostalgia

2010-10-03T22:04:00.000-07:00

I happened to watch some parts of the movie,“Phantom”, starring Billy Zane on TV. And suddenly I became nostalgic for the “real” Phantom---the comic book one, by Lee Falk. A long time ago, there was this magazine called The Illustrated Weekly of India. And every issue had half a page of the Phantom comic. It would be a serialised story and I could hardly wait from one Sunday to the next. The wonder and the flights of fancy that the words and illustrations brought about ! The Phantom, wearing a purple body suit, with black (leather?) briefs worn over it. The briefs had holsters too. And he wore a mask over the eyes. And his features were chiselled.
The world of the Pygmy Bandar--- the little people with the poison arrows, faithful only to the Phantom. The world behind the waterfall. The skull cave. The table mountain. The treasure caves-minor and major. The minor one had merely gold and jewels. The major one had Alexander’s drinking cup (hollowed out of a huge diamond if I remember right), the preserved asp that bit Cleopatra, the cup of poison that Socrates was given, and so on. Then there was the jade hut, and the golden sands of Keela-wi, which was real gold dust. And Phantom’s horse Hero, and his dog which was really a wolf, Devil. Sometimes when the need arose, the Phantom went to the city, dressed in ordinary clothes, and an overcoat and dark glasses to hide his masked face. Devil would be by his side. Invariably, he would be stopped by a train/ boat attendant---- “Sorry Sir, no dogs allowed,” he would say. And then Phantom would say nonchalantly, “Oh that’s all right---he’s not a dog---(pause)---he’s a wolf.”
I could go on, but I’ll do that next time. Until then, “Phantom moves faster than the eye can see----old jungle saying.”

Commonwealth Games

2010-10-03T11:37:00.000-07:00

Aaah, we can release the breath we were collectively holding. The opening ceremony was spectacular. Over the past few weeks we had become so cynical that we weren't expecting much I guess. Still we should not bank on last minute cleanups as these could always come unstuck.
More power to us as a nation and as a people. We do need extravaganzas sometimes to show ourseves what we are capable of. Yes, some of those mindboggling amounts of *wealth* could have been spent on health, education and housing, but I hope we have also learnt a lesson about bungling and corruption.

Phantom

2010-10-02T11:30:00.000-07:00

This seems to have turned into aPhantom post, in the sense that I can't get what I have written in Word into Blogger, because the 'Paste' option is disabled. Trying to find a way---

When the homemaker is away

2010-10-01T11:56:00.000-07:00

I went out of town for just three days. At home:
1. F-i-l got chest pain (twice).
2. R had to go abroad suddenly.
3. Mom got a touch of vertigo.
4. My maid, along with other migrant labour was told to go back to her village for the duration of the commonwealth games.
5. The driver got malaria.
6. The ironing woman got dengue.
7. The washing machine conked off.
8. The frost-free fridge acquired stalactites and stalagmites in the freezer.
9. The AC spewed water onto the sofa.
10. The DTH digicomp box went phut.
11. A plug point went phut.
12. A tubelight went phut.
I guess I should stay put!

Story Published!

2009-05-05T02:02:00.000-07:00

The May issue of Good Housekeeping is carrying a short story by me. It is called "Dawn at Dusk". Those of you in India can read it, and I'll put up an excerpt on the other blog soon. Do let me know what you think about it!

The forgiving curry-leaf

2009-04-08T05:09:00.000-07:00

Callous me. Preoccupied, i forgot to water you for three days. Or was it four? And then yesterday i saw you drooping, forlorn. Guilt ridden, i rushed to minister to you. First aid with a bucket and mug and a water spray for those sad leaves. And then i forgot all about you again. Until this morning when you greeted me with those very leaves gamely standing to attention. Even fluttering a little in the breeze. As if in celebration, there was a sudden April shower too, with no less than hailstones beating down with wacky abandon.

What reserves did you draw on, in that small earthen pot?

The other plants were none the worse for my lapse. Semi-xerophytes, they managed. And the tulsi, diva-like, sulked with curled-up leaves threatening to turn black. How dare i ignore even her, the holy one? She is not so easily appeased with mere sloshings of mugfuls of water. I will have to grovel before the prima donna, to coax her back into standing auspicious sentinel to my home.

But you, gallant curry-leaf plant, sprang back in a day, as if to say, never mind, it is enough that you remembered.

In gratitude, we shall go without your aromatic seasoning in our sambaar and upma, for the next couple of days.

Slumdog Millionaire

2009-02-23T08:50:00.000-08:00

Hope. Despair.

Faith. Cynicism.

Cruelty. Compassion.

Treachery. Sacrifice.

Filth. Purity.

Slum. Taj Mahal.

Greed. Generosity.

Traitor. Saviour.

Devotion. Betrayal.

Grit. Sympathy

Innocence. Junoon.

Slumdog. Millionaire.

These are the snapshots that flit across the mind when one sees the film. By now the film has been praised to high heaven (8 Oscars!) and bashed in equal measure. Quirkily, it has been praised and bashed for the same reason--- a westerner showing the ugly underbelly of India.

I don’t understand why we get angry if someone points out our shortcomings-----we turn around and say they have no right to comment on us! We were so hurt when a few years ago, Queen Elizabeth sniffed that Delhi was dirty! Why don’t we do something about it instead of criticizing the person who points at us? We conveniently forget the umpteen Indian films in which the foreigner is shown as cruel, greedy, chasing the pure maiden, in short--- downright evil. To make it worse, we used to depict them by painting some Indian actors pink and sticking a blonde wig on their heads! Stereotypes are always there. Which cannot be said of Slumdog, in any case.

My basic emotion through the movie was guilt-----for being where I am, when such a large chunk of humanity lives in utter squalor. Yet----and this is the high point of the film----they don’t let you feel sorry for them! The two brothers go through all shades of hell, yet they don’t come across as troubled. They are just getting on with their lives as best as they can.

Jamaal is a hero of course, but the character of Salim was more complex. He is fiercely protective about his little brother, yet has no hesitation in taking away what is Jamaal’s. Then again he can easily give up everything for the same brother. A searing portrayal.

Much has been said about how impossible it would be for Jamaal to recognize George Washington, but not Gandhiji. Well, that was the point the show host and the police were making! And all the circumstances were explained, some convincingly, some not so convincingly. I have only one small quibble. We in India are all aware of Soordas. But the film does not explain to Western audiences that Soordas was blind. Long before political correctness found its way into our vocabulary, we were calling visually challenged people Soordas!

Finally, Danny Boyle did succumb to the “Bollywood dream”----he could not resist that last song (Jai Ho) on the railway platform with scores of dancers, conveniently alighting from and boarding the trains!

We are like that only, I guess!

On my reading list: The book this is based on--- "Q & A" by Vikas Swarup.

My first blog-award

2009-01-19T08:44:00.000-08:00

Thank you Sachin, honoured!Allow me to return the compliment, though I guess we can't give the award back to the one who's given it to us? Why Butterfly I wonder? Is it because we flit from topic to topic? Very apt, if so! I'd like to pass on the award to:
Shruthi: She has a lot to say, and she says it beautifully!
The One: Psmith-like humour.
Rads: Often writes on things I was j-u-u-st about to write on!And often I go, "I wish I'd written that!"
Primalsoup : Nostalgia for me because of, in parts, similar childhoods.
30in2005 : Long posts (I'm greedy)--rich reading material!
The rules for this are:

1. Put the logo on your blog (ah, that took a lot of effort, including enlisting the help of teen son, who promptly made it vanish for a while. It miraculously came back after dire threats to his wellbeing--how's that for cool? Heh heh!)

2. Add a link to the person who awarded you.

3. Nominate other blogs.

4. Add links to those blogs on yours.

5. Leave a message for your nominees on their blogs.

Fresh post coming up soon (that's a promise to myself!)

Dostana

2008-12-17T03:18:00.000-08:00

Maybe I’m on an overcritical trip here but I didn’t find Dostana funny! First of all, it seemed like a watered down KJo film, with Tarun Mansukhani borrowing heavily from all the previous KJo films, with more of KHNH, and KANK (somebody pronounced this latter to rhyme with junk, by the way). Dude, go find your own thing! But I hasten to add that KJo’s films have their own share of “korny” moments.

The Saif-SRK act in Kal Ho Na Ho was saucy and irreverent, and was accepted delightedly by audiences. So much so, that when they did a take-off on that at the Filmfare awards ceremony that year, they brought the house down. In Dostana, the humour was not very original; there were the same one-liners, e.g., “Bahu ki jagah daamaad mil gaya”.

Come to think of it, Saif would have been better as the suave boss, rather than Bobby Deol, though the latter was adequate. And if chest hair was the criterion, why not Anil Kapoor? Aah, of course, Anil K wouldn’t consent to getting it waxed!

In one scene, Abhishek is wearing a blue two toned tie-and-dye dupatta (okay, okay, scarf? Stole?) Baby, it sure was stole----Jackie Shroff wears a tie-and-dye chunni---red-yellow-green at that, and manages to look verrry macho in “Tridev”!

Was that a pink Cadillac Abhishek was driving? I thought so.

Why, when such supposedly ‘bold’ subjects are dealt with, is the location out of India? KANK, about adultery was in New York. “Salaam Namaste’, about live-in relationships and unwed motherhood was in Australia. And now ‘Dostana’ is set in Miami. Maybe it is because the filmmaker’s aim is not to deal with problems arising out of that situation per se, but to just tell a story with said situation as a backdrop only. On the other hand, something like “Fire” was very much set in India. But again, “Sorry Bhai” is set in Mauritius.

In the late 70’s, there was a film called “Karm” with Rajesh Khanna, Vidya Sinha and Shabana Azmi, in which Rajesh K and V.S live together because a prophesy says that RK will die if he marries VS. Though the basic ingredient was melodrama, the film did show how the neighbours are hostile to the couple, and how Vidya Sinha feels insecure when she sees that Shabana is attracted to RK.

If the situation is transplanted to ‘phoren’ shores, the only problems are the usual ego ones, and about ‘finding oneself’. Then how is the special situation of the film different?

There was a time when “gay” just meant “merry”. Now the word “dostana” is heading towards that connotation, if what I hear from teenagers is any indication. Incidentally, the movie seemed to have been mainly liked by teenagers and young adults. Maybe for them it is boldly funny.

To give it due credit, it was pure eye candy, all the perfect bodies and the blue sea and sky. There is one shot of the sea horizon seen from under the arched back of Shilpa Shetty lying on a bike. That looked really good.

In parts, it was like a Dada Kondke film—though I’ve never seen one, they were infamous enough to merit column space in magazines back then. The double entendres, the suggestive gestures---shudder! Which brings me to:

When ordinary mortals do it (any loud / ”audacious” stuff) it is tacky, but if Karan Johar or Farah Khan do it, it is “kitsch”/ retro/ nostalgia.

Fashion: Movie critique

2008-11-29T10:28:00.000-08:00

This always happens. You go to a movie expecting it to be the cat’s whiskers, and get sorely disappointed. Maybe it is because we have come to expect a lot from Madhur Bhandarkar’s movies, that “Fashion” just failed to grip. In parts it was episodic. In parts it was as if, instead of reading the usual tidbits on page 3*, we are watching them on celluloid.

(*Not to be confused with the movie “Page 3” by the same MB, which was very good and had a proper story.)

Is Madhur Bhandarkar going the Alfred Hitchcock/ Subhash Ghai way? Appearing in his movie as himself? Here a passing model even says, (disdainfully, i thought), “He’s making a movie on fashion!” Realistic is fine but this is like turning something inside out. If MB is real in the movie, and he is supposedly making the movie that we are watching, then does that make everything else real too? Obviously not, since such pains are taken to declare, “Any resemblance to any one is purely coincidental---“ etc. He could have been in the scene, but there need not have been any “explanatory” comment. That would have been smoother.

What i liked:

The temperamental, lisping designer played by Harsh Chhaya---there’s one underestimated actor for you.

Priyanka Chopra’s character was well fleshed out (er, figuratively, I mean---er—this pun too unintended!), innocent but ambitious, confident but vulnerable. Yet Meghna is not goody goody. Once she is established, she gives as good as she got earlier; a case in point being the way she makes Harsh Chhaya squirm. But why the bitchiness to the ace photographer, Rohit Roy? He had not been mean to her, had he?

The “booker” girl (the Komal Chautala character from Chak de!) pronouncing “lingerie” as it is spelt, and stoutly justifying it when the designer throws a fit at her pronunciation.

Mugdha Godse’s character is the most mature and generous, out of the three models. The compromise she makes is understandable.

Kangana did a good job, though she should watch out----she seems to be doing similar roles in other films too!

Kitu Gidwani’s character---she is an observer, offering only what is asked of her, making no judgements, just watching. There is a sardonic smile on her face as she watches Meghna make the same mistakes as others have done before her.

What i didn’t like:

Meghna’s father suddenly “encourages” her to go back, fight, get back what she lost. That’s all very nice, but does he know what she lost? He had problems with her doing a lingerie ad, but does he know about the drugs, the promiscuity? Is he OK with that? If he’s OK with it, then where is the conflict? I’d have liked it if his struggle against his principles had been shown. As it is, it looks like he asked her to go back because he felt she was pining for that life, whereas she came home seeking sanctuary after realizing how hollow she and her life were.

There was a similar let-down in “Laga Chunri Mein Daag”---if the family accepts the girl’s deviation from the straight and narrow, then, well, what is the song and dance about? It seems like the filmmaker just got bored with the story and decided to wind up!

Maybe we could all have a long discussion on “middle class” morality and other types of morality, if any!

I have not seen Chandni Bar properly, which must probably be MB’s best, nor Traffic Signal(Ahem, I have a short story by that name!) but going by Page3, Corporate, and now Fashion, the basic premise in these films seems to be---compromise. The protagonists struggle against the milieu they have been thrown into, or chosen, but at the end of the day, they settle down in that world, so what if a couple of their values fall by the wayside. (By the way, I have noted this also in prolific authors like Arthur Hailey and Michael Crichton. The backgrounds in each story are different, but Arthur Hailey’s basic theme is, a young Turk trying to bring about winds of change in the establishment, fighting against the reigning, ageing power-centre. Michael Chrichton’s stories are highly dramatic, adrenaline charged, but finally they boil down to a small secret being guarded at great cost.)

Yet, I would still say go watch the movie, at least to indulge in constructive criticism.

Seven things I abhor

2008-08-27T05:58:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Sachin for tagging me, and rousing me out of my lethargy! At first, 'abhor' seemed too strong a word, but then these are the things which put my back up, and leave me fuming, so here goes:

1. *Acrobats* on the road, i.e., those who *jump* the red light. Especially Delhiites---they seem to be on a personal mission to score the maximum number of red lights jumped. How pleased they look after achieving this task---what a feather in their cap! Of course, the poor Neanderthals just can’t understand why they should stop at a red light if there is no traffic coming from the other side. Figures. When they have no qualms about dashing through when there IS traffic from the other side, why on earth would they stop when there isn’t any? In their own words, “Pagal kutte ne kaata hai?” (Literal translation: Has a mad dog bitten me?) So the tendency of anyone approaching a green light is to speed up because otherwise the other guy will jump his red gleefully, thus becoming King of the Road! When it is green for them, and the other guy jumps his red light, they shower him with the choicest expletives! Which brings me to the next—
2. Swearing/Foul Language: Why? There was a time, when those who used foul language were looked down upon as not having been well brought up. Any “bad word” used was promptly checked. Certain things were not mentioned in “mixed company”. I might sound Victorian, but actually, it is plain good manners---it just means taking care not to offend the sensibilities of others. I am all for the “washing out the offender’s mouth with soap” routine—be it child or adult! On the one hand we are getting more and more politically correct, we celebrate Valentine’s Day, Friendship Day and Rose day (which are basically about making the other person feel special), yet we are getting ruder and ruder! Nowadays, it is part of “kewl” and the new “attitude”. It seems to also be 21st century women’s lib, for women to swear equally hard, and for men to swear in the presence of women. Maybe women have started swearing so that men don’t use swearing in their presence as a tool of intimidation!
3. The word attitude, used to rhyme with and to mean “rude”, and strangely, a person with attitude is admired. Arrogance, vanity have transformed into attitude. Everybody would like to have it, also enjoy watching somebody else receive it, but if they themselves are at the receiving end, they say, “Don’t give ME attitude” (meaning, I have enuff of my own already, ha!)
4. Overenthusiastic Hosts: They genuinely believe they are good. They offer you something. You politely refuse. They say, “Aise kaise?” (How can this be?) and plop a whole helping onto your plate. You might not have found it tasty and have been too polite to say so! Worse, when you are on a diet (who isn’t at some point of time or the other?) and you tell them so, you are met with what amounts to jeers, and fed-up sounding exhortations to forget about your diet this once. Do they really not realize that you are already struggling against temptation, and they would be doing you a favour by not insisting? Of course, you can get away with saying that you are on a special fast. Nobody argues with religion, you see!
5. The perceived pressure on youngsters to have boyfriends/girlfriends, to try smoking, alcohol, drugs. Poor things. Peer pressure is blamed for all this. Yet there is also a positive peer pressure---to perform well in academics and extra curricular activities and to take up social work. More Power to that!
6. Repetitive dialogues in films and serials. “Main yeh nahin kar sakta! Nahin kar sakta yeh main!” Translated into English, it sounds hilarious. It doesn’t even qualify as “active voice to passive”, otherwise it could be condoned as an exercise in grammar. A similar thing is to say something in English, and then immediately repeat it in Hindi. “Where were you? Kahan thhe tum?”
7. Those who are patronizing about housewives. There is no need for a “defence” of housewives here (though the topic merits a post to itself!); it’s enough to say that such people are plain silly! Recently I realized that for all that they are “free”, housewives just can’t up and go somewhere, not even for a good cause, whereas working people can! Strange but true.

All of you can consider yourselves tagged, and please let me know when you write your lists!

Nirupa Roy, the Rocket Scientist

2008-02-04T11:39:00.000-08:00

I have turned into Nirupa Roy. Or, if you prefer, Achala Sachdev/Kamini Kaushal/any filmi "Maa". In the sense that I’m in the “Maa ke haath ke laddoo” phase. Not at the receiving end (though I still am that, Mom Zindabad!) but, newly, at the giving end. With kid no.1 in hostel, I look out for people going that way, and press made-by-my-own-two-hands laddoos/cakes/namak paare into their hands, to be delivered to my baby adult pining for goodies-from-home. Only difference----Nirupa Roy’s laddoos came in brass dabbas, further wrapped in red-checked cloth; mine go in Ziploc boxes (recently discovered, as opposed to Ziploc bags). On the other hand, it is also reminiscent of tuck-boxes bound for Malory Towers, St. Clare’s, Linbury Court and Billy Bunter (I forget the name of his school).
Recently, we found one such Samaritan, and promptly requested some precious space in his luggage for my laddoos---the incentive, obviously, that he could share in the tuck. The exercise involved ten simple steps:
Step 1: Ring up said Samaritan’s Mom, to reiterate request and ask for address. Murphy’s Law immediately swings into play, by making sure that the address is on the other side of Delhi!
Step 2: Make sure other half (better or worse? For better or for worse!) knows somebody who can take parcel across Delhi and deliver it safely.
Step 3: Get all ingredients from market. Ring up Mom to confirm proportions, etc. Naturally this is around 10pm. Equally naturally, Mom asks if I’ve got the khoya. Still more naturally, of course I haven’t. Without going into the actual recipe, I’ll just say that usually, I use milk as the adhesive to bind the matrix into laddoos. I was told that milk might be the culprit making the laddoos go bad in hot and humid environments, so it would be better if I used khoya for the richness, and then used boiled water for binding, so that preservation would not be so difficult. Obviously, friendly neighbourhood halwai is closed at this time of night, so postpone the entire process to next morning (i.e., the day they have to be delivered to the Samaritan).
Step 4: Listen to hubby’s disapproving tsk tsk’s. The conversation then proceeds along familiar lines:
Him: Why didn’t you get the khoya earlier?
Me: Arre, Mom told me only just now.
Him: Why didn’t you ask her earlier?
Well, that’s what prevents me from being a rocket scientist----I didn’t envisage/anticipate any road blocks.
(Aside: There was actually a time when I was really contemplating being a nuclear physicist if not a rocket scientist---Physics majors in those days spoke only of BARC, TIFR, ISRO, DRDO and DRDL)
(Another aside: Ever notice that rocket-scientist-grade-ladies are not allowed a single mistake/error/foolishness/goof-up, whereas the below-average-intelligence-waalis (no offence) have kind, solicitous husbands who don’t expect them to do anything properly and are very nice about it, to boot?)
Step 5: Rush to sweet shop for khoya next morning. Start the process with keen concentration. Concentration shattered in a jiffy by phone call from intended recipient of laddoos—“ Mom, I’ve got a swollen eye---some strange insect has bitten me I think.”
Me: Put the eye drops I gave you, in the eye.
Kid: I can’t---the eye doesn’t open.
At this stage, I took a deep breath, told myself it couldn’t be that serious, rang up the family doctor and relayed his advice to the kid.
Step 6: The driver is here for the parcel. Aah. Well. Hm. Send him off on quickly concocted errands.
Step 7: Diligently stir the laddoo mixture, all the while. Bear in mind parameters like water of crystallization, steady state, equilibrium, threshold stage and cooling curve.
The threshold stage is where you have to remove the pan from the fire, otherwise, the water of crystallization evaporates and one does not get that just-about-to-be-sticky matrix. That done, you have to sprinkle water/milk in little portions at a time, wait for the mixture to cool to touchable temperature, and start making the laddoos. Probably because of the phone jammed between ear and shoulder, I added too much water to the mixture. It immediately became a seething mass, rapidly attaining steady state where it would not harden even on cooling. It was in equilibrium, but I certainly was not!
Step 8: Damage control. Quickly roast some more semolina, add sugar in proportion, again bring it to threshold state, and add to seething mass. I had to do this twice, but it worked! Those years in the Physics and Chemistry labs were not in vain! Start fashioning laddoos just as soon as the mixture cools down enough to be touched---it was still very hot, but what is a blistered hand compared to young one's joy? Vintage Nirupa Roy, that!
Step 9: Put fan on full blast (mid-winter in Delhi!) for laddoos to cool and dry, before packing and dispatching.
Step 10: Put feet up. Hog rest of laddoos to satisfy sugar cravings brought on by stress!

Tathaastu ("So be it")

2007-10-09T07:52:00.000-07:00

The gods are watching.
The gods are listening.
And they draw their own conclusions
Then they say, “So be it.”

You may not be arrogant.
(Maybe a little too sure of yourself?)
You may not be drunk with success
(Maybe a little complacent?)
Just a little silly, a little stupid.
So they roll up their sleeves
Rub their hands in glee
And send you for a toss.

Do they want to see how you land?
The gods who test you
And the gods who give you the strength
To face that test
Are they the same?

Random thought: It may not be such a good idea to be always prepared for contingencies. Those contingencies might come just because you are prepared!

Board exams and a Tag

2007-04-01T00:33:00.000-07:00

The hiatus was because of—what else, the XII Board exams. All those clichés about one being more nervous for one’s child, than one had ever been for oneself, are true. The first exam was Physics. Both the young one and I were perfectly fine the night before. The next morning, however was a different story. Inexplicably, we both developed nerves. We made it to the centre well in time, and it was there that the “atmosphere” hit. There was a tense silence mostly, with occasional low murmurs. For most children, both parents had come. The uniform refrain was, “In our days, it wasn’t such a big deal----- we used to go for the exam in DTC buses---no parent accompanied us-----” Well, who changed all that? The “now” parents, of course!
At 1:30, the “mob” was back again outside the centre gates. Again the hush, with an undercurrent of frenzy. It was like a non-teen version of mob hysteria. We were all waiting with bated breath----and then the first student came out of the gates. He immediately disappeared in a crowd of parents who swooped down on him, or rather pounced with cries of “How was it? Kaisa thha?” The poor guy must have been dazed, but he grinned and said, “It was OK.” Then a collective sigh went up, and things seemed normal again.
On the day of the second exam, the parents were still hanging about after all the kids had gone in. The reason seems to be, vaguely, that the child might need something, and so it would be a good idea to wait until the time that the question papers were distributed, after which of course nobody is allowed to leave the hall. However, a teacher popped out of the gates and politely ticked us off! She said we weren’t helping by hanging around, and could we please take a walk---though not those words, of course! Then everybody sheepishly left. After that, it was all right for the rest of the days.
I guess it became routine after that, and the anxiety also diminished with each passing exam.

***********************

I’m a bit free now, and the first thing I’m going to do is take up what Sachin tagged me with. So here goes:
1. I am thinking about: how involved we get with our children—in the small ways, in the little things, and we don’t even realize it.
2. I want to: do about six things at once.
3. I wish: A day had 36 hours.
4. I hear: (and I mean hear, not listen to!) different kinds, different tempos of music at different times of the day.
5. I wonder: why wonder is so underrated. It is that which keeps the child in us alive.
6. I regret: some decisions (academic, academic!) I took long ago. They seemed right at the time!
7. I am: what I am. Slightly (?) nutty, mostly practical, mostly smiling.
8. I dance: to my family’s tune.
9. I sing: Off key, much to my kids’ embarrassment.
10. I cry: at sentimental movies.
11. I make with my hands: thousands of chapattis!
12. I write: for my own pleasure.
13. I confuse: firmness with rudeness.
14. I need: A quiet corner to myself.
15. And finally: Too much introspection makes one maudlin and morbid!

Short Story

2007-02-03T08:15:00.000-08:00

The latest issue (Feb. 2007) of the Good Housekeeping magazine is carrying a short story by me. I hope those of you reading this, who are in India, will read it and comment. Feel free to be frank!

Happy 2007

2007-01-01T09:46:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! Our date with dates continues. Though we all know that every day is the beginning of another year (or, the rest of your life----Richard Bach, I think), there is something magical about New Year's Eve, and New Year's day. As we upend the hour glass, or year glass, we renew our promises to ourselves---including the one about getting hour-glass figures! The new year always holds out hope, and gives our faith in ourselves, a shot in the arm. We look back on the year gone by, and say to ourselves, "Never mind if I couldn't do such-and-such, I'll definitely do it this year."
Sometimes, the year gone by seems very long--we read about a movie released early in the year, and think, "Oh, was it only this year?" How long ago it seems! And sometimes it flies by, eliciting from us a sigh, "But it seems just yesterday that----". Then there is the delightful superstition that whatever you do today, you'll be doing for the rest of the year. Which is probably why we are so genuinely nice to everyone today!
Festivals are about religion, about reaping. The New Year is about renewal.
Random thought: I'll probably be doing dishes all year long, because my maid took an off for Id-ul-Zuha today!

Christmas topi

2006-12-25T06:52:00.000-08:00

Everything is red and green---it is Christmas you see. All advertisements are edged with cardboard-or-thermocole cutouts of holly, mistletoe, bells, and Santa’s face. At traffic signals, sharp-eyed urchins waggle red caps edged with “fur” at you. Even shops which are not bakeries or provision stores are stocking (pun unintended!) plum cakes . Plastic Christmas trees are up in every shop window, and are also for sale. This time these trees are not only green---some are all-white! Joints like MacDonald’s and Pizza Hut of course have their waiters dressed in the colours of the season, but what struck me was that even other establishments are going all out to cash in on the festive spirit.
Yesterday we were at a well known restaurant-cum-sweet-shop in Green Park, buying samosas. All the employees were in Santa caps, which looked absolutely incongruous. I still would not have really noticed them, but for the manager, who pulled up one of them, saying, “Pandeyji, topi pehen leejiye!” (Mr. Pandey, please put on your cap.) Apparently, Pandeyji was reluctant to do so, because his boss repeated the request twice!
Then I envisioned a "board meeting" of the owners: paunchy men sitting around a corner table in their own restaurant , snacking on hot kachoris and golden jilebis saying, " How can we boost sales? Chalo, employees ko lal topi pehna do! And display those plum cakes prominently!"
Christmas has come to Delhi.

Hypocrisy

2006-12-13T23:58:00.000-08:00

The other day, I attended a post-funeral Gita-paath (scripture reading) prayer meeting of an elderly man. He had been staying with his son and daughter-in-law for many years. In his last days, he had seemed a bit disoriented, with declining hand-eye coordination. He had been in hospital for the last two months of his life. His death seemed to be a merciful release. At the prayer meeting, the daughter-in-law was in a bright pink salwar-kameez outfit, pink lipstick and electric blue eyeliner---that make-up is her normal mode of dress.
My first reaction was, “Couldn’t she have toned it down a bit, at least today?” But close on the heels of this thought came another. Why was I judging her? Why was I thinking like all the other elderly tabbies there? She had never cared for him, and saw no reason to display non-existent somber-ness (is that a word?). Mind you, all of us had worn sober coloured clothing, though not white, like they show in movies and TV. (Random aside: How do all these characters have whites ready to wear for such occasions? I’m sure one couldn’t consciously buy clothes to go mourning in---it would be considered inauspicious, no? Further aside: In the West, mourning is black, for which formals can double up, so the inauspicious bit doesn’t come in.)
So are we hypocrites, or just a bit too conscious of the sensibilities of others? An ad for a scooter shows a girl on the pillion clinging to her boyfriend riding the scooter. Then they near an elderly man, and she withdraws her hand from the boyfriend’s waist. Is that hypocrisy? Or just a wish to not offend?
A generation has grown up watching movies in which, the enraged father goes, “Sharam nahin aati, baap ke saamne sharaab pi kar aate huey?” Which is worse, drinking per se, or drinking in the presence of your elders and (presumably) betters? The same scenario was repeated for smoking. The turning point in this field, as far as I know, came with the movie “Kabhi Kabhie”, in which the father Shashi Kapoor pours a drink for himself, and asks his son, Rishi Kapoor, “What will you have?” in his characteristic flamboyant way. The mother Rakhi makes a few disapproving noises, but it is clear that she’s doing so indulgently, and reveling in the father-son bonding. That scene came as a refreshing change. In my memory, that is a very warm scene. Until then, even if a father-son duo were shown drinking together, they were usually the villains, and the drinking took place while they were plotting against the hero!
Here in Delhi, I’ve noticed younger people touching the feet of their elders---only, it is not the feet they touch but the knees. Is it because the latter have shoes on? Or because the former can't really bend all the way down? A year or so ago, a teenaged boy suddenly lunged for my knees as I was sitting talking to his mother--- it looked like the beginnings of a football tackle----I was too startled to say “Bless you" or “Jeete raho”! After that came a certain indignation---had I joined the ranks of the elderly already? In South India, as far as I know, they actually touch the feet properly, or not at all. Some feet-touchers of course only make as if to touch the feet, bending just halfway and the feet-touchee promptly straightens them up with a "No, no, it is all right, bless you,” etc. etc. In the movie “American Desi” the hero’s American friend discovers that each time he touches the feet of an elder Indian, he gets a currency note as blessing---he cleans up a small fortune this way! While all the time, the Indian-American hero disdains the practice and never touches anyone’s feet!
Are we hardwired to automatically hide certain actions from others? Is that being discreet? To paraphrase an Indian saying,"Eat what you are comfortable with, wear what others are comfortable with."
So what is this “typical Indian Hypocrisy” that we all talk of so sneeringly, yet with a certain amount of ownership, like we do about Indian Standard Time?
Random Thought: Hypo-critical or Hyper-critical?

Murphy's Law at Corbett Park

2006-11-16T03:06:00.000-08:00

The trip had been planned months in advance—well, a month. My sister and her family were to join us, and then we were all going to head for the Jim Corbett National Park.The first snag to hit was that my cook came down with chicken pox, of all things. Now per se that was not a disaster, because I could and did manage the cooking, but my niece had not yet had it, and so we were slightly concerned. However, the chickenpox shot she had been given seemed to have worked, touch wood.
Day I: When we set off, I leaned back and relaxed. But only for a little while. We had left around 5:30 a.m., blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding at our destination. The calls began coming in around 7:30---as friends went through their newspapers, they saw an item saying that Jim Corbett Park was closed because the Park employees were striking work! We were almost at Gajraula by then, and decided to have breakfast anyway, while we decided on the next step.
We had hired an Innova tourist taxi so we had the freedom to decide what to do. Some friends suggested we head for Nainital, where our Corbett hotel had a property. We tried booking for that by phone, but no go. Either the hotel people didn’t want to take so much trouble, or, everybody else had had that bright idea and no booking was available. Oh, well, we thought, we can always laze about, and go for walks by the river. So we decided to press on, Park or no Park
As we approached, our driver asked for directions, addressing some locals, " Yeh Corporate Park kahan hai?” Of course the locals were mystified. When we had stopped laughing, we figured out that the driver is more familiar with the numerous office complexes in Gurgaon, hence this interpretation of Corbett. When we reached Ramnagar there was a ray of hope. The vendors on the street said the strike would be lifted any time now. That was all to the good, and we reached our hotel in a buoyant mood. The reception clerk said they had not yet had any official information about the lifting of the strike, but if it did lift, he would arrange for a trip at least for the Bijrani or Jhirna circuit early next morning. The Gypsy would pick us up at 5:30 a.m. So we settled down to a good lunch. The “waiters” were dressed in shikari camouflage sort of uniform. The food was great.
Of course, post lunch it was time for a siesta. That first day was just eating and sleeping, because after our nap we had tea and snacks. The hotel is on the banks of the river Kosi. We tried to do a bit of exploring in and around the hotel, but dusk was falling and we gave it up. Before dinner, there was a talk by the resident naturalist, who seemed to love what he did. Two things he said struck me. First, he said don’t expect to see the tiger like you would on Discovery or National Geographic channels---those films are made with a lot of patience—there is a lot of waiting and watching involved. Second, he said don’t worry if you have not seen the tiger, you can be sure, he has seen you! He showed us slides of various birds and animals found in the region, and imitated their calls for us. He said that there are actually people who make the whole trip around the sanctuary, and then say, “All this jungle business is fine; now where is the park we have come to see?” They mean something on the lines of an amusement park, with joyrides, giant wheels et al! It takes all kinds, huh?
Day II: The next morning we were up again at 4:30 or so and were ready and waiting by 5:30 a.m. There was a slight drizzle, which felt very nice after the hot dusty plains we had come from. We waited, and waited. And waited. No Gypsy. The chap at the reception said that that meant the Park was not yet open, maybe. So we decided to make the best of it and went for a walk by the river instead. It was so peaceful and serene. I felt like an intruder---it was the territory of the water birds. They would fly off, startled at our approach, and land on a rock in the middle of the river, turning away from us in disdain.

We worked up a good appetite for breakfast, and had a hearty meal. Then we decided to go into town, and find out what was happening, since the receptionist could not help us. He did seem a bit dumb. Ramnagar town has the offices of the forest department where one is supposed to book the trip into the Park. We did so----there was no hassle, all we had to do was give them the registration number of the vehicle we wanted to travel in. This was a result of the just ended strike---the problem had been touts and unscrupulous Gypsy drivers who had sort of managed a monopoly to the entry to the park. Also, there had been a restriction on the number of vehicles allowed—30 in the morning trip and thirty in the afternoon. The hotels had a tie-up with some Gypsy drivers. After the strike, the officials had decided to let in private cars too. For a minute, we toyed with the idea of going in the Innova, but decided against it. We felt a Gypsy was more suited to the terrain, and an experienced driver and guide would be safer. So we booked one for the afternoon, and went back to the hotel to give the receptionist a tongue-lashing. He had either forgotten to book a Gypsy for us, or was so ill-informed that he didn’t know that the strike had lifted or maybe the Gypsies that the Hotel used were not on the allowed-list any more. Whatever the reason, the whole thing smacked of inefficiency and apathy. I know small-town laid-backness seems a bit too laidback after the go-getting spirit of Delhi, but this was a tourist place, for heaven’s sake! With pure cattiness, I accused him of looking after only the foreigners, and not us! But the dumb expression didn’t change. I don’t know how much registered!
We decided to eat in the town, and enquiries resulted in the recommendation of one “Kundan restaurant” by one and all. It was not on the main road, and we had to walk a goodish bit hunting for it. It was a sweet shop on the ground floor, with the restaurant part on the first floor. The mandatory flies were buzzing around the exposed sweets, and we looked away resolutely, hoping conditions in the restaurant were better. Well, it boasted of desert coolers, if not A/C’s! And then the problem of what to eat. A couple of plates of Chhole Bhature were ordered---they arrived quite fast, but the chhole were too spicy. So then we ordered---wait, don’t laugh----dosas! The sambar had its own unique taste. The whole meal was oily, and of course it would be foolish to assume any kind of hygiene. I was already having visions of having to dose the kids with anti-vomiting medicines. As we left, I spied a strange sweetmeat---it looked like chocolate burfi, covered with saboodana. I would have tasted some, had it not been for the flies. I asked what it was called, but couldn’t understand when they told me its name. So that remains a mystery.
Then it was time for our trip into the Park. This was for the Bijrani circuit, which would take four hours. The Dhikala circuit, taking six hours, was also open, but it was too late for that for this time of the day. So we booked a Canter truck for the next morning for Dhikala. When we were doing this, an official recognized hubby’s name from a fax he had sent him earlier, enquiring about a forest lodge within the sanctuary. That would have cost only Rs.600 per night! We had given up that idea soon enough and gone for the regular hotel booking. Somehow, we weren’t willing to rough it out that much---miles inside the sanctuary, with wild animals pawing at our door---that’s how we imagined it would be. “You never got back to us,” the official said wistfully. We just gave him non-committal grins.
So now, on to Bijrani with a driver and a guide who promised to try their best to show us a tiger! We rented a pair of binoculars, all the better to see with. From the gate off the main road, it is some way inside to the Bijrani camp. There, you can have tea and snacks, buy souvenirs and generally stretch your legs before entering the actual enclosure. Once inside you are not allowed to leave the vehicle, or make any noise.

We passed many herds of chital, some Sambhar, and saw some birds too. All the tourists seemed to be adhering to the rules. So though there were plenty of vehicles, private cars too, there wasn’t much noise. In broad daylight, and outdoors at that, it was a slightly eerie feeling----talking in low tones, whispering even. The river meanders through the reserve, looping around many times, so we crossed the bed many times----over smooth round white stones of all sizes. This was when I felt thankful that we had chosen a park Gypsy. The river is a monsoon one, so it was mostly dry. At some places, small springs gurgle out of the river bed---our guide hopped out and filled his water bottle from one, and then drank out of it with much relish.
We saw the pug marks at one place, and the bark of a tree scratched down at another---we were on the trail!

We crossed the river bed once again, and came to higher ground. There was a viewing tower set up there, and people were going up and coming down. We were interested in a hornbill which sat quite still on a tree nearby, when suddenly a ripple went through the crowd. “There, tiger,” said someone. Our guide tried to herd us to a likely vantage point, but it was no good. It was just our luck that the tiger had been in full view, leisurely walking across the river bed we had just left, and disappeared into the grass on the bank, moments before we looked in the right direction. A great sigh went up from the crowd, and then there were murmurs of did you see, did you see? Our guide seemed beside himself with disappointment equaled only by our own. Back we went to the river bed, just metres away from where it was last spotted. Others had had the same idea too, and soon there was a little knot of vehicles in the middle of the dry river, waiting, waiting----. The silence! No stern disciplinarian has been able to impose such a silence in any auditorium, or place of reverence. I understood the term bated breath then. Then slowly the murmurs began again. Was it there in the grass, had it gone away?
Then our guide decided that instead of waiting there with the crowd, we would go a bit further. Apparently, tigers are creatures of habit, and frequent the same route every day. This route the guides profess to know. Which is why, the guide was certain that we would be able to catch sight of it. And then began the most hair-raising ride I’ve ever been on. For our guide and driver seemed determined to make us see the tiger. How we bounced along over the dirt track, over the boulders of the river bed, always hoping to see the King at the next bend in the path! What scenarios I imagined, of coming face to face with those eyes burning bright! And then I understood the headiness of shikaar, though I disapprove of it to the nth degree. The sheer adrenaline pumping chase, the anticipation, and the determination to get to your goal---it was all there, in that bumpy ride in a rickety Gypsy in the hot sun. Sure, we were not on shikaar, it was doubtful even if we would get to click it, but we all experienced the thrill of the chase. Well, that was what we had to make do with, because we never did get to see the tiger. I consoled myself, “But, to be sure, he saw us!”
After that anticlimax, we still had hopes for the next day. The Dhikala circuit. It was deeper inside the jungle, for one thing, and for another, we would be there for longer----six hours!
Day III: Again we were up at 4:30 a.m. to be ready for the Canter which would pick us up from the hotel around 5:30. Déjà vu. No truck showed up until 7:30. The hotel guard told us one canter had come by at 5 a.m., but that was to pick up some foreigners; our names were not down on their list. The procedure is that when you book a canter, which can seat about 20, your names are noted, as also the name of your hotel. You can only board that vehicle for which your name has been put down. Now, with this no-show, we knew the ropes. We hotfooted it down to Ramnagar town. There we stirred up the sleepy counter clerk and said our Canter hadn’t come. He tried to get his lady boss on the phone, but couldn’t manage it. Then we got her on our cell phone, and she promised to come and see what the matter was. Surprise! She actually came. They all gave out that the canter had broken down, but it was plain from their sheepish looks that they had clear forgotten! We had half a mind to cancel the trip, because it would be cutting it a bit fine---we were setting out for home that afternoon---- but were told there would be no refund. That clinched it of course---at Rs.600 a head, we just couldn’t cancel!
We boarded the Canter, which had been modified in its seating arrangement to resemble a theater-type of seating---last row highest. The sides were open, so that nothing would hamper the view, and tarpaulin side-flaps had been provided to shield passengers from rain. Well, of course it rained. We had entered the enclosure, and travelled a little way when it began raining, lightly at first and then it turned into a deluge in a matter of minutes. The rain blew in from the sides, drenching us all in no time. We struggled to button down the side-flaps. There was a little hitch----the buttons’ positions did not match their counterparts on the frame of the truck. So, some of us had to hold down the flaps. By this time our teeth were chattering, because it had suddenly turned cold with the rain. Luckily, we had bought some T-shirts as souvenirs, so when we reached the Dhikala camp, we changed into those! By then the rain had also abated. After cups of hot tea, we set off on the trail. There was grassland all around, and we felt more hopeful about seeing the tiger. We did spot a jackal which seemed quite fearless---it didn’t run away on seeing us, but sauntered across the track, taking its time. As we travelled away from the camp, the grassland slowly changed into trees and shrubs again. What struck me was the curry-leaf (kadi-patta) growing in profusion in the wild.
We spotted an iguana---huge, languid and not caring that a horde of humans were gaping at it with mixed reactions--shudders mostly!

Then there was the Sambhar deer, heavy, slow and, so we had been told, a bit dimwitted. Apparently, even when the tiger is chasing it, it pauses to turn around and see how far behind the tiger is----and that proves to be its undoing. We saw a magnificent Sambhar, with a huge gash at his throat---it had escaped the tiger narrowly. The animals all looked at us, totally unafraid. The atmosphere was such that even the most loquacious of people fell silent.
The Ramganga river flows through the Dhikala region. At one place on our trip, we were allowed to disembark---this was Crocodile Point---we could see crocodiles, gharials sunning themselves on the banks of the river far below.. Once or twice on the trail, we saw herds of chital leaping away. Hope rose again---were they running away from a tiger? But we had no luck. We did not even see the elephants that had been promised. Probably we did not have enough time to wait and watch, since our start had been delayed, and there is a fixed time for the vehicles to get back out of the reserve. And so it was back to the hotel, back home, back to routine.
Some of our co-passengers expressed their disappointment at not seeing the tiger----they felt the trip had been a waste. But I don’t think one should view it that way. The tiger is the king of beasts. Does one get an audience with royalty easily? Not seeing the lord of the jungle only strengthened our resolve to go back another time. We were in sylvan surroundings for three days, in the lap of nature. It was not at all like a zoo, where the animals are enclosed, albeit in some semblance of their natural habitat. It was an enriching experience. Part of the experience is the uncertainty!
Nature in its fury humbles us, bringing home to us the fact that Man is a puny antagonist. He can do nothing against tsunamis, volcanoes, hurricanes and earthquakes. But I felt humbled even by the shy side of Nature---by as small a matter as an animal refusing to show itself. The words of that naturalist came back to me, “Never mind if you have not seen the tiger; you can be sure, he has seen you!”
I whispered to the verdant hush around me, “Farewell tiger, may your numbers ever increase!”

************************

Bemused

2006-10-16T23:05:00.000-07:00

Guess what, my blog's birthday came and went in September and I didn't even realise it! Thought I'd put up a post which was long overdue, and did, but it has appeared in the chronological place in the blog(it was waiting as a draft).
http://cvlakshmi.blogspot.com/2006/07/murphys-law-at-corbett-park.html
Any idea how I can drag it into the present?

Italics

2006-09-22T23:52:00.000-07:00

Is it a smart move to italicise Indian words when writing in English? When we do so, are we emphasising our otherness from English? Or are we conceding that not everybody is aware of Indian terms and words, and so are making things easier for such readers?
Whatever French I know was gleaned mainly from Enid Blyton and Agatha Christie, and it was all in italics----which was how I knew it was French, in the first place! However, they were English writers. I presume the English use that much French in their everyday conversation.
By italicising, are we consciously writing for non-Indian readers? Are we trying to sprinkle some exotica? Or are we apologetic for having to use non-English words? But then, some Indian concepts just do not translate into English words. After all Indianness is not just Karma, yoga, tandoori, guru, basmati and nirvana!
What did R.K.Narayan do?

Tiffin

2006-09-16T11:26:00.000-07:00

Little boy comes home from school on a Monday. Mom checks his tiffin box. It is empty.
“Wonderful, you finished it all!” she exults.
“Er, actually, I didn’t finish it, I shared it with my friend----“
“Why, did he forget to bring his?”
“No,”
“Did he drop it or something?”
“No,” says the boy. ”He had brought idlis, but they were smelling horrible.”
“Well, maybe they were a bit over fermented. It happens sometimes----“
“No, these were actually leftovers from Saturday night.”
“Whaaaat? Who packs his tiffin?”
“The servant. His mother works.”

This is a true story. I felt very disturbed. Don’t we all try and take the greatest care of our children? Aquaguard water, mineral water. Admonitions to stay away from the school canteen. Dire warnings about roadside vendors. I tried to analyse what had happened. Of course, the mother must not have known. When she does come to know, will she ever be able to go off to work secure in the knowledge that her child will be well-cared for?

Another household, another family. The mother does not go out to work---she is a homemaker. Her teenaged daughter brings bread topped with mixture to school everyday. Sometimes, it is biscuits. Her friends ask, “Hey, why do you get these every day? Do you like it so much?”
She replies, “Well, this is what the cook gives me.”
The mother is not ill or anything. What helplessness is this?

At the paediatrician’s: One ill child, accompanied by Mom, and servant. Servant is holding the child. The memsaab says to the servant, "Get some water". Maid struggles at the water dispenser, holding the child in one arm, trying to fill a glass with the other. Mom/Mem has not moved. Why does she not hold her ill child? Is the child too dirty for the mother to hold, or is the maid cleaner than the mother? Does not an ill child deserve a mother’s lap, her hug?
Why doesn’t she get the water herself? Why is the maid here at all, unless the mom was driving, and needed her to hold the child in the car? But most probably, Mom/Mem has a driver, no? After a while, it is, “Take out the baby’s test reports and other papers from the bag.” Again Maid tries doing it, holding the baby all the time. Cannot Mom/Mem do this even? Is the maid more literate than her?

At any fast food joint, you can see families with small children accompanied by maids. The children and maid sit a little away from the adults. The maid feeds the kids, and eats. It is a good life for her, I suppose. And the mother can have a relaxed meal too. Well, well, well! How old-fashioned I am, to think that we go out with our kids to have a good time with them, not in spite of them!

A high-achiever couple has a kid, two full time maids and a part timer. The couple is away on tour most of the time. The house is therefore lived in mostly by the servants.
Another family has a senior couple, and their son and daughter-in-law, all working. There are one or two kids. The household has four drivers, one full time maid and one part timer. A cook comes in to prepare meals for everybody else in the house.

Everything is hunky dory. Or is it?

Here I am

2006-08-01T07:27:00.000-07:00

Sigh. I've been away for a long time. No particular reason for not blogging, except that the holidays were on, and the kids commandeered the computer. We went out of town on a small holiday(relevant post up soon---except that I'm trying to include pictures!) I've been limping around, suffering from a small ailment which rejoices under the name of Plantar fasciitis---which translates to heel pain for us ordinary folks! Have been undergoing physiotherapy, and also trying to lose weight--at which I've been moderately successful---down by four-and-a-half kilos!* Thank you, thank you* *waves*!
School reopened a month ago, but sonny dear has been down with one thing or another for the past ten days. If I describe things any more, this will read like a medical text book. However---

Also, I am trying to get another blog off the ground. Interested people can go to http://lak-inprint.blogspot.com/ . It is self explanatory. Do go there and write in your comments there too.

KRRISH

2006-08-01T07:21:00.000-07:00

The hype was all in place: The first ever sequel (though that was not strictly true---remember “Nigahein, the sequel to the runaway hit ”Nagina”?); India’s first superhero; the action sequences; Hrithik’s training in martial arts: “Krrish”, the eagerly awaited sequel to “Koi Mil gaya” had it all. Maybe it was the hype, but cine fans were ready to pay extra to watch this film. (The ticket cost Rs. 160 instead of Rs 150 at multiplexes.)
The idea for a sequel is a good one. As in KMG (Koi Mil Gaya), the science fiction was rational and well within the understanding of the layman. The ever alluring prospect of knowing the future has been intertwined neatly with science to give a truly entrancing project---one to kill for---and die for! Naseeruddin Shah as the megalomaniac scientist is at his effortless ease, with just the right amount of evil peeping through.
But there were oversights which rankled. In KMG, when Rohit (Hrithik Roshan) gets his powers from the alien, Jadoo, he begins to speak normally, without the childish accent that he has otherwise as the mentally challenged boy. But in the sequel, when he is shown as being employed in Singapore by a big IT firm, he reverts to the childlike way of speaking, even when he is mouthing complex scientific jargon. No doubt that brusque yet matter-of-fact way was endearing, but then, it did not stay true to KMG.
Then there is the blatant product promotion. Granted the prominent display of a popular chocolate malt beverage was in continuation from the first film, where Rohit attributes his good health to it, but why the almost ad-like presence of a detergent powder and a packet of chips? In fact, I’m almost convinced that these last two were colour enhanced or something, because in a couple of scenes, they were more prominent than the actors! Time was when product labels were discreetly turned away from the camera-----
The romance was a washout. It was terribly long drawn out and lessened the impact of the action sequences, of which, by the way, there could have been more. The character of Priyanka Chopra seemed very weak—not even grey. If she had been a scheming go-getter we could still have accepted her. But no, she just goes along with whatever her friend does. It is the friend who has the brainwave of using Krrish to save their jobs. Priya just falls in mildly with her plans, going so far as to read out sweet nothings to Hrithik from a sheet of paper!
Rekha’s reason for hiding Krrish from the world should have been to protect him from the disillusionment that his father faced, not a mere fear of losing the prop of her old age.
And what happened to the music? None of the songs are hummable—they are just forgettable. The Roshan magic has not worked in this one. The jadoo has crash-landed.
Of course, the story line is such that there can always be more sequels, in each of which Krrish can face a different challenge!

Condo living

2006-05-01T23:08:00.000-07:00

9 a.m. The doorbell rings. It is the garbage man come to collect the trash. I open the door, resplendent in my face mask of besan-haldi-dahi. Which means my face is a gooey yellow mess. The door of the opposite flat opens. There stands a gentleman of indeterminate age, clad in red boxer shorts and red singlet, long hair flowing loose, beard flowing likewise. After one horrified start each, we politely ignore each other’s presence. If we encounter each other in the lift later on, we will nod a greeting politely and leave it at that.
The garbage man is either used to such sights or is going to have a good guffaw later---because he keeps a straight face too!

Waiting

2006-04-17T07:46:00.000-07:00

She waits nine months for you to enter the world—so that she can be light on her feet again. So that she can lie on her stomach again. So that she can take painkillers again. So that she can jump again. So that she can be herself again.
She waits for you to sleep the night through, so that she can sleep too.
She waits for you to take those first steps so that she can lead you by the hand.
She waits for you to eat on your own.
She waits for you to calm down after a tantrum.
She waits for you to come back from school. From tennis lessons. From birthday parties. From extra classes. From football matches. From the movie. From coaching classes. From college. From work. From abroad.
She waits for you have your own child.
Now maybe you’ll understand her joy and her pain.

Bangalore Burning

2006-04-14T02:10:00.000-07:00

We Indians are crazy. MGR dies and people immolate themselves. Dr. Rajkumar dies and chaos rules in Bangalore, of all places. I always thought Bangalore was a very mature, laid back city. I thought everybody there was cultured, poised and balanced. My son says,"But Bangalore is such a shareef city!" Apparently I was as naïve as my son!
Mass hysteria is unpredictable, both in terms of content and intensity. As usual, the powers-that-be merrily indulge in the blame game, each saying that the other should have seen it coming. Obviously, those who have torched buses, cars and shops are not the real fans of the late actor. They are the ugly underbelly of any city, the antisocial elements, who come into their own at times like these.
I have just one question for those who professed themselves prostrated by grief---did it occur to them to offer themselves to Veerappan, or to take on the sandalwood bandit, when their idol Rajkumar was in the clutches of Old Mustachios?
RandomThought: Did anything like this happen when NTR passed away?The only image I remember is that of his second wife lamenting and breast beating in a most undignified manner.

Robbing Hood: Mandal II

2006-04-08T00:33:00.000-07:00

Here we go again.
Or, oops, we did it again. Robin Hood stole from the rich to give to the poor. Our govt is doing something similar. Only, they are not even targeting the rich, but the middle class, who often have only merit to fall back on. Even in this economic stratum, there is a middle class based on intellect/ability---not too brilliant and not below average either. I would call them above average but below brilliant. The brilliant ones will get into IIT’s anyway. The below-brilliant ones are the ones who will be hit the hardest---they are the ones who might otherwise scrape through into the IIT’s and other institutions. Into this segment also fall those whose sheer hard work makes up for lack of brilliance. The extra reservations will take away opportunities from this segment. The rich can always go abroad, or go to private colleges and institutes. The brilliant can win scholarships abroad. The ones who are left high and dry are these---the "somewhere-in-the-middle" class---economics-wise and brains-wise. Who is on their side? Why should anybody bother about them? They are not vote-banks. They are mere taxpayers.
Who is going to take advantage of these reservations? Not the ones who actually need them. They will be people who are BC’s in name only. Their parents (and probably grandparents) would have done well for themselves, having been under the benign reservations umbrella themselves, in their time.
Time and again, it has been suggested, that to give the erstwhile downtrodden classes their proper rights, give them facilities, subsidize their books, meals, tuitions, but don’t bring down the standards by keeping lower qualifying marks or cut-off lines. Just the other day, Delhi Times ran a article on an IIM-A alumnus, who put himself through business school by selling the idlis his mother made. This is the kind of story that inspires. It shows us that it can be done. An earlier generation rhapsodised about people who had come up in life by studying under the light of the street lamp. We point to such people, and say to our children, look he has done it without any of the facilities that I am providing you with. Should not the goverment in its role as mai-baap provide facilities for the genuinely deserving, whatever caste they be? To all intents and purposes the caste system is dead in urban India. Yet, it rears its head in situations like these.
On the one hand we are all smiles and proud of India Shining, because now even a rickshaw-man can own a mobile phone, and on the other we spring this on an unsuspecting middle-class.
Random thought: Should a family sell its flat to finance a child’s studies abroad, so that s/he can get a good job and create enough assets to get another flat? Or should they hang on to the flat since it is an asset which already exists?

Thande ka tadka?I think not!

2006-04-03T07:48:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, there was an ice-maiden, an ethereal beauty, who had already made a name for herself in the modeling world in India. She was one of the favourites for Miss India that year. She did win a title, and went on to become Miss World. After a shaky start in films, she established herself firmly in the Bollywood firmament. The ice-maiden melted and sizzled in the Kajrare number last year. She actually looked good with those few additional pounds. She was human after all!
As Miss India and Miss World, she supposedly had a lot of responsibility. To say the right things, to do the right things. By now it is a standing joke, that all the contestants mouth something about Mother Teresa, and something about kids, and they are on velvet. Does it stop there?
The latest Coke ad has an emaciated Ash sashaying past some “road Romeos”, one of whom whistles and likens her figure to a Coke bottle: “Umar hai solah, kamar Coca Cola”. At this, she turns around and mocks at the whistle, likening it to a cooker going phusss. And proceeds to demonstrate various types of whistles, guaranteed to produce a slap, or a sandal-imprint. Isn’t this kind of advertising nodding and winking at eve-teasing? Did not Ash see the script for the ad? Even if it begins with eve-teasing, the ad should bring across the message that such behaviour is not acceptable. Instead, the heroine is only prolonging the give and take thus becoming a party to it. What happens after she walks away? Won’t the guys follow her, trying out the “seetis” she suggested? I think, she is still suffering from the “Kajrare” hangover. But there is a small difference. That number was set in a bar. The basic flavor was a shayari type of ambience. In other films too, when there is a qawwali song, with a girls-against-boys setting, the “chhed-chhaad” is more of a matching of wits, even if the theme is boy-chases-girl-girl-rebuffs-boy. This should not be transposed on to a street scene. There, it transforms into an ugly sequence. Where is the woman of substance? The thinking woman? Tch tch.

Bluffmaster

2006-03-30T05:01:00.000-08:00

This is one surprise package. For an O .Henry and Jeffrey archer aficionado, yaani ki, me, it was a treat. There we are, chugging along a la Bunty aur Babli (not comparing, but a con film coming close on the heels of B&B is bound to draw at least a mention of the latter) and then wham! We sit up and pay more attention. And at the end of the film, we want to go back and see everything again from a new perspective. So I’m not saying anything about the ending, so that all you folks who haven’t seen it repair the error immediately. OK, that was too gushing. Hmm. Fine. Relax. Sorry. My mistake (that’s quoting from B&B by the way). The big B said it was Aby baby’s best performance yet. Now that is gushing. It was not so much his performance as the story, the format and the dialogues.
Riteish was the surprise package. Never seen him in any movie before so can’t judge his performance, but I saw bits of Masti and was pretty turned off. But hey, in Masti, even Vivek Oberoi looked weird, so we can’t really form opinions based on that. Riteish somehow reminded me of Amol Palekar in all those 70’s films. Not hunky looking, but sort of ordinary-man-on-the-street. There is a lost look combined with mischief combined with naiveté----nice cocktail. The way he seems so eager to learn the ropes, and the way his enthusiasm first puts off Abhishek and then spurs him on---it was another facet of male bonding.
Priyanka Chopra was adequate( I think I qualify as a genuine reviewer now!). Nana Patekar--- na, na karte we admire him. It makes me want to see Taxi no. 9211.
The music is good---the remixes of the old songs are different in the sense that the flavour brought out their basic purpose, viz., the boys "desperately" enjoying themselves on their ill-gotten gains. The way they break into jigs after each heist, that too to tunes of the 70's-80's---their dance movements seem perfunctory, which suggests that they are dancing with skimpily clad girls, because it is the done thing!It seemed like the filmmaker is laughing at his ilk, or we are laughing at ourselves together, at our collective enjoyment of our cinema
Hope I have not flung in any spoilers---except the reference to O. Henry! Go figure!

New excuse

2006-03-29T07:00:00.000-08:00

Daughter doing maths. homework.
Me: Ooh, matrices, that too with trigonometric elements! Yummy!
(Here I must explain that I refer to interesting maths problems as tasty papads and vodiyums (south indian) or badies(north indian)
Daughter:(Not amused and fixing me with baleful eye): Yeah, I can tell my teacher my Mom ate my homework!

Book Post

2006-03-24T08:44:00.000-08:00

My first ever tag and it’s about books! Thanks Kiwimyl!

1. What is the total number of books you've owned?

Oh, hundreds! I still have the Noddys, other Enid Blytons and Amar Chitra Kathas of my childhood, so including all these, I have around 500.
“I” alone cannot consider myself the owner of all my books. Some are still at my parents’ place, out of these some are jointly owned by my sister and me. And now lots of books are jointly owned by R and me. And with wifely possessiveness I’ve appropriated those of R’s books which he owned before marriage as mine too! If one really gets down to counting, we’ll have to use set theory--- “A union B intersection C” and all that!

2. What is the last book you bought?
Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand.
Oxford Dictionary of World Mythology.
After The Funeral by Agatha Christie.
Peril at End House by Agatha Christie.
These were all bought together, so, I can’t name any one.

3. What is the last book you've read?
Jeffrey Archer’s False Impression. Nowhere near his earlier books. The “surprises” were labored, and predictable anyway. The way everything turns out fine was very contrived.

4. What are you currently reading?
Re-reading, actually. After the Funeral, by Agatha Christie. I binge on Agatha Christie quite often. I find that sometimes I genuinely don’t remember who the murderer was, and even if I do, I enjoy the unraveling and the character sketches.

5. What are the 5 books that have meant a lot to you or that you particularly enjoyed?
Five? Here are ten!
(a) The Far Pavilions by M.M.Kaye---Isme drama hai, action hai, emotion hai,suspense hai---it satisfied my greed for an interesting, never-ending book. I have a sneaking suspicion that the sati rescue scene in Mangal Pandey was inspired by the one in this book. Whether or not that was the case, the scene in Mangal Pandey seemed absolutely insipid, because the benchmark was the sati rescue scene in The Far Pavilions. The terror of the sati-to-be, the frenzy of the crowd, the sheer inexorability of the ceremony---it still chills me. Another first---the heroine was not beautiful in the conventional sense. And the British Hindi was charming.
(b) A Town like Alice by Nevil Shute: The closest thing to a modern fairy tale. A saga of a woman’s courage, spanning three continents and several years.(Yes, that sounded just like a burbling blurb but that’s what it is) The courage is not militant, in-your-face, but a quiet deep power. There is a thread of humour running through the whole story which underlines the other emotions, be it poignancy or hope or even shock. I dip into the book now and then.
(c)To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. Ooooh.
(d)Brinkley Manor by P.G.Wodehouse. I nearly died laughing! When I was studying in Hyderabad, I used to read Wodehouse on the bus to and fro college. I would start laughing out loud. I had to stop reading when I noticed that I was getting strange looks from the other passengers.
(e)Raise the Titanic. I forget the author’s name. Action and adventure, with cutting-edge technology, but I may be confusing the last bit with
(f)Thin Air (again Author’s name forgotten) Wonderful Sci-fi based on matter-energy interconvertibility.
(g)Sci-fi collection edited by Isaac Asimov. It had “Royal Jelly” by Roald Dahl, which was so chilling. Another story (I think it was called “Night”) was one in which a planet is lighted by many suns, so it never knows darkness except once in a few millennia, when all the suns get eclipsed together. At that time almost the entire civilisation is wiped out, because the concept of artificial light is just not there. Those who discover that fire can also be used for light, survive. And once the eclipse is over, everything has to start again.
(h) Doctors by Erich Segal. The whole book was wonderful. The issue of euthanasia.Transference in psychiatry. Medico-legal issues. The scene in which the Negro doctor picks up a knife to save a choking diner at the restaurant was very thrilling. It was made even more twist-in-the-tail-ish by the way he gets misunderstood---he is seen as a black man attacking a white one with a huge knife!(sorry if this is a spoiler for anybody!). Only the end was so Hindi movie-like that I began to wonder---why do we scoff at our movies?
(i)Chariots of the Gods, and
Gods from Outer Space by Erich von Daniken
(j) India Unbound by Gurcharan Das. I'm all at sea where Economics is concerned, but this book was interesting and clear.

5. What book(s) would you wish to buy next?
(a)I would like to own “The Feynman Lectures” which is in 2 or 3 big volumes. Richard Feynman explains the principles of Physics with, yes, humour so beautifully in everyday language that even those for whom Physics is a bugbear will get converted. I would like to share it with my children. But I don’t think I can ever buy it---it was expensive even when I first discovered it. So I’ll probably just buy a Wodehouse to add to my collection.
(b)Gone with the wind---I read it a long time ago, and I want to read it again now, and also own it. The only thing I liked about the sequel, Scarlett, was the concept of C-section in those times---it seemed practically like science fiction in that setting!
(c)Lost Horizon by James Hilton. I read it long long ago—I’ve practically forgotten everything but the main theme. I’ve borrowed it from my sister, and will read it soon. I would like to own it too.
(d)The Doctor series, by Richard Gordon. I have only “Doctor in the house”. I would like to complete the collection.
(e)The “Mrs. Harris” books by Paul Gallico. Read them and enjoyed them. Would like to buy them if they are still available.

6. What book(s) caught your attention but you never had a chance to read?
(a)Cosmos by Carl Sagan. I borrowed it from a cousin, but it was whisked away again! But I will read it one day. The TV series used to air on Doordarshan in the early eighties, and I used to look forward to it every week.
(b)The “In-Law” books by Henry Cecil. When I was a kid, my parents used to rave about them, having borrowed them from libraries. When I was old enough to want to read them, they were out of print. They have now made a comeback, and I am rubbing my hands in anticipation. Digression:
Long ago (when dinosaurs roamed the earth, as my son would say!) there used to be mobile units of the Delhi Public Library. Membership was 50 paise or some such sum. On a fixed day of the week, the van would stay at our locality for an hour or so, and during that hour, we would greedily try to read a book as well as select two others to take home for a week. This is where I first read the Jennings stories (Anthony Buckeridge), William stories (Richmal Crompton), and probably even Billy Bunter. All the books were in a uniform dull green binding which made them even more exciting---you never knew what treasures you would find!
The other library which to my childish eyes seemed like heaven on earth was the Defence Services Staff College Library at Wellington, Tamil Nadu. It was on at least two floors, and part of the charm was that it was set into a small hill in such a way that you could enter the first floor from the outside, without any stairs! The ground floor was at the bottom of the hill, of course.
(c)Godfather by Mario Puzo !!!! * Running for cover* Never read it, nor saw the movie. In “You’ve got mail” Tom Hanks keeps quoting Godfather which deepened my resolve to read it, but somehow I never seemed to be in that frame of mind. Anyway, with books, resolves are silly—you want to read it, you’ll read it! I read books while stirring the curry even!

7. What book(s) that you've owned for so long but never read?
The Tao of Physics. It used to be spoken of a lot at I.I.T.D, and I sincerely wished to read it, but then it seemed like a busman’s holiday at that time, so----!

8. Who are you going to pass this stick to (3 persons) and why?
I’ve seen this tag on some posts, so I guess I’m one of the last people to be tagged for this! However, if they don’t mind, I’d like to tag Meghalomania, The One and Shankari, because, I’ve seen how they write, now I’d like to see what they read.

Can I add my own Q’s? If so, here goes:

9. What book have you wished you had never read?
The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy. It was very impressive, yet after reading it I had such a melancholy feeling. And melancholy is something I can do without, thank you very much!
Shobha De’s novels. Her non fiction is so good. Wonder why the dichotomy.
It by Stephen King. Too scary by half!

10. Books/ authors I am not crazy about, but don’t mind reading:
Wilbur Smith
Robert Ludlum
Leon Uris

I had a great time doing this!

Valentine's Day

2006-02-15T02:15:00.000-08:00

Teen daughter: What did you and Dad do for Valentine’s Day, when you were engaged?
Me: Nothing, there was no Valentine’s Day then. (Meaning, there was no hype in India those days)
Teen son: Er---you were around before St. Valentine?
This is the same boy who once (as a four year old) asked me if there were dinosaurs around when I was a kid!
I feel sixty-five million years old!

Some Questions

2006-02-13T06:12:00.000-08:00

Is it necessary to be in a constant state of angst to be a “good writer”?
Can a happy-go-lucky person write meaningful literature?(Wasn’t P G Wodehouse an easygoing type?)
Can good writing be about ordinary everyday events, frustrations and small desires?
Can a novel be enjoyable without the backdrop of some earth-shaking event?
Can a book be published without the writer having a burning desire for such an outcome? Rather than a mild feeling of ”It would be nice if this were published.”?

Rang de Basanti: Aamir, you owe me 75 bucks

2006-02-03T10:16:00.000-08:00

Now that it’s been a week since RDB was released I can safely write about it. I saw it the other day at a multiplex. Each ticket costs Rs 150. (And we were a family of five!). I mention this, because in an informal session with members of the public on NDTV, Aamir Khan and his fellow actors stated (jokingly, of course) that “if you don’t like the movie, I’ll return your money!” So, I’d like my Rs 75 back please, because I liked only the first half. Actually it is not so much liking the first half as strongly disliking the second half.

Everyone knows by now, that the movie is about five young men who are drifting in life, and they find a mission in clearing the name of a friend who dies in a MIG-21 crash and is blamed for it, whereas the actual culprits are the dealers and politicians who buy substandard parts for the aircraft. Wonderful theme.

Music: Beautiful(ARR after all!) Especially the track that accompanies their mobike racing, was pure adrenaline pumping. Lyrics: sparkling, refreshingly out of the ordinary.

Aamir Khan is not the sole hero. All of them are heroes, not sidekicks. The treatment is very today, no ‘dialogues’, no dramebaazi. The hero doesn’t fell ten men with a single blow. On the contrary, he gets thrown out of the ring in a village wrestling match by an eight foot tall wrestler (well he looked eight feet tall!). Aamir has worked on a Punjabi accent, not forgetting the choice Punjabi cuss words! After passing out of Delhi University, his character DJ still remains a simple son of a dhaba owner. The latter being Kirron Kher, playing yet again the loud Punjabi with ease(remember Hum Tum?). Before that it was the feisty Bengali in Devdas. I would like to see an understated, subtle performance by her some time. Her character is typical ”Jewish mother” bent upon feeding everybody until they are ready to explode.
In choosing Waheeda Rehman to play the mother of the young pilot, the filmmaker has made things easy for himself---Waheeda brings grace and dignity to the role just by being herself. She shows iron strength at the funeral, but when her son’s trunk full of his possessions is brought home, she almost collapses. Nice touch, that.
Anupam Kher and Om Puri are wasted in their roles as fathers of two of the boys. No opportunity for their immense talent.
The alternating between the present and the sepia past was interesting---that technique is a personal favourite, so I may be biased.

Aamir is vulnerable. One night he confesses to Sue that he sticks around in college even five years after passing out, because here he is “somebody”. He has some “aukaat”. But in the outside world, he would be a nobody. Now, though that shows him in a human light, it has the makings of a loser.

And that’s what they all are---losers. It was soooo disappointing, the way they dealt with the problem. It was downright dangerous, all the more so because the protagonists are not supermen, they are ordinary people. Somehow, in a regular Bollywood film, when the hero does a back somersault from the ground onto a balcony, takes on all comers single-handedly and then kills all the baddies, the killings are taken with a pinch of salt, just like the stunts are. But here, because the heroes, the conversations, the situations are so real, the “solution” might be taken as possible too. And then they turn around and say, “We are not terrorists”. Of course they are! Our run of the mill terrorists also call themselves freedom fighters. That doesn’t change the fact that they kill.

DJ and co. in RDB differ from terrorists in that they don’t kill innocent people. But that’s about all. It cannot be a justification. The very fact that they easily resorted to slaying, shows how weak they were. Did they explore other avenues? Did they try a sting operation? Did Karan try to tap his dad’s phone and record the dubious arms deals? They had a movie camera at their disposal, for heavens sake! Did they try to garner support for the dead Madhavan by getting testimonials from his senior officers? They could have made a secret tape, then taken over a TV station and telecast it. That would have taken care of the drama element. When they take over the radio station, their college friend is on air, but we were told earlier he was on the graveyard shift—midnight to 6 a.m. So how did they get so many listeners? OK, maybe some owls were listening and woke up the larks, and by then it was early morning.

They say, “Join the IAS, IPS, and reform the system,” but why don’t they do so themselves? Because they have not really studied in college (a fact they are very proud of!) It needs brains and a lot of hard work to join these elite services, which they are not willing to put in. Also, it symbolizes the instant gratification that seems to be the order of the day---they cannot invest time in finding a solution, hence—gun down the cause of trouble.
There is a thread of weak moral fibre running through the characters. The impression one is left with at the end is that acting in Sue’s documentary made them believe they were our revolutionaries reincarnated, and could repeat those actions and no questions asked. Especially when Soha repeats her lines from the documentary, “Kill them.”

Where is the angst they are supposedly feeling? They just state that the state of the country is horrible. Have they tried looking for jobs and failed? Have they stood in lines endlessly? No, they refuse to leave the cocoon of the campus---they are putting off entering the real world. Contrast with the controlled anger and frustration of Sunny Deol and his friends in “Arjun”. There was the added humiliation of realizing that one has been used as a pawn in the politicians’ game. Something similar happens to Atul Kulkarni’s character in RDB, but it is not taken forward.
By all means, make them martyrs to keep the historic parallel, but after they do something intelligent and right, not after they kill two people in cold blood!

Yet---whimsical montages---when General Dyer’s image is replaced by the Defence Minister’s, and Madhavan is being shot at—he walks towards the guns, puzzled, saying, “Hey you are ruining my sexy bomber jacket!” Aslam, the gentle pacifist, who cannot conjure up hate at will, like his brother urges him to. Upset, he pushes open the door of his room—and emerges on the other side, as Ashfaqullah Khan, spouting poetic dialogues.

Looks department: Aamir Khan needs a facelift, if he wants to continue playing a 26 year old. And watch those close-ups: I could see white stubble! Madhavan needs to lose weight; he’s looking too chubby---so also in the TV program “Deal ya no deal”.

Promising: The actors who played Aslam,(so handsome---can we look forward to a nice romantic movie? And a sparkling comedy?) and Karan. The latter has potential which his baby face belies---he could even cultivate an underlying menace.

Common thread running through Lagaan, Mangal Pandey and RDB: One sympathetic Britisher at least. Also, underlining Hindu-Muslim unity.

Summing up:A brilliant idea derailed midway.

The ad doesn't add up

2006-01-14T10:18:00.000-08:00

I love ads, in general. I watch them with equal, if not more interest as the program I happen to be watching. So it is a bit of a let down when they don’t make any sense (to me, at least). I don’t mean the ones which have skimpily clad girls whether it is justified or not---those are par for the course, and I feel they are defeating their purpose because the girls will be remembered and the product may not (do I see a heated debate brewing?)
Some ads don’t make sense to me but my teenagers patiently explain the point, so those are OK. At least they are comprehensible to SOME creatures!
There is an ad for Orbit chewing gum, which is supposed to whiten your teeth. The ‘protagonist’ here is a----hold your breath (no pun intended) ---buffalo! The narrator, a rural type with an oil slick for hair, says,”This buffalo eats green grass, but her teeth are yellow”. Hey! Hold on! *Bulb lighting up in my brain as I write this*---is this a barb directed at toothpastes claiming to have chlorophyll in them (for whatever that’s worth)? I remember l-o-o-o-n-g ago, there used to be Binaca Regular, Binaca Fluoride and Binaca Green (with said chlorophyll). Anyway, this guy pops an Orbit chewing gum into the buffalo’s mouth, and presto! The bovine heroine has flashy white teeth! All they have achieved is: underlining the fact that people chewing gum look like they are chewing the cud! Then the guy says something like, “If this works on animals, it will work on humans, because after all man is a social animal.” Huh? In Hindi it sounds even worse, because the last bit goes,”manushya ek saamaajik pashu hai” Saamaajik pashu = social animal, if you please!
Digressing a bit: it is a bad idea to literally translate idioms—from English to Hindi, or the other way round--- they sound idiotic. Another example is the “Work in Progress” signs, which read “Kaarya pragati par hai” I live in dread of seeing some yokel, or some angrez type trying hard to figure out that sign, and barging into it in the bargain! What’s wrong with “Kaam ho raha hai” or “Aadmi kaam par hain”. This last will satisfy even the die-hard angrezi translators, because it means “Men at work”. And of course, who can ignore work done on a yudh-sthhar (war footing)? Or the grass-roots level being called trinamool?
The other ad which had me going “Duh?” was the ad for Kotak securities. A man walks up to the counter at a café and asks for coffee.
The guy behind the counter asks, “With milk, or without?”
Customer:" With”
Counter Guy:" With sugar, or without?”
Customer tells him.
CG: Jamaican beans or (something else, I forget)?
Customer tells him.
CG:” Light, medium, strong?”
At this point, the customer gets peeved and empties the cup over the service guy’s head. Huh? Isn’t it the wrong analogy? I thought the more choices you are given, the better it is! Then the company can say their portfolios are tailor-made for each customer. Maybe it doesn’t work that way. After all, I wouldn’t know a bull from a bear unless they were flesh and blood ones! So I’m open to any lesson in basic economics.

What I did not do

2006-01-10T06:27:00.000-08:00

Is it a bit late in the day to be talking about the run-up to the New Year? The last week of 2005 was a holiday for the kids as well as R. Looking back; it looks more like a list of what we didn’t do, rather than what we did. So here goes:
We did not go to Jaipur. We had made half-hearted attempts to plan a trip, but it all came to naught. We had not been far-sighted enough. We should have thought of it in October or so, but didn’t. There was the question of whether daughter mine would be having extra classes, which as it turned out later, she didn’t. Oh well, we thought, we can always roam around in the sun in good old Delhi!
We did not visit Akshardham temple. I’ve heard good reports, and one day we certainly will visit, but it didn’t happen this vacation.
We didn’t ride on the newly inaugurated line of the Metro. Marna hai kya! Going for a joyride on a new section of the Metro is simply asking for trouble. All of Delhi and its Auntyji and Uncleji was there, it seems. Of course the overcrowding nearly made the system crash---they ran out of tokens and the escalators were groaning with the overload. Tempers, always ready to ignite, flared high. We smiled smugly in our wisdom. After all we are not rubbernecks. For the record, I have never set foot in any Metro train or even station. Will do so when all of Delhi turns blasé about it! That’ll take some doing, I guess!
We did not ring in the New Year together. Small as our family is, we further split up into self, R and one kid going to some friend’s house, while other kid and gramps stayed home. We fully intended coming home well before the Cinderella hour, to usher in the NY with them, but could not in all politeness rush away from the friends before 11:30. And after that,as they rightly pointed out, all that would happen would be that we would be neither with them, nor at home, so----! The “malls” section of MG Road, Gurgaon had a fair number of revelers. With their cars parked along the side of the road, serving as mobile bars, they all seemed a bit boisterous. As yet they had not become as well lit as the Christmas trees in the stores---they were just happily waving to all the cars on the road. I heard afterwards that later, around 2 a.m., they did become rowdy, lunging at cars, trying to grab at people on mobikes. Thankfully it was not foggy. By the way, in every town and city of India, MG Road invariably stands for Mahatma Gandhi Road; it is only here that it stands for Mehrauli-Gurgaon Road. Anyway, they should call at least that section of it The Mall Road!
We did not buy furniture. Elsewhere in the archives (I love Bertie Wooster) I had mentioned my carpenter woes. The jobs I gave the carp are still not finished. We did go hunting for a centre table and a TV stand, but didn’t find anything suitable. Sigh!
We did not visit a temple on Jan.1st.The Venkateshwara temple is anyway never crowded when we go, but Hanuman temple is a seething mass of humanity on Tuesdays and any other auspicious day. We once went on New Year’s Day a few years ago, and it was not a divine experience. Quite the opposite. The queue went on forever, the floor was greasy—I had to throw away the socks we wore there, because I was not subjecting my washing machine to that kind of grime! Within the shrine, push came to shove. We were hard put to protect the kids from getting squashed. Ever noticed how seemingly little old ladies of the Punjabi variety have strength as the strength of ten? They know how to use their elbows too! I put it down to Makki-di-roti te sarson-da-saag, but more of that later. BUT---- we went to the Venkateshwara Temple(R.K.Puram) and the Hanuman Temple (Connaught Place) on 30th Dec., not knowing that it was Hanuman Jayanti that day. Both places were eminently satisfying—no crowds.This time, we had a leisurely darshan, and yummy prasad of the asli ghee kind! Then we went on to dinner at Saravana Bhavan, and indulged in sinfully buttery dosas! Went on to Nirula’s for icecream---there is something about icecream on a cold night---it is a sort of competition between your inside and the outside—which is colder?
I did not buy heart-shaped balloons from the urchins at CP. They were in rags, and their eyes were streaming. Did someone put glycerin in them? I am not heartless or cynical, it is just that I wish I could do something more concrete for them than hand over a five-rupee coin, which like as not will be grabbed by their"boss" or somebody.
I did not attend the Zubin Mehta concert we had passes for. It would have involved an investment of around seven hours for a concert of two hours. Going from Gurgaon to India Gate, parking there, catching the shuttle, and being seated about one hour before the start, and then afterwards, the whole thing in reverse--we somehow felt we couldn't do it. Ah well, I hope I get the opportunity to soak up some culture another time.
I did not make any New Year resolutions, certainly not the dietary ones! On New Year’s day, we were invited to a lunch party at a farm house. I didn’t know too many people there, so there wasn’t much by way of conversation. But I indulged in a leisurely meal which included makki ki roti and sarson ka saag. Dollops of white butter and lumps of jaggery were also set out, for those who preferred them with their makki ki roti. Of course, I had to have the kulfi! But I virtuously avoided the jilebis, though they are my favourite. It was a placid afternoon in the sun. Just the thing to begin the New Year with. So here’s wishing all of us a Happy New Year, new achievements, new contentment.
Random Thought: Pongal is round the corner. I shall be making the sweet of the same name and offering it to the Sun as he enters the Northern Hemisphere of the heavens. I will once again try to make my kids have some, even if I have to force-feed it to them, and threaten to beat them over the head with the dish!

Scary Santa

2005-12-16T21:41:00.000-08:00

TOI report: Father Christmas may be perceived as a scary figure
It is a while ago now, when my daughter was 3 years old. She went to a small pre-nursery school---it was one room, to be exact. It was run by a lady who loves kids, and her own having grown up, found this an ideal way to spend her time.
For Christmas, she organized a treat for the toddlers in her care. She got sweets and small gifts for all the children. She made a small Nativity scene in a corner of the room. She told them the Christmas story. She told them they would all be getting Christmas presents. And then, as the grand finale, a door burst open and in rushed a portly figure in red, his face nearly hidden in a beard and whiskers of cotton wool.
“Ho, ho, ho,” he cried and swung a huge bag from his shoulder. For a moment there was stunned silence. Then it was shattered by a shriek, and my daughter went off into howls of terror. She managed to set off most of the class too. What nobody had budgeted for was the fact that most kids, at some time or the other in their young lives are threatened with a “Buddhha baba”, an old man who takes away disobedient children in a big bag. Parents use that vision to get kids to drink their milk, have their medicine, go to bed---whatever. And here was the menacing ‘baba’ in person!
I thought only non-Christian kids might get scared of Santa, but I saw an episode of Full House in which the twins Nicky and Alex are terrified too, because they are told, "He is watching you, he sees when you are good and when you are bad!"
Note: I don't think I ever raised the spectre of the buddhha baba, though I remember regularly enlisting the services of the colony watchman to get her to take her medicine! He would cajole her in the most avuncular fashion, whereas I wanted him to be a figure of awe!

Oops!

2005-12-12T05:26:00.000-08:00

Uh-oh. I made a small change in the look of the blog, and lost all my links. Oh, well, all that work to do again!

Sensitisation?

2005-12-10T00:49:00.000-08:00

I read a news item in The Times of India dated 21/11/2005*, describing how certain ‘hurtful’ words are going to be replaced by more sensitive ones.
Nobody is going to 'fail' any more—they’ll just have 'deferred success'. What is wrong with failure anyway? If one has been lazy, or not capable enough to succeed, then too bad. Try again. Work harder. Try another way. Take another road.
A terrorist will just be a misguided criminal (poor thing! ----what comes to mind is Captain Haddock’s ‘misguided missile’).What will happen when they decide that ‘criminal’ is hurtful too? However, if blunting the term takes away the power and the awe, fine.
A ‘brainstorm’ is going to be a ‘thought shower’. I thought it was a good thing—something like a sudden inspiration? I see from the Chambers dictionary that it also means sudden disturbance of the mind.
Long long ago a person whose behaviour or development did not conform to normal was called mad. Then it was retarded, and then mentally challenged. Are we treating these people any better?
And, and and…
‘Intrinsic aptitude’ is what will describe the reason why ‘women might be underrepresented in the fields of engineering and science.’ Why? First of all I have grave doubts about there being fewer women in Science---in my MSc Physics batch in I.I.T, we were 14 girls in a class of 20! And the topper was a girl too. Of course, this was an exception to the rule, but one can’t generalize. I have met men who have absolutely no head for science, I have met women—uneducated ones, who have the scientific temperament. I regularly back my car into trees and pillars trying to reverse parallel park, because my right brain is just not made for spatial ability, but then so do a couple of guys I know.
What are we trying to guard against? Whom are we trying to protect? Have we become so civilized that we can’t bear to even think of hurting another’s feelings? Have we? Have we really? Is calling ‘women’, ‘womyn’ going to make them safer from abuse? If so then what is wrong with the practice of opening doors for the fairer sex, rising when she enters the room, carrying her bags for her? Maybe that inculcates sensitivity too.
Is it not better to call a person blind and help him cross the street (if he wants, that is) rather than calling him visually challenged and not doing anything for him? Disabled. Differently abled. These are words, just words. Using milder words may hypnotise the user into behaving mildly too---which is debatable, anyway, but the recipient of these words may not benefit much.
Random Thought: Let all Delhi drivers take a course in the fabled Lucknowi “Pehle Aap(After you)”. Maybe incidents of road rage will come down then.

*I'm not yet into providing convenient links!

Cribfest and praises

2005-12-09T05:47:00.000-08:00

Harry potter and the Goblet of Fire (In Hindi it is Aag ka pyaala, if you please!): It is dark, literally. The movie looked like the Lord of the Rings, or Batman and Robin---no sunlight.There is no brightness except in the ball scene. Parvati and Padma Patil’s dresses weren’t very pretty. But the awkwardness of the boys was very cute!
· They did away with Winky altogether! Also Ludo Bagman.
· And why was the maze task reduced to just the bushes closing in? What about the Sphinx and the skrewts and all the other dark obstacles?
· Why did they show Barty Crouch Junior with Voldemort in the first scene? Why did they show Barty after the Dark mark? We were not supposed to know it was he who shot out the dark mark!
· They even cut the Quidditch world cup match, Veela included…That was a great disappointment!
· They never even showed the dementors. Well, maybe they did not want to show them sucking the soul out of Barty Crouch Jr.(though they had no qualms in so doing in P of A)
· Nor did they show Harry giving Fred & George his Triwizard winnings for their joke shop, saying that the world needs more laughs than ever because Voldemort had returned.
· They showed Barty Crouch Sr. lying dead in the forest, whereas after his son (Barty Crouch Jr.) kills him, he is supposed to transfigure his father’s body into a bone and bury it in the forest.
· Neville gives the Gillyweed to Harry, whereas Dobby is the one who does so in the book. This is not a quibble, it is important because the false Moody thinks Neville will do it, but he doesn’t---so he has to take the Dobby route(by revealing the Gillyweed option to Mcgonagall in Dobby’s hearing.)
· I pictured Moody with a very craggy face, with more scars! And what price the sleek aluminum leg instead of the wooden one?

If I ever write a book, and if it ever gets made into a film, I’ll probably hound the filmmakers to death and not let them change anything! On second thoughts, the film maker has some creative licence too!
Talking of books, I just finished reading “One night @ the call center” by Chetan Bhagat. I liked it better than “Five point someone” in terms of humour and optimism. The passages with the boss were rich! Reminded me a bit about Dilbert. There is creative use of fonts, for which the author thanks Microsoft. MS also features on two levels in the story. All in all a good read. I will even go so far as to say that it is almost the book equivalent of Dil Chahta Hai.

Dressed to kill

2005-11-22T21:02:00.000-08:00

I read about under dressing for weddings, in this post. Well, I have done just the opposite. The other day, we had to see Dad off at the Hazrat Nizamuddin station, Delhi. We had ambitiously planned to attend a wedding reception after seeing off Dad. Not wanting to attract any attention at such a place as a railway station, I wore a black Mysore crepe with a quiet embroidered blouse, and took some light jewelry in the purse, so as to wear it later—and was ready when R came home. That in itself was a feat considering I had to get dinner ready for kids and f-i-l, and also pack some dinner for Dad.(Though the train was catered, you never can take a chance with diabetics.) Then R said the sari was not ok for a wedding reception. I was so thrilled to get an opinion that I changed into a brighter, grander Kanjeevaram sari, against my better judgment. Also changed the jewelry in the purse. Usually, when I ask for an opinion, all I get is”Hmm, OK!” And this time, I hadn’t even asked!
Old Murphy wrote all those laws expressly for me, of course. Because the day Dad was leaving was also the day half of Delhi decided to get married, it seems. So though we left in good time, we got held up in humungous jams. Tension was mounting. As it is, Dad belongs to the “reach-the-station-an-hour-before-departure” school of thought. We hadn’t known about the weddings, and another thing we didn’t factor in was that Dad would need a lot of time to make it to the platform, what with negotiating the overbridge and all. When we realized that, and got clear of the jams, R really stepped on it. So we managed to make it with a little time to spare, even.
You can imagine me running after the coolie in high heels and a Kanjeevaram! And clutching the purse for dear life! Ugh, the platform was dirty---I hiked up the sari to above the ankles, and bunched up the pallu too. The sari went to the drycleaners the next day! Anyway, after the train left, R didn’t feel up to going for the reception, neither did I. We headed back home. The traffic was even more on the return trip, and we wouldn’t have reached before 11pm, so we stopped en route and had a sandwich at Subway. I had got strange looks at the station, which were nothing compared to the polite glances which came my way at the restaurant---it had the multiplex crowd, and some people who seemed to have walked in for a snack, in track pants and baggy tees. Aaaargh! Never again!
Multitasking is all very well, and something to be proud of, but not to this extent!

Blogaholics Anonymous

2005-11-17T21:12:00.000-08:00

Help, I’m turning into a blogaholic! Yesterday, dinner got delayed because I couldn’t resist surfing the blogs---I thought it would be just for ten minutes, while the cooker cooled down, but the ten minutes turned into forty before I realized it! Of course the kids were not complaining, but elderly people need their meals on time. I plead guilty!

Way to go, Draupadi!

2005-11-15T20:14:00.000-08:00

I missed the actual news item, but saw a comment on it in, of all places, the Economic Times. It seems a drunk husband staked his wife for Rs. 5000 in a card game and lost her. In the Kundapura Kedarpur village in Dhampur tehsil of UP’s Bijnore district, a drunken Ram Singh lost his money, then his ring and watch. Then he staked his wife a la Yudhishthira and lost her too. The winner went to Ram Singh’s house to claim the wife, and this is where the story diverges from the Mahabharata. Instead of submitting in floods of tears, the woman picked up a faggot and beat up the winner with it. That man went running to the police station. Anyway, the loser borrowed the 5000 from somewhere and paid off the winner, but when he reached home, his wife was waiting for him and gave him a sound thrashing. She stopped only when he begged forgiveness and promised never to gamble again ever.
Good going!
Random Thought: Why is it that when a man hits a woman it is serious, but when a woman hits a man it is hilarious?

Purdah hai purdah

2005-11-09T06:45:00.000-08:00

This is the blogsphere, a planet of cyberspace---we are faceless identities, choosing to be known only by our thoughts and opinions. There may be speculation about what sort of person the blogger is, but let that not cloud the planet with unnecessary complications—God knows our real lives are complicated enough!
Furious debates on topics---yes
Bickering and personal insults—no-no
However, the larger issue is: our tendency in general, to associate one kind of beauty with another. That tendency is only human-----and it is a direct result of the imaginative chip in our brain circuits.
Literature and cinema are full of this kind of lively imagination. There was a V.Shantaram movie in which Sandhya is secretly a radio singer going by the name of Kokila (nightingale/ koel). Her everyday avatar is that of an ugly servant in a big household. (The ugliness is symbolized by a liberal coating of boot polish on her face! That topic is another subject by itself—why is melanin equated with ugliness?) The younger son of the house listens to her songs on the radio, and paints a wonderful picture of her and falls in love with her. She sees the painting and is loath to reveal herself, because she doesn’t want to rudely awaken him from his dreams. Another Shantaram movie, “Navrang” had a similar theme----the poet’s muse is a beautiful woman---it is actually his wife but neither of them realizes it and the wife is tormented by the thought of the poet being totally enslaved by the muse. The husband is disgusted by the ordinary, normal persona of the wife and has no time for her. And of course the much-celebrated-and-ridiculed Satyam Shivam Sundaram, where the hero assumes the heroine is beautiful because her voice is.
In the legend of Udayana and Vasavadatta (read your Amar Chitra Kathas!), Princess Vasavadatta’s father arranges for her to learn a special musical mantra from King Udayana, to charm elephants. Since Udayana is his enemy and he doesn’t want his daughter falling for the enemy, he arranges for a curtain between them, telling Udayana that his student is an old hunchback woman, and telling Vasavadatta that her teacher is a leper. However during the course of a lesson, the princess keeps making mistakes, which provokes the wrath of the royal guru. He reprimands her, and calls her a hunchback. She retaliates by calling him a leper, they part the curtains in anger, and of course the expected happens.
While such a premise is interesting material for literary purposes, all of us would do well to steer clear of such filmi speculations in real-or-blog-life!

Happy Diwali

2005-10-31T03:24:00.000-08:00

Today is Naraka Chaturdashi, Chhoti Diwali. The house is decorated, but then we had to undo some things because the paint-polish wallahs chose to come today to do some unfinished jobs. Now the whole house is full of spirit-fumes. Should I have sent them away with a flea in their ear?I let them start thinking they'd be done in a couple of hours. They are still here in the evening--got to kick them out before lamp-lighting time. After this half of them will disappear for Bhai-Duj, and the other half for Id. At times like this I feel it is better to buy furniture from the store--you know exactly what you are getting and when you are getting it!Grrrr!

Life in the Fast Lane

2005-10-20T05:26:00.000-07:00

Today is Karva-Chauth, the ladies’ day of fasting for the long life of the husband. On this day, married women(and probably, engaged ones too) go the whole day without food, and water , breaking the fast only after seeing the moon, and offering water to it.
This festival has been celebrated in countless hindi movies and tv soaps, with the wife fondly gazing at the husband thru a sieve, and then breaking her fast. In real life, they don’t really do that, as many ladies have blushingly told me---they only look at the moon thru the sieve.
It is the going without water that is truly admirable, since it is still quite warm at this time of the year. Ideally, they are supposed to get up before daybreak, and have something to eat---it is usually a lot of fried and sweet stuff, given by the mother-in-law. Around four in the afternoon, the ladies gather at some common place ( a park, or someone’s house) , sit in a circle and do a pooja, passing their pooja plate around in the circle, sing a certain song, until each lady gets back her plate. A “katha” is also recited, in which all the dire things that happened to a woman who did not observe this fast, are listed. They may then have a little tea ( which does not count as water!). The more determined ones do not have even tea.(I feel that is sensible, since tea would only aggravate the acidity, if any). The ladies give a gift to their mom-in law ( a sort of thanksgiving for giving birth to hubby!).
It is not a holiday, but some working ladies take the day off. Some make it a point to go to work, since they feel it’ll take their minds off the hunger pangs. Kids are happy in school on this day, because the teachers conserve their energy by not speaking much, so pandemonium may well reign.
These days a lot of husbands have taken to fasting along with their wives---so sweet, na? Twenty-first century protocol?

fair and handsome

2005-10-18T05:12:00.000-07:00

Now a cosmetic company in India has come out with a fairness cream for men, called "Fair and Handsome" Well, in a way, it balances the skewed psyche of everybody preferring fair girls. Maybe it is a message to men that if you want a fair girl, you'd better be fair yourself! On the other hand, why fairness in the first place? Because a kind heart is not visible?Why not look for a pleasant face? Or a smiling one? Better still, look for laugh lines!
I want to know if this cream is being marketed in South india too. Traditionally, Northies think that all Southies are black(should I say melanin challenged, to be politically correct?)! How many times have I heard,"Oh, you are a South Indian? You don't look like one!" And that is supposed to be a big compliment.
A new TV serial has started, called Saat Phere, which looks at the problems a "dark" girl faces in the marriage market. Lets see if it breaks new ground,or goes the usual saas bahu way after a few promising episodes.

2005-10-18T04:54:00.000-07:00

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

thank god

2005-10-10T20:11:00.000-07:00

Thank God, the girl is back---she was found in a remote place in Punjab, my maid doesn't even know the name of the place. Now the girl and her younger sister are being shipped off to the village where "such things don't happen"

worried

2005-10-05T10:19:00.000-07:00

We read it in the papers every day---now it has happened to someone we know---my maid's 14-year old daughter has been kidnapped. It's been 10 days now. They are searching all over the place--the police as well as the relatives. I can do nothing except pray for the girl to be found, and let my maid take leave whenever they get a lead.(She had to go to Punjab today). God, let her be found soon!

punishment or reward

2005-09-08T00:02:00.000-07:00

A long while ago(maybe 7 or 8 years) I came across an article titled "Govt. funds denied to rape victims"that quoted the then Illinois republican representative as saying" I am against violence against women. I am also against violence against unborn children. What crime has the unborn child committed?"
He is arguing on the assumption that life is a reward, a prized gift and death is punishment. But is it? It can also be argued : What crime has the unborn committed that it should be brought into this world without much hope of a proper life? No family foundation. Maybe an immature and resentful mother. Maybe congenital defects. A life in an institution. Vulnerability to drugs and crime. This is the "gift" the state is offering the unborn because it didn't commit any crime? Huh!

A start

2005-09-06T08:20:00.000-07:00

This sure is a strange experience for someone who stopped writing her diary in her teens. Right now, random thoughts are too random. Expect to find views on films and, hopefully books here. Also, on life in urban India in the 21st century. Maybe lots of emotions sometimes!