Showtime

My family was visiting me on a weekend and I was trying hard to make the most of my family time. We badly needed a getaway but with taking leaves at work being a distant reality, I had to settle down for a movie at the theatre. When was the last time we went as a family, I pondered! Hurriedly I scavenged the newspaper to look at the day’s showing. Yes, there was this acclaimed movie on farmer suicides that, going by the rave reviews and ratings, was surely worth a watch. And the PVR website claimed that there were limited seats available so trying to arrive at a consensus with the family members was a gamble.

‘We are going for Peepli Live’ I announced! My father suspecting it to be a movie hoped that I would have spared him from making him budge from the comforts of home and my mom was unconvincingly trying to battle the fact that her plans of making my favorite dish for dinner was just going to be ruined.

With a little bit of coercion, we landed up at the theatre, well ahead of time to do a bit of window shopping at the Forum mall. Then heading straight to the screen, I realized that a theatre was not what it was years ago. Remember the single screen theatres with no signs of cleanliness, haphazard parking and the stench of nicotine at its waiting longue? Or should I just say at the entrance?

We had progressed where 'we' was a collective representation of the upwardly mobile class sans the dichotomy of the social arena. With renewed pride, I swaggered around at the lounge mesmerized by the cola dispenser and the sumptuous menu. Not to forget the super hygienic restrooms that used to earlier disseminate ammonia in abundance, or so I thought. With swanky comfy seats and a clip bragging about the acoustics, we demanded no more than a ‘paisa vasool’ experience. The phones were turned to Silent.

Two plus hours of the movie including an interval for the popcorn and the cola, we finally realized that we were through. I dare not ask my folks for a review I thought for they could be more ruthless than the worst critics or critiques in the media.

I don’t know what followed but we ended up heading back home with my mom suggesting that she rekindle her idea of preparing dinner for the family. We can never go wrong on this one I knew. As we were driving back my dad, with the same sternness in his voice that he is associated with, was curious to know how much I paid for the tickets. I was caught unawares; it wasn’t very possible that he liked the movie since it felt short of my expectation and more importantly the hype. There had to be a reasonable amount that I could quote that would help him fret less. ‘Thousand five hundred rupees’ quipped my younger brother. Well, only if this question was on mathematics, bro! ‘We could have watched the documentary on NDTV instead and that too for free’ my dad retorted. My mom looked shattered and was calculating the bonus groceries she could have done with all that money. I considered myself lucky for not being asked how much the refreshments cost.

It's a Hatric - I am Hopeful

Just as I had feared, it's a hatric attempt to thwart my hibernation. I believe in being lucky the third time! You see traces of optimism in me? Well, that's precisely what prompted me get back to my blog today.

This might sound repetitive and boring to most of you, but guess what made me jump to my feet very recently? Declarations of Election results of all the things. My idea to spend that Saturday was to be glued to the television the entire day deliberating on who would exhibit better traits of wooing and horse trading. It was dis-heartening to know that the likes of one Mayaben were aspiring to be the PM of the country. I was convinced, no single party will get a 'near' majority. It is going to be a colition government with the regional parties pegged to be the biggest gainers. It was definitely going to get murkier.

I woke up to utter dis-belief that the Congress had been given a clear mandate by the people. Now that doesn't mean I was expecting a Party 'B' to get a majority. But having monitored most of the psephologists rue and based on my gumption this was the last thing I expected. But am I glad that some of the most notorious names in Indian politics have been side-tracked. There are still a few more left, but Utopia is for the books. If the Congress is indeed basking on its dynasty and its prowess, then this is the time for them to prove their worth. There cannot be excuses of a murky coalition anymore that dominated Indian politics for a while now. There is an aura of change and hope in the air. I am watching and I am hopeful. Meanwhile kudos to the media powerhouses of the nation for doing a commendable job on scrutinizing the election and the so called leaders. When I say I am watching you, I know it's possible only through the lens of the media. Jai Ho!

Where have I been?

This is the question I ask myself today... like every other day. Isn't this too long a hibernation for a blog, especially since blogging is something I really like to do. Not a day passes by without the guilt of being a dormant blogger. Then what stops me? I don't want to force myself for an answer for I know there is none that I would be able to justify. It's just that I stopped blogging and well, period.

There are so many things that I wanted to write about. Every time you hear or see something interesting, it seems good to pen a few words down. And thus there was a backlog of topics, right from the Saving Prince story being aired all day and night on the Indian television channels (it is a stale tale now) to the most recent Sanjay Dutt's incarceration.

So here I am, with my second consecutive post trying to cease my hibernation and here is something for which I wouldn't hope for a hatrick.

While I ward off my guilt before I hit the sack tonight, I know that the clock has started ticking.

I Exist

Hibernation paused. The last 6 months, when I have been dormant, have seen a lot of changes. Will blog soon... there is so much to blog!

Mumbai Bombed, Spirit of Mumbai Unscathed

Yet another breaking news. Yet another bomb. Yet another upheaval. Yet another ‘All of us are Fine’ call from home. The only thing that remained unchanged is the spirit of Mumbai – the indomitable spirit and the resilience of Mumbaikars. Agree these have become clichés but are justified.

Hats of to all those who, in the presence or absence of cameras beaming live footage, spearheaded the rescue operations. The visuals were distressing – blown up trains with injured passengers, body parts strewn around, blood speckled images. Gory to the core. The sight of Mumbaikars lending their hands, literally, when needed was overwhelming. Picking up corpses, transporting the injured to the hospitals, providing immediate relief, giving lifts to trapped passengers, they did it all.

March 12, 1993 was probably no different. Same with the series of tragedies that have struck Mumbai in the last decade. Last year’s frenzied monsoon mayhem deserves a mention. The common man rising above petty issues gives the nation's morale a boost.

Normalcy restored in Mumbai just the very next day. The milkman at 5, the paper at 6, the domestic help at 7, the local train to Churchgate at 8:11, the ‘sabjiwallahs’ at 12, the postman at 2 – nothing can change.

Unfortunately this very spirit is misused by people with vested interests. The Mumbai riots or the recent furore over a statue desecration being a case in point. Mumbaikars can be easily instigated for all the wrong reasons. The consolation lies in the show of unity displayed when a tragedy occurs.

This incident only exposes the lack of credibility in a Reader’s Digest survey proclaiming Mumbai the ‘rudest’ city in the world! The acts of kindness witnessed mean much more than opening the door for someone.

RESERVED over RESERVATIONS?

I have always wanted to express my opinion on the current reservation imbroglio in this blog. After much cogitation, I hereby elucidate, in rather lucid terms, my reservations on this proposal. Fortunately, the blog world has been spared from the dictums – or so I think.

I Realize – that the majority of the Indian population belongs to the so called ‘underprivileged’ castes.
I Wish – this statistic loses its significance and relevance. It shouldn’t have been there in the first place.
I Agree – that there was considerable caste bias in the era gone by and it is highly condemnable. I Shudder – at the thought that this can be quoted as a reason for quotas for eras to come. Two wrongs don’t make a right.
I Abhor – even the thought of dividing a progressive society in the name of caste (religion now being passé)
I Observe – that reservations have elicited limited success since its establishment.
I Have – acquaintances who have fudged their integrity by regressing themselves as MBC because they were just an OBC.
I Understand – that there are huge vacancies in positions reserved based on caste.
I Fear – that reservations will seep into every possible sphere where it is least desired. (Private sector being the next victim)
I Panic – since I know this will spell disaster for the Indian industries and economy.
I Ponder – why the politicians don’t talk about implementing this quota system for politicians?
I Wonder – what happened to the Women’s reservation bill (sounds familiar)?
I Propose – a system where due consideration is given to the economic background of the students. If our argument is that most of the “under privileged” classes are economically backward then they are the ones who will benefit the most from this.
I Reiterate – that we should not attempt to build a roof without a firm foundation. If only had the government acted post Mandal-1 and worked on providing quality school education, we would not have seen this disparity in judging a student’s merit.
I Appreciate – the energy that this debate has generated.
I Attempt – to convince myself that the country’s future will be safeguarded.

Kaavya ‘Book’ed

When Kaavya Viswanathan was featured in the TOI a few weeks back, it was a feeling of pride to know that a fellow Indian has done so well to be claimed a reader’s delight. Not that I was impressed by the title of her book but the fact that the reviews couldn’t stop talking about the ‘moolahs’ she was raking at such a young age seemed to indicate that we may have a budding writer with some class.

But what followed has probably been a reason to coil in ignominy for many Indians, especially in the West. Plagiarism rampantly exists but what Kaavya has put herself into is a case of blatant and shabby plagiarism. For Kaavya, to be accepted by an international publisher, is recognition of her talent but this twist to this ‘tale’ does question her credibility.

While criticism is rampant against her, there are also traces of sympathy for Kaavya. A strong contention being made for Kaavya is that Kaavya may be a victim and not an accused. As Shobaa De points out that this book in question, in all probability, is not authored but manufactured in a factory of ‘Alloy Entertainment’! It’s here that the lines were lifted and the book packaged. When it came to showcasing it, Kaavya was chosen to be projected as the author – though all the lines may not be her own. This looks like yet another ‘package’ in the offering.

Inspiration is acceptable. There are lines that you want to read again and again – be it something as obscure as the description of a rock or something that lends a powerful climax to an otherwise unassuming read. The words make a difference and strike a semblance and you generally are able to relate to it. You may be inclined to write under its impact but not copy it verbatim. The lifted lines in ‘How Opal Mehta…’ are no where close to such lines. Why would anyone even with seemingly fits of sanity be inspired in the first place?

If there is indeed a budding writer in Kaavya worth the much talked about ‘moolahs’, the only way Kaavya can silence her critics and bury the past is by trying her hands on another Opal Mehta; probably she can spare the kisses this time!