The Mango Man And The Question Mark

Book Review | Mafia Queens of Mumbai

2011-11-23T13:15:00.004+05:30

Crime | Non-fiction | Tranquebar Press | 308 Pages | Rs. 250

Mafia Queens of Mumbai | S.Hussain Zaidi and Jane Borges

Imagine Dawood Ibrahim running like a headless chicken scared of his police constable father. Imagine him going to the safe havens that a freedom fighter turned smuggler provides in her shanty building in the most criminally active area of Mumbai. Imagine another petite lady - with no experience other than domestic - trying to revenge the death of her husband by going after Dawood and doing more damage to his business than any deadly gangster ever.

Imagine Haji Mastan nervously smoking cigarette after cigarettes, waiting for a seventy-year old woman to give him business advice. Imagine a mainstream Bollywood actress leaving everything behind for a gangster and ending up in international penitentiaries for more than five years. Imagine an ambitious wife showing her white-collared husband the way to underworld. Imagine a prostitute brutally raped by an animal Pathan time and again before she valiantly visits a feared gangster making him her Rakhi-bhai, and then using the influence to emerge as the most known name of Kamathipura, improving the sex workers’ lives like none other. Imagine contraband finding it’s way to holes dug under gas cylinders.

Imagine millionaire bar dancers, molls, vixens.

Such and several other stories find place in this collection of mini-biographies of 13 ladies who defy logic, sense and perceived notions to become the cornerstones of the underbelly of Mumbai. For everyone who loved the gruesome detail of Black Friday, Hussain Zaidi is back with another chill down our spines.

Despite the authors’ early disclaimer about how their aim is not to glorify these women but to responsibly give an impartial account, they falter consistently. There is a visible effort to impart them a minor-celeb status, although there is no attempt at sensationalizing. Well-researched facts expectedly find favour. There is laudably little creative license taken and the narrative tone is still aptly picturesque. There is a photo feature, too, that puts faces to the names. Zaidi, especially, has succeeded in showing those sides of some hugely notorious dons that we’ve never been aware of and with a sense of authority that is never doubted even for an instant.

Having said that, the reader would undoubtedly feel a little cheated as the book progresses. The first three stories are detailed, exhaustive and simply un-putdown-able. It is then the narrative loses steam. The rest are a little rushed where one could do with a little more meat.

Overall, it’s a must-read for both the uninitiated and keen observers of Mumbai’s organised crime world not just because it spans the entire crime landscape of Mumbai but also because it is done differently, with extra feminine spice.

About the authors

Currently the resident editor of the Asian Age, S. Hussain Zaidi is one of the leading crime reporters of India. He has worked for several mainstream dailies and is the author of the bestseller Black Friday: the true story of the Bombay blasts. Jane Borges is a journalist with Asian Age.

There is a foreword by Vishal Bhardwaj, one of the most respected Indian film directors, who’s going to make a full length feature film on one of the protagonists.

This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!

A-Z of B-school placements

2011-10-24T21:22:00.003+05:30

This article was also selected to be published on America On Line (AOL)'s Coolage. Find link here.

Year after years, generation after generations, everything else on the campus comes to a screeching standstill. We call it the placement season. XL-culture manifests itself in its divine unadulterated form when throat cutting competition is lubed with pampering and support. Presenting the A-Z of this extravaganza which, invariably, makes some eyes well up with satisfaction while shattering some dreams forever.

The terminologies might vary across B-schools. But the essence remains the same everywhere.

A- Attendance Call: You smoke that puff, chew that mint, make that phone call, read that report, cross those fingers, take that breath and pee those pants.

B- 'Bahot companies hain be. Load mat le.': You aren't getting shortlists for hours. The guy next to you has got eight. It is then when this quote of the season suddenly finds its way to you through every piehole you come across.

B- 'Bahadur Bhaiya, please report at the Logs desk.': For some weird reason not even known to Team Logs, Bahadur Bhaiya is more sought after than the Placecom Secy.

C- Cactus Tree: The official band of XLRI. All vocalists. The wake up call. Masterpieces include 'Chad gaya upar re', 'Choli ke peechhe kya hai' and 'Mujhko Ranaji' among others.

C- Controls: Wannabe Godfathers beating the same old offer-refuse quote to death for ages now. Hugest contributors to Indian GDP through BishuDa. Pastimes include drawing lines and dots on pink sheets.

C- CV: A4 size tissue papers for company representatives. Also used for shortlisting.

C- CRISP: The unsung heroes. The thankless CEOs.

D: Day 0/1/2: Larger the number, more widened the a-hole.

E- Extended shortlist: This is when you start believing that God exists and that He's one hell of a sadist.

F- Final round shortlist: The closest you can get to a job and still not get it.

G- Group Discussion: You say it best when you say nothing at all.

H- Holding Area: Best compared to a public toilet. Who's outside wants to get in. Who's in dies to get out.

I- Interview: The Gadha-Baap metaphor.

J- Job Loss: The disease with no cure known to man.

K- 'Kat gaya, bey.': Your favourite reply to any question asked to you regardless of the context.

L- Logs: A superset of Cactus Tree. Job description includes watching movies with earplugs, waking up people and lying to corporate bigshots to stall process on Placecom's behest. (I was a Logger :D)

L- Long term goals: Sawaal Dus Crore Ka. You know nothing about it. The interviewer knows that you know nothing about it. You know that the interviewer knows that you know nothing about it. You still bullshit. He laughs inside.

M- Master CV: The sum total of what you haven't done in your life and have managed to get it verified.

N- Notice Board: A wooden whore copulated by a Controls guy every two minutes.

O- Offer: Orgasm.

P- Placecom: Secret Service that never lets truth get in the way of 24-carat haggling. Activities include talking in hushed voices and oscillating in suits with no destination.

P- Pecking: Placecom sponsored Viagra leading to some serious KLPD. Contemporary Swayamvara.

P- Psychometric Test: Brainchild of the mind-numbingly important department of Human Resources. Purpose unknown.

Q- Questions: Cues that start the noble phenomenon of lying. Also, what company representatives are obliged to do in between cigarette breaks and hitting-on-the-HR-chick sessions.

R- 'Random process hai bey.': The usual reponse to 'Kat Gaya Bey'. Normally followed by 'Sutta maarega?'

S- Services Girls: The only reason why there are no riots. They make the rape worthwhile.

S- Small Audi: World's most densely populated space capsule with all basic amneties inside for survival. Mating ground for Controls.

S- Skirt: A widely common feature of successful Group Discussion participants. Usually results in Day zero signout, quality inversely propprtional to length.

T- 'Tell me something about yourself': In this very order, these five words spell doom. HR's idea of a full-tossed delivery which, in essence, is a beamer.

T- 'Tera nahi hoga toh kiska hoga?': Intended to be a rhetorical question. Answered by 'Skirt waali ka'.

U- 'Uski kahan lagi?': An inexplicable obsession with people you think are less deserving.

V- Verifier: The God who you never bother to talk to after the process.

W- Well Call: A cue to go missing. Usually followed by a quick phone call to Logs.

W- 'Walk me through your CV': A manifestation of the height of laziness. A lesser evil than 'Tell me something about yourself'.

X- XL Bonding: Respect! Impossible to explain to someone who hasn't been through the process.

Y- Y chromosome: An insurpassable handicap.

And when it's all over, Z- Zzz: The surreal sleep that had been eluding for a month. Usually followed by celebrations of unforeseen dimensions.

Boyfriends Rejoice, Chintu Pissed

2011-09-30T23:25:00.010+05:30

This article has been selected to be published in Rashmi Bansal's 'JAM:Just Another Magazine'. (Find online link here.)
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This article was also selected as 'Tangy Tuesday Pick' on Blogadda. Find the link here.

My sequel to this article was published on FAKING NEWS!! Find the link here.

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The Telecom Regulatory Autocracy of India (TRAI) has come up with a new pigeon off its hat. No consumer shall be allowed to send more than 100 sms per day from September 27. 'This is it! This is how the world's gonna end in 2012,' exclaimed a perspiring Chintu profusely thumbing his way to glory. 'This was all I did all day! Copying Ramesh Srivats's tweets and sending them to everyone on my contact list. Or, forwarding anything remotely funny that came my way.'

Chintu aka 'StudMale17' – as he likes to call himself – is worried that the babes might not 'dig' him anymore. He said, 'Shayari se ladkiyan patai jati hain, maamu.' When asked about when he last went out with a girl, Chintu got agitated and threatened to spam the correspondent's inbox if he didn't leave immediately.

India Against Corruption And Almost Everything Else (IACAAEE) has announced another fast-unto-death in opposition to the new regulation. 'The constitution gives us the right to send as many SMSes as we like,' remarked a visibly stoned ICCAAEE president, 'Or something like it.' He also added that a Lokpal would not have let such draconian regulations get passed though he seemed to have no explanations how, as usual. Our sources tell us that the IACCAAEE camp is pissed by the fact that they won't be able to send any more mass-inflammatory SMSes that rhyme so much every line ends with the same word.

The Frustrated Boyfriends of India (FBI) is celebrating, though. They have changed their tagline to 'We have a life, now'. The association members seemed to have been victimised for years by continuous tele-stalking: a phenomenon mastered by the urban Indian girlfriend who needs continuous text updates about her beau's whereabouts, whatabouts and whyabouts along with a daily minimum of 50 texts that smelled of mush and cheese. The celebrations were short lived, though.

FBI's counterpart 'Girlfriends of India: Just Ossom' - that has no logical explanation why they use the acronym GI-JOE – has issued a new charter of demands that makes it mandatory for every boyfriend to own a dual-sim cell phone and send at least 190 sms/day. When asked about the relaxation of 10 texts, the spokesperson answered that the remaining would be used by the girl to vote for her favourite contestant at Splitsvilla through her boyfriend. GI-JOE also approved of FBI's new tagline and allowed them their booze party of the month.

Also celebrating is Indian Beliebers, the national chapter of Just-in Bieber Fan Club. They left an official text to the correspondent that read: 'Nw wl d wrld relyz hw u can typ lyk us n sav chrctr spce. V stnd crrctd.' The correspondent will get back to you once Justypography experts have deciphered the text that seems to have originated from the area surrounding Rahul Gandhi's residence.

Mumbai Blasts and Armchair Patriotism on Facebook

2011-07-14T20:11:00.004+05:30

The post was published on Viewspaper. Find the link here.

It's the same old tale. Explosions in country's favourite city and ensuing knee-jerk 'reactions' on social media. Fits of armchair-keyboard patriotism. What suddenly gets fashionable is talking about Kasab/Afzal and blaming the goverment - the easiest one can do without the tiniest of research/understanding. The media is in a frenzy misinterpreting every single official press release: rabble-rousing at the time we need it the least. I'm still unable to come to terms with how are news/entertainment channels broadcasting half-hour programs unfairly blasting an uncharacteristically balanced statement by Mr. Rahul Gandhi. What follows is my understanding/response to whatever happened and is happening.

One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter. A cliche beaten to death. Still relevant. Religious scriptures are misinterpreted and people are brainwashed. They think they have a cause. And they're passionate about it. So much so that the desired ends justify every possible means. It's incredibly easy to rationalize when you have a decent education and food in the belly. The root cause, as I understand, is the sheer volatility and inflammable sentiments of what we term 'terrorists'. To me, they're just a bunch of extremely passionate believers standing by their belief. Isn't that exactly we are taught and we appreciate?

You're no different. They're told that their 'brothers' (criterion: same religion) are being massacred. They react. You see that your brothers (criterion: same country) are being massacred. You react. On Facebook.

It's just that they're ready to take a couple of steps more than us rational-in-our-AC-rooms intellectuals. But the root is the same. The volatility. The impatience. The urge to revenge. The tendency to club together individuals who happen to share nothing more than the same faith.

Killing Kasab/Afzal doesn't solve shit. If at all, it'll make matters worse. I'm not justifying the inordinate legal delay. The protracted (lack of) prosecution is indeed shameful for the entire nation. But let's move on and not crib about the same old thing. Can someone please explain what will killing them achieve? What message do we want to send across? And more importantly, TO WHOM? The to-be bombers? Let's get a hang of the ground reality. Our stereotypical Mr. Terrorist doesn't consume the media we do. For all we know, Mr. Kasab/Afzal might just be projected as ideals who made the ultimate sacrifice and who need to be idolized. What next, Mr. Facebook-status-updater?

War with Pakistan is not a solution. War is not a solution. To anything. Does anyone understand the consequences? Does anyone even know how is a war started? On what grounds? Like Uncle Sam does? Go - bomb - fuck civilians - destroy economy - destabilise region? I don't know either. All I know is that it is more difficult, destabilising and detrimental than beating up an eve-teaser.

Fuck you, media. Do I need to explain?

Stop envying Rahul Gandhi. The sooner you accept the fact that he was born with a silver spoon in one of his holes and you weren't, the better it gets for you. Stop blaming him and his motherfuckin' family for everything that goes wrong in this nation, however rotten they are.

Acquired wit, Inherent Stupidity. I have special sympathies for people with status updates: 'Kasab's birthday, have a blast'. Trust me dude, you're not funny. Escpecially when 500 people have posted exactly the same! At least make the minimum effort of validating. Kasab's birthday was Sept 13 for the record. Plus, ramblings like India should have expected something like this is dumber than anything Digvijay Singh has ever farted. How I wish you had the ability to think!

For fuck's sake, understand the meaning of a 'secular state'. What amazes me is the tendency to update 'status' in a fraction of a second spewing venom about a word one doesn't even understand. Foremost, we are a secular republic only in theory. Officially we don't have a religion and that's everything we can boast about. Religion is involved on a daily basis on both macro and micro level. But I don't want to even get started in that direction. What beats me is allusion to secularism-fathered impotence. Now, what's being potent? Let's have the balls to uneuphemise our life. It directly refers to seeing every Muslim in bad light just because the perpetrators have often belonged to that religion. Can any premise be any more flawed? Can we be any more prejudiced?

Ravi Shastri and The Orgasm

2011-04-28T03:40:00.004+05:30

Disclaimer: Adult material. If you're below 18 or feel offended by graphic images of lovemaking or simply are a jerk/prude, DO NOT PROCEED. Also, if you're not a cricket maniac, I'm sorry.

I'm sure anyone who has ever watched 10 cricket matches in his life has seen/heard him. He is the chronic illness this beautiful game has been suffering from for at least a decade and a half! He is someone who makes you wish cricket could be karaoked. He is someone who can say exactly the wrong things at exactly the right time making you wish you could slit your throat right when your team is about to smash those winning runs.

We stand united in our hatred towards him. But recently, I decided to think 'out of the box' as Mr. Shastri puts ever so clichedly. I noticed a pattern. A string of steps. A hidden sequence to the Holy Grail: an orgasm. And boy, was I stunned! He's an absolute belter of a commentator.

It took more than a week but here it is. The secret code. His most infamous lines that have fucked our ears beyond repair if arranged in a particular order narrate a porn film as great as the likes of Naughty America. Voila! [Mind it, the sequence is the key.]

The build-up

I get a sense that something’s gotta give.
I think he has been tempted into indiscretion.
It will be a tricky chase under lights.
He’s got the license to go for it.
They are in with a chance now.

The 'Out'

That looked out.
Oh, he flashed and he flashed hard.
He’s hit the cover off the ball.
Fans are having an absolutely great time.
The new ball is crucial.
That’s a biggie.
It can’t get bigger than this!

The Foreplay

He takes his time to get in.
He knows where the leg (stump) is.
First hour is crucial.
I think he has given the finger.
Up goes the finger.
Oh, that was a tentative poke.
He played that with soft hands.
It was all hand-eye coordination, no feet.
He really has quick hands.
He's got a good arm.
It’s the kind of game where anything can happen.

The..ummm..THING!

He might give it the Full Monty.
He’s the the kind of player who likes the ball coming on to the bat.
He’s decided to use the long handle to good effect.
And...he goes for the big one.
That's edged and taken.
That was close.
He went hard at it.
That went like a tracer bullet.
When he hits them, they stay hit.
He is knocking around.
He is mixing it up nicely.
You just can't snatch the momentum.
It's all happening here.
He has given it the kitchen sink.
He has disturbed the furniture.
It might go down to the wire.

THE BIG O!

He didn't know where the boundary was.
I just get the feeling.
At the end of the day it doesn’t matter how they come as long as they come.
What an absorbing session!
That will do his confidence a world of good.
That's just what the doctor ordered.

Well, at the end of the day, I guess cricket is the real winner.

Dhobi Ghat: an amateur's mini-review

2011-02-01T05:49:00.003+05:30

A pretentious attempt at realistic cinema by a novice who made even Aamir Khan stink. Cinematic collage got a new nadir while Aamir's dialogue delivery is best left undiscussed. Monica Dogra is a breath of fresh air with her innocent yet sultry avatar. Prateik, although underutilized, impresses for a newbie.

The start is unreasonably dreary and the plot never really picks up. There is no story - we have no qualms about it - but the details are conspicuously missing from a movie that would want to go down as a collage. The dullest plot - that of Yasmeen - makes the viewer feel cheated when he gets to know that the entire melo has been for nothing. Actually, only when the 'secret' is revealed does Aamir radiate sheer brilliance: the eyes doing it the good old AK way.

Camera angles are weird but impressive - sometimes giving the feel of a documentary. There are minor patches of sheer excellence which is the least you expect from an Aamir Khan Productions' baby. Background score - or the lack of it in the most part - fits stunningly seamlessly with the theme despite the use of unfamiliar instruments.

All in all, probably an experimental blot on the production house that boasts of some real gems. But then, anything for the missus.

And cricket it is.

2011-01-19T02:09:00.002+05:30

It's been exactly a month. Many topics floated across the mind. None actually made me sit and take notice. Till today, that is. Finally, it's the first love of my life that made me blog again: cricket. It's a wonderful feeling, this.

Last month has been more exciting than ever. On a personal front, I have never been happier. I took one of the most important steps one could ever take in life. And I'm proud of it. The schedule of the last term seems to have been struck by a meteor. There are more blank spaces than those on Dada's paycheck. Batchmates are getting 'placed' in hordes in the biggest corporate giants. Bollywood finally seems to be finding it's feet at original dark comedy exemplified superbly by 'Phas Gaye Re Obama' and 'Mirch'. Test cricket has regained it's superiority through two nailbiting tournaments: one leading to the most dramatic African tour of the men in blue and the other making a mockery of the Aussie supremacy leaving them in 'ashes'. And God is the peak of form at what seemed like the fag end of a magnificent career.

The ongoing LOIs have been exceptionally nostalgic as well. I seem to have opened the doors the 1999 WC semis, 1996 Titan Cup finals, or for that matter, the 1994 Hero Cup semis. Chokers are back in action. Probably the best Protean side ever is being really incapable of holding onto the nerves when it matters the most.

Today was an exception, though. They didn't choke. It was the might of the Indian batting line up. Those well judged shots disguised as miscues and inside edges took them by a storm. Harbhajan Singh, the cleanest slogger of the cricket ball this world has ever seen, selected shots as accurately as ever. Zaheer Khan seemed like swinging his mace - and missing everytime - at everything that was hurled at him while he was actually leaving the dangerous ones alone, baseball can take a leak. Ashish Nehra - with looks that petrify the opposition - flexed his well toned muscles defending every overpitched delivery with the watchmaker's precision. And the winning shot: what a beauty!

It was our game from the start. We just gave them suckers a little heads up through the worryingly frequent top order collapse. The Proteas didn't leave any stone unturned either. The fielding was A-class, dropping more catches than the number of times Carol Gracias has dropped her dignity. The master strategist Smith's ingenious plan of finishing off Steyn was a masterstroke as well. Botha was just the pace that could drive the tail-enders to their graves.

All's well that ends well. We are leading 2-1. And I've rediscovered my passion for DD National, if it ever existed. I bow to thy blatant disregard towards commercialization, Prasar Bharti. At least more cricketers are seen on the field than off it on advertisements during the telecast! And I could actually watch the first delivery of every over!

She

2010-12-18T23:56:00.007+05:30

A romantic January night. Cool breeze from the window. Dim lights and some soft Elvis number pouring out of the speakers. I saw her for the first time. She was just perfect. Flawless. Awesome. I wasn't expecting her, like, at all. She was way out of my league.

I had fantasized about her in times of loneliness and despair. Lust knew no bounds. And I wasn't even ashamed. If only I could have her just one time! And here she was. Mine. All mine. The very sight of her gave me goosebumps. It was surreal: beyond all limits of conceivable thought.

But destiny had it's own plans. We soon had our differences and the damage was beyond repair. It wasn’t like she went out of my life. I bumped into her time and again in the arms of others, often being shared by multiple partners. It was painful. I even began questioning her character. Having no hopes of finding her back, I succumbed to anonymous mediocrity.

She was the first A I got in XLRI way back in Marketing 2. Eleven months and three trimesters down the line, I had her again. (And again, today! :D)

Okay, I'm doing this for the first time. A little newbie to Indiblogger, I'm finding my way around. Promote this post on Indivine by clicking here.

Why MBA?

2010-12-18T00:23:00.006+05:30

Type a 'why' on Google and the first suggestion that it throws up is 'Why MBA'. If you've landed here through Google search, I pity you. Please do not be under any illusions of enlightenment. Leave.

People all across the country, even Sri-sri-ek-hazaar-aath Arindam Chaudhuri, have torn their hair apart only to find themselves more confused every time. Some versions of Ramayana narrate the sleepless nights Rama spent in the endless pursuit. Even some great saints have been known to observe extreme penance to find the Ultimate Answer.

I still puke at the sight of brown newspapers. I still can't figure out the head or tail of an annual report. I still think that market research and statistics are buckets of shit. I still don't know how a stock market works.

But it's not been for nothing:

I can define 'core competency' without falling down laughing
I reply to 'What's Up' using a SWOT Analysis
Requests for financial aids to parents are referred to as IPOs
I ask my four-year old niece what the 'mission statement' in her life is
I advise friends to lend some semblance of 'sustainability' to their relationships
I talk to my girl about our future in terms of all the 'value' we can 'co-create'
There are never less than six tabs on my browser
'Ctrl' is the most pressed button on my keyboard
'Reply to all' is my default action on reading a mail
I make daily diary entries in MS Power Point

But the biggest 'value-add' to my life till now has been the mastery over GASing. For the uninitiated, GAS expands to Global Action Strategy. It refers to the art of blabbering/typing absolutely fucked up bullshit to a captive audience.

It usually starts with an epiphany - "Damn. I do not know jack about this" - usually followed by a quick reference to The Handbook Of Versatile MBA Jargon starring the likes of 'value', 'sustainability', 'strategy', 'organisational', 'leadership', 'hierarchy' and 'culture'. And then starts the quest for the Holy Grail: Frameworks!

Frameworks have been the most crucial inventions to mankind since sliced bread, wheels and condoms. For starters, these are lethally effective weapons of gas construction sired by jobless academicians and money-laundering consultants available to the rest of the world in hour of need/greed. The best of lot, my personal favourite is called a "Two-By-Two Matrix". TBTM is a motherfuckin' gem that swears to generalize even the most specific phenomena on earth. No person, animal or thing has ever been able to escape it's venom.

So, why MBA? The closest-to-acceptable answers are fat pay cheques and networking. If grades are any indicator of the cheque's flab, mine is bound to be severely malnutritioned. And networking, tch. My scorecard on this front shows all red. 553 days into the hallowed portals, I'm still as clueless as Manmohan Singh!

Here's FedEx take on the evil.

The Grand Old Sleeper of India

2010-12-12T00:54:00.004+05:30

The good old times were so bloody different. Or probably, it was the ignorance-induced-indifference of my age. Whatever be the reason, the sleeper coaches never used to bother me. They were taken for granted on a family trip. Travelling in air conditioned compartments used to be considered extravagance of the highest vulgarity.

22 hours in the sleeper coach of Purushottam Express brought back everything. It was a kaleidoscope of all the possible colors, dialects and cultures. The toilets stank. Males ogled blatantly at the plateaus of female anatomy. Discussions ranged from instantaneously solving political quagmires to making roadmap of the Indian cricket team to the WC. Hawkers sold spurious packaged drinking water with impunity. Some destitute-turned-junkie swept the entire coach with his shirt – that he would still wear after the exercise – for quick change and some glue to sniff. Ticket examiners made moolah at the expense of the employer. And everyone seemed to flash their ‘chai-neej’ phones squirting the latest Bollywood chartbusters that superimposed with one another making me beg the Lord to enlighten them about earplugs!

Today, I’m one friggin snob. Today I cringe in disgust. Today I travel AC.

Today, I travel with the crowd that throws huge words like ‘civic sense’ and ‘etiquette’ in a split second. The crowd that changes colors like a chameleon. The crowd that does “upar neeche” with the TTE without the slightest of hesitations. The crowd that uses the choicest expletives once it gets out of the coach. The crowd that thinks the world is it’s dustbin. The crowd that contributes more than it’s fair share to the smelly heap of garbage next door. The crowd that knows just one game: that of blame.

Will the buck ever stop? Will Musaddi Lal ever come out of the lazy reluctance bred by the ‘Chalta Hai’ attitude? Will we ever start using dustbins, however scarce they might be? Will we stop promoting beggary by offering them food instead of hard cash? Will the stranglehold on spurious water bottles ever tighten? Will the TTE’s wings ever be clipped? WILL PEOPLE EVER START USING EARPLUGS?

P.S. I’m totally convinced that the education system in UP sucks. This is Ishika (niece)’s take on English:

…C-A-T cat, D-O-G dog, E-O-G elephant…

Some Text, One Video and Six Images

2010-11-30T01:55:00.013+05:30

There's this asshole of a Surd (link) whom I usually approach whenever in a dilemma and always regret thereafter. Having decided to participate in a national-level video-making competition (organised by 9XM) just one hour before the deadline,I went to the same chimp. We procrastinated for twenty minutes: better known in B-school circuit as brainstorming. Basically, all we could come up with was the fact that we could not come up with anything on such strict timelines. Meh. So, we gathered other equally-worthy-assholes-in-their-own-right and made this. Voi-fuckin-la.

They didn't shortlist us. :| [Die, motherfuckers, die!]

On the other leg, this series of six print ads that I made for Axe Deodorants in straight 60 minutes did get a shortlist. Yay.

Pissed Off

2010-11-19T04:10:00.001+05:30

Well, I've been off blogosphere for a full month now! This very place once used to be my escape-route to a non-artificial world. Not only did it serve as a vent to all the shit inside, it also made me connect to some really awesome writers (and persons). Sorry, folks for not keeping in touch, like, absolutely.

Reason 1: Absolute inability to express anymore. Or, something like it! I've tried and tried some more. But there are no shapes, there are no figures and there are no fuckin expressions. Blogger's block, probably, if such a creature exists.

Reason 2: MBA. But that's no news. I have been suffering from this goddamned disease for 525 days now and I should have gotten used to it. But I haven't. Actually, things are in the worst probable shape ever. I want out and I want it now. I'm mighty pissed off with everything associated with this fuckin plague and that makes the mood ever-irritable.

Reason 3. MBA, again. I have lately been swamped with work. Lots.

Reason 4. Sticksports.com. I just want the motherfucker who coded this shit called Stick Cricket to get ants in his ass. Alternatively, the site can be brought down. When there's no work, I play the absolutely addictive flash game, like, all the time.

Not much has happened in life in this last month. Well yeah, Facebook happened. I finally took the plunge and am sorry I did so. For all I know, this new fad has turned everyone into a crybaby vying for attention through 'like's and comments. More on that later, sometime, probably, in the near future, if at all.

Well, that's all. Also, Indi-fuckin-blogger, all of a sudden, thinks that my blog stinks (the ratings have fallen from 80 to 65 during the month I was inactive).

Ma!

2010-10-22T00:48:00.004+05:30

The way you start trying to wake me up: fingers in my hair.

The way you seem like you will never give up.

The way you finally give up, with the blanket in air and a slap on my back.

The way you make my favourite breakfast daily: omelettes.

They way you abhor eggs and cannot stand the smell.

The way you never complain.

The way you're addicted to your saas-bahu sagas, fultoo updated with all the plots.

The way you never understand cricket, however much I try.

The way we watch the game together when I'm home.

The way you never like my haircuts, my sideburns or my goatee.

The way you never understand the concept of low-waist jeans.

The way you always think I'm the cutest kid on the planet.

The way you always try to teach me manners and make me look like I belong to the same species. The way you always think I've lost weight when I come home, including the time when I had gained a good 7kgs.

The way you always pulled the purse's strings when Dad tried his best to spoil me. How I hated you then! The way you explained to me the perils of smoking when He told his cigarette tales from college. The way you never let us know till things got better again that the family income was zero for three years. The way you never needed anything for yourself. The way you never took sides when we fought and taught me how to face the bullies (read: sisters). The way you always let me have the best coffee mug. The way you always cut me the biggest slice of the cake.

The way you accepted the fact that getting into fights is my way of life. The way you always chided me when the teacher complained of yet another "kaarnaama" at school and then lovingly explained the way things should be.

The way you pretended that you didn't notice that empty bottle of beer in my room that day.

The way you realize my handicap at expressing my gratitude/love/respect to anyone orally. The way you never expect me to greet you on the phone and still bless me everytime.

I've never told this to you and I probably never will: I love you, Ma!

It was her birthday yesterday. As always (literally, always), I forgot about it till 1pm.

Plan: Sleep till 2. Go to eat at 2. Go to class at 2.30. Get a gift for her at 4. Leave for home at 4.30.

Action: I overslept and woke up at 6. Couldn't even go home.

Biggest loser ever!

Bunking Chandra Chatterjee

2010-10-13T03:41:00.004+05:30

Let's name this prof X and this course Y.

I had volunteered for providing my services for counselling twelfth grade students as a part of the ongoing "Joy Of Giving Week". The schedule happened to clash with Lecture 1 of Y. Now I couldn't let the organising team down by not turning up at the last moment. So, I decided to give the lecture a miss. I pushed the electric-start button at 8.55 am and accelerated. There he was, Sir X, on his way to the lecture hall. Evidently, I had 'bunked' the introductory session and was caught bike-handed by none other than the professor. Dumbfounded, I greeted him and he returned a wicked smile.

Lecture 2. Sir X enters the lecture hall and scans the student area.

Sir X: "I hope attendance is not required today. Everyone seems present."

(Giving me a mean look:) "Oh, you're present! Everyone is here then."

I died in embarassment.

Two days later. We were forced to bunk the Lecture 3 to submit a business plan on time whose deadline, awesomely, co-incided with the lecture. Not having slept for 36 hours, we decided to treat ourselves with the legendary Bauaji-tea. As fate would have it, Baua-ji wasn't open and we came back. While I parked the bike, there he was, Sir X, returning from the lecture. I was caught again, bike-handed. Dumbfounded, I greeted him to a no-response.

Lecture 4. Having a lot of assignments the previous night, I had not been able to read the case study scheduled for discussion.

Sir X: "So, what is the dilemma in this case? Varun, why don't you try?"

Clue-fuckin-less, I turned the pages of the thirty-page case study, hoping for a miracle.

"What is the dilemma? Is it a bird, an animal, what is it?" I stared blankly, biting my lower lip.

"Have your read the case?" I shook my head.

"So you want a break? To read the case and come back? You want what: 10, 30 minutes? You want me to stop the class so that you can read it and enlighten us?"

I died in embarassment.

Lecture 5. I was feeling really proud of myself. Not only had I read the case study, I had also read the scheduled 16-page reading. There was no way in this world could I be raped this time. Bring it on.

"So, who all have read the reading?"

Sniffing an air of arrogance, I raised my hand: only to find that mine was the only one above the sea-level.

"Oh, for a change, Varun has read it."

Chuckles back to himself and repeats, "Today, for a change, Varun has done the reading!!!"

I died in embarassment, yet again!!!

P.S. A few minutes later while discussing the purchase behaviour for a bike, Sir X asked if anyone had recently got a bike for himself. Yours truly raised the fabled hand. Sir X dealt a crushing blow again.

"Oh yes, I have seen your bike."

Damn, this tiny XL campus!

My God in Ayodhya

2010-10-02T03:22:00.001+05:30

Sep30 2010. Today's the verdict. Well, not the final one. But, it's got to be a milestone. The saffrons are there. The greensas well. Will they embrace white and thus complete the Tricolour regardless of the verdict or will they paint the land red? Time will tell, like it has always done in BR Chopra's Mahabharat.

In the meanwhile, what does that man have to say who, in all this hullabaloo around him, has ironically been pushed to the sidelines? He's called by various names. He's Rama, whose place of birth is as contentious as Lindsay Lohan's life. He's Rahim, whose dream of a blemish-free religion has been mercilessly stoned to death.

Probably this is what my God wants to scream out.

dafna do mujhe

chaurahe pe

kabr khod do meri

ya jalaa do

kuch sookhi lakdiyon ke saath

maar to tumne

kal hi diya tha

cheekha tha bahot

pehle

koshishein ki thi

samjhane ki

manaane ki

bataane ki

tum nahi samjhe

koi nahi samjha

ungliyan uthi

uthti rahi

bas

ab numaish mat karo

meri

mere nange jism ki

rooh toh rahi nahi

bahot pehle hi

chhod gayi

sikudi

simti

le jaao mujhe

daal aao kahin

apni is duniya se door

bahot door

waise bhi tumhari is duniya mein rakha kya hai??

So ja bachche, laado so ja

2010-09-24T20:06:00.004+05:30

Meri Rajjo, meri laado

Baarah baras ki ho gayi aaj

Gubbare laaye hain iske chachu

Chhupte chhupate

Karfoo laga hai na ghaati mein

Nikalna manaa hai

Apne ghar se apne hi bageeche mein

Nikalna manaa hai

Teen gubbare laaye hain

Teeno laal

Bada pasand hai rajjo ko

Bachpan se koi aur rang

Dekha hi nahi na bechari ne

Raaton ko jab shor machta hai

Sannate ka

Neend nahi aati laado ko

Kehti hai ammi, kahani sunao

Sona hai

Thapkiyan deti hun usey

Is dozakh ke dard ke saath

Is dozakh ke jhooth ke saath

"Nahi rahe jo baag bageeche

Kal se dekhna fir se khilenge

Tootey jo saawan ke jhooley

Kal se dekhna fir se hilenge

Aag ka gola nahi girega

Tu ghar se bahar niklegi

So ja bachche, laado so ja
Kal se thandi hawa bahegi"

Ek awaz si aayi toh hai

Dil mera dehla to hai

Rajjo, uth ja, Rajjo

Bahot so liya

Uth ja na

Rajjo

Chulbul Pandey in XLRI

2010-09-16T17:03:00.006+05:30

We at XL know one thing - to live life XL size! We have formal committees for the most informal of all things in the world. While the most popular committee ensures the absence of sobriety on the campus, Film Lovers In XLRI (FLIX) has pirates who screen awesome-quality shit on huge lecture screens. If it's a movie, it's on FLIX.

I'm one of the six pirates of the campus. We have screened all kinds of movies - from downrightly sleazy to cult classics with audience-of-five. But, this Tuesday was different. We screened Dabangg. The rest is history.

Marketing maniac that I think I am, this was the first teaser that I sent to the batch.

Normally, teasers cease to be anything more than movie posters. They aren't teasers, really, in absence of the tease quotient. But hype had to be created this time. The subject of the teaser read "SCREENING OF THE YEAR".

By 8pm, Anshat and I decided to spice up the movie watching experience. We got popcorn, cold drinks and 'thanda' paan!!! And I sent out another teaser with strategically placed fonts.

Next, I printed out the following and stuck it in the hostel elevator.

(Munni Zandu Balm hui, Darrrling tere liye)

2315 hours. Lecture Hall 2. The experience.

Imagine sitting in a theatre in Bengal watching a Mithoon-Da movie from the first few rows with the "mass audience", as we elitists call them. The atmosphere was equally electrifying in XLRI. The hall with a seating capacity of 70 had 90 people to start with. Whistles, desk-bangings, roars of "Why are we waiting, FLIX is masturbating!"

Chulbul 'Robin Hood' Pandey then took the hall by a storm, a tsunami rather. It was a cheap, sleazy, double-meaning dime-a-dozen flick with a difference. Colossal screen presence of Salman even when he breaks into a dance everytime between a fight, Gawd-level action sequences and "Makkhi" - it was more than we could take. [Makkhi happens to be the nickname of a batchmate Nitin Makhija whose name was shouted everytime "Makkhi" was mentioned onscreen].

Dialogues like "Dekhen, kiske batashe kitney gol hain!" [Let's see, who has the balls!"] flared the lecture hall more than what's happening in Kashmir.

And, among all this, there was Anshat, shouting out his sales-pitch "Popcorn-popcorn-popcorn"!!!!

A night to remember!

Fire And Flood

2010-08-20T00:25:00.009+05:30

A sordid tale

Of desert storms

And some frozen blood

Strewn around

The skulls and bones

Unnoticed, unheard

Some purple petals

Of a black rose

Dead from within

Fixated

Obsessed, repulsed

By the raging flood

A Cynic, Some Cannabis And The I-Day

2010-08-15T07:41:00.008+05:30

Sixty-three, eh? Long time on earth, you juggernaut named India.

Reams of printing material wasted in long droning newspaper articles. Some singing hymns in the might of the elephant, some 'critically analysing' where we stand today. Yet others (the coloured pages) breaking the news about how did our national lady M.Sherawat celebrate I-Day this year.

Tons of flowers plucked for gigantic garlands for our 'leaders'. The remaining plucked to be wrapped in the Tricolour before the hoisting ceremony by the most corrupt blood-sucking parasite of the locality in the capability of the 'chief guest'.

TV journalists going to inaccessible military locations once a year to show the rest of India how the 'sons of India' celebrate this day there. Empathy converts into TRPs. It's either Siachen or Shit Rukh Khan - what this day means to him and when is his new movie releasing.

A twenty-4 hour patriotism that spills over to the status messages. SMSes with flags made of hyphens, dots, asterisks and slashes. Universal, hollow wishes of "Happy I-Day".

A holiday for the whole of India.

It's a day of spin doctors. Of speeches and promises and hidden agendas. Of parades and shenanigans and hooplas.

Of shit.

So? If not this, then what? This. [link]

Oral Contraceptives For Men!

2010-08-12T03:14:00.004+05:30

Today's ad-making event finally breathed fresh air into this about-to-go-extinct blog!

We had to select one of the four categories - tobacco, alcohol, oral contraceptives and guns - to make a surrogate ad of. For all those who had the sanity enough to not opt for a course in Business Management, I'll lay out the concept of surrogate advertising in simple terms.

We can't show an ad for a product category X. So, we choose to make a product of category Y of the same brand name and promote it on mass media. By this we expose the consumers to the brand and build associations we want to build. Classic examples are McDowell's Soda, Seagram's Royal Stag Mega Music, Bacardi Blast, Red & White Bravery Awards.

Back to the event. We brainstormed, conceptualised, shot, searched for relevant videos and images on the web, splitted the videos, arranged and joined the pieces together IN ONE HOUR. The result wasn't the most technologically sophisticated ad of the world but we hope the message got conveyed. There simply wasn't any time for it. No sexy models. No expert camerapersons. No geeks on the computer. We did it all ourselves.

Remember, the product is "Guardian Angel Oral Contraceptives FOR MEN' and we make an ad for 'Guardian Angel Helmets'.

Some nuances might get lost in the first viewing. A repeat-viewing would essentially bring forward the subtleties. Voila!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZaU1d_bwgVw

Team: The Achmeds - We keel you! [Abhishek Dassani, Abhishek Joshi, Varun Kumar Gupta]

Tagline: We do not believe in taglines.

Life. 40.

2010-07-29T23:49:00.004+05:30

Ghosts of past. Lingering shadows. Coffee Stains. Yellow newspapers. Lonely cobwebs. Dusty notebooks. Empty bottles. Cigarette butts. Unpacked cartons. Rotting fruits. Dirty dustbin. Broken glass. Rusty bed.

Footsteps. Door. Knock. Knock.

Creak.

Light. Bright.

Smell. Voice. You.

Illusion. Dream.

Life.

[Dedicated to the only reason of my existence.]

I'm Sorry

2010-07-24T22:06:00.003+05:30

The last post raised a lot of eyeballs. There was flak from all quarters. The dumber sex got all trigger happy, threatening of dire consequences if I didn't take down that post. Damn, this world of VHP, Raj Thackeray and women!!

I somehow got their tempers in control by promising an apology to the womenfolk worldwide. Here it goes.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry because I didn't realize that you didn't have the intellect enough to understand the disclaimer. Although you decided to read further at your own wish and peril, just like you always decide to choose the wrong prick as your guy knowing everything about him, I should have taken more care. You obviously didn't choose to be eternally retarded. It was forced upon you.

I'm sorry because I called a spade, a spade. I wasn't as politically correct as you always are. I didn't appreciate you for my vested interests. I didn't disguise intentions in puffery and seduction as you always do. It was honesty, a concept as alien to you as USBs and URLs.

In fact, while I'm on it, I just realized I'm sorry for a few other things as well.

I'm sorry about how you must feel when you think about how big a curse you've been on man-kind. From Troy to the epics of Ramayana and Mahabharata, you've been the reason of betrayal and bloodshed. Closer home, you are the reason behind 89.97% of the scuffles at school and you don't even know that.

I'm sorry that you suck at mathematics. Numbers make you dyslexic and pukish. Logic and reason elude your pea sized brains as well. I sometimes cry at nights, thinking about how unfair must this world seem to you: a world of walking supercomputers - males! Hang in there. God must have alternate plans for you: like a sex change operation.

I'm sorry that you are attracted to men seven point five times your age. Or probably, it's just fashionable. Or, for that matter, it's something like Lyin' Eyes. Whatever it is, I'm sorry that it's the only way you can drive a Ferrari while you still have baby teeth.

I'm sorry that the only way you can get a ticket is by cutting the queue.

I'm sorry that the only way you can win beauty pageants among similarly challenged species is by being exemplarily dumb. [link1] [link2]

I'm sorry that the only way you can finish assignments is by acting dumber than you already are and letting some big-hearted guy help you in pity.

I'm sorry there's a wiki how page dedicated to you that reads "How To Act Like A Dumb Girl" [link]

Enough. I'll let this do the talking. [lyrics] [video]

Do you want more or I'm sorry enough already??

Lucky Bastards

2010-07-12T15:34:00.006+05:30

Disclaimer: Meant to offend. Go screw yourself.

I don't think of females as the inferior species. I think they're just dumb.

It's not their fault, really. They're just wired this way. It thus becomes our duty to accept them as they are, always making them feel they're "special". Poor souls - misconstruing pity for chivalry.

Anyway, this post is not about them. Quite contrarily, it's about us. \m/

Here's why we were lucky to be born with a wee-wee and the wisdom chromosome.

We don't have to guzzle down liquids we can't even afford to smell, sport hairstyles that make us look like buffoons and play sports we don't even understand to be"cool".
We don't have to spend one-third of our lives looking at our own reflections in the mirror. We recognize ourselves way sooner.
We don't have to shave more than one-twentieth of our body.
There is no concept of "tomgirls". We are happy with what we are.
We can afford our underwear.
We buy shoes we wear more than once.
Cockroaches are scared of us.
We understand music.
We don't wear t-shirts with quotes at exactly the places we don't like people to stare at.
We aren't hypocrites. We accept that we think about sex all the time.
We don't substitute sex with chocolates!!!!
We think chocolates are sweet brown confectionery. NOTHING ELSE!!!
We don't eat more than our dietitian recommended when we're depressed.
We don't have a dietician.
We are never depressed!!!
We don't have to harp on about our right to equality to settle down for a "33% reservation".
We don't need a "beauty sleep". We sleep when we want, where we want and how we want.
We don't believe in keeping wastes in our body. The world is our urinal.
We don't care if our best friends forget our birthdays. We wonder if they don't.
Our clothes are comfortable. We can stretch, bend and run in them.
We aren't destroyed if someone else wears the same outfit at a party.
We don't appear in advertisements of products for the opposite sex.
We can wear whatever we want to a water park. (if clothing's a compulsion)
We choose "just the right gifts" in 58 seconds straight.
We don't fake accents.
We don't use creams for everything from fairness to "enhancement".
We don't stuff our clothes to look "big".
We know stuff about the Italian Mob.
We know the difference between a USB and a URL.
While fixing a bulb, we don't have to stop and think which way to turn.
We don't have to seduce our bosses for a promotion.
Our clothes are never wrinkled. At least to us.
We know no one cares about the fingernails.
People look into our eyes when we talk.
We can afford to wait for year-end sale schemes.
Our phone bills are minuscule.
We don't know what peach, burgundy and magenta mean. We don't care.
We find beauty in everything. And everyone.
Our shampoos don't nauseate us.
When we take more than five minutes to take a bath, we're having fun.

We don't think we rule the world. We would rather prefer beer, porn and someone to clear the mess we leave behind.

P.S. Contribution from a fellow lucky bastard Sakya: We know if we're oversized. We don't ask rhetorical questions like "Do I look fat."

Pink Freud

2010-07-07T01:20:00.001+05:30

Dawn had never been more beautiful. More painful, neither. Critters filled in the uncomfortable silence. Still in his arms, she rolled down the window. The wind was misty. Or, perhaps, it was the heaviness of her thoughts. It had rained, probably. There were droplets on the glass. Few and far between, like stars on a cloudy night. And there was her face - the moon - going back into the darkness of anonymity after shining so bright all night long.

It was a night of ecstasy. Of liberation. Of emancipation. Of flight. Of fantasy. Of love, or whatever was left of it.

He had never been there before - in the concaves of her body. But she didn’t stop him this time, ironically, when she was about to walk away from it all in a few moments. How else could she have carried his memories with herself. She had to. She had to, if she wanted to survive among the ghosts of the past and the wolves of the future. And she did. A part of him: his being.

And then it happened. Beads. Big ones. All of a sudden. Uncontrollably. Inexplicably.

She hadn’t cried for ages. Ages, that had been dark and cruel to her. Times, that had made her feel like a worthless blot on humanity. Today it whelmed over. Over and over again.

JAAG!

2010-06-23T11:27:00.002+05:30

The world around us is a mess. And we are in our cocoons.

Two options. Stay in the comfort zone; blame everything on the system. Or, BE the system.

Jaag! is one such initiative. But rather than going radical, its about a gradual process called "awakening".

Today's youth has exuberance. Today's youth has energy. Today's youth is sick of the present. Today's youth desires a change. And at least before familial engagements tie us down, today's youth has high morals. Let's tap all of these.

Let's try to make people stop and think, at the least. Write on things that bother you, that piss you off.

Why JAAG? Why not keep on writing random posts on similar topics?

The purpose, remember, is to make people stop, at least for a while, and take a break from the regular rush of life to realize that things are screwed up. JAAG! will serve as a channel to make those thoughts flow. Ideas will be reinforced everytime a person will come across the word "Jaag!". And who knows, he gathers up will power to say, "Enough." Let's get together and bring about the resonance.

How to get associated?

One, contact me and tell me you're associated with "JAAG!" by commenting on this post on jaagtheawakening.blogspot.com. Any other non-participating comments can be made here.

Two, upload the "JAAG!" image shown above in every blog post related to the cause.

Three, give a brief introduction to "JAAG!" in every post related to the cause.

Four, give a link to JAAG!(jaagtheawakening.blogspot.com) in every post related to this cause as it will serve as a reservoir of all the JAAG! posts on all the blogs till date.

Five, contact me and tell me whenever you have posted any JAAG! post. I'll update it in the reservoir.

Six, spread the word.

What next?

Just sit back and let the ripple effect do its job.

Intellectual Rape

2010-06-15T11:29:00.006+05:30

There was a time when programmes on TV made sense. Today, they make an ass out of themselves and a mockery of our intellect. Today, they make money.

They make my blood boil. And I make no bones about it.

Gone are the good old Sundays that started with BQC and ended with Filmy Chakkar. Today’s tube could make the veterans cringe in their retirements/graves. Glamour is in and so is the melodrama. What’s out is substance. I’m seriously!

I’m sick of this new plague that has come upon “entertainment” – reality shows. It’s a wonder how it has weeded the quizzes and the game shows totally out. All we have today are the same semi-celebs dancing in one reality show, anchoring the second and judging the third. Imagine Bindu Singh judging a dance competition!!! I’m ashamed of the times I’m living in! [Bindu Who? Well, sigh!]

I’m sick of painfully long “talent shows” where the exhibition of talent takes a minuscule proportion of the telecast while the majority is dominated by judges’ “commenting”/fighting or participants/their families/their neighbours/judges/anchors/all having their eyes and nostrils all welled up. Awwww!

I’m sick of the anchors who give their unwarranted opinion after every performance before redundantly turning to the actual judges who come onto the stage after every third performance and use standing ovations more liberally than Sony Entertainment Television telecasts CID.

I’m sick of Rakhi Sawant featuring on some or the other reality show round the year, promising to bid adieu every time some “drrrama heippins”. The Swayamvar thing took reality shows to a whole new level! Proud of you, girl [or whatever you are]!

I’m sick of Saroj Khan, her weird arrogance and her truck loads of make-up. I’m sick of the king of pelvic thrusts Mithoon Da judging the “biggest” dance competition on the tube. I’m sick of Geeta Ma who has not known how to shut her speech-hole up. I’m sick of Anu Malik and his instant shayaris on his only means of employment that are worse than the spam SMSes. I’m sick of Abhijeet Sawant who finally has a job and thinks he’s funny making a schmuck of himself. I’m sick of Shilpa Shetty who still thinks she is the hottest diva in the country. I’m sick of Ravi Behl. Period.

I’m sick of flop heroes of C-grade movies [read: Sameer Kochar] and not-even-that skimpily dressed females hosting the cricket shows. Sometimes, honestly, the awe-inspiring cricketing knowledge of these pretty faces and the sheer quality of the questions they ask the veterans on the show make me miss even Mandira Bedi!

I’m sick of “Film Festivals” that serve the same old Bollywood crap in a new package. I’m sick of the daily soaps where the sole bread earner for the show is feminine rivalry and 61.62% of the time is wasted on close-ups of the faces of everyone present in the scene after every dialogue. I’m sick of the Expletive Channel, formerly MTV. I’m sick of Hindi electronic journalism. I'm sick of the long narratives. I’m sick of what makes news today.

I’m sick of India TV.

It’s time to wake up and bring some goddamned shape to this mess. Enough of rona-dhona. We make the TRPs. We bring the advertisers. We are the change we want to see but are reluctant to put our fingers on it. Lets not degrade ourselves in absence of options. JAAG!

There are a few things that bother me. Rather, they piss me off. And what’s the most discouraging, if not disgusting, is the scale that these ‘evils’ have adopted. The text above was the second in the series of a campaign of sorts that I’m starting – JAAG! Help me if you want to by spreading the word. I am no hardcore optimist. I don’t hope this text is going to make any substantial difference in the way people think. But I’m a dreamer. And there’s a difference between the two.

My God

2010-06-10T12:48:00.006+05:30

Disclaimer: Possibly coarse content. Strictly personal views. Offence intended. Tinge of MBA jargon.

Who has actually seen God, has had a tete-a-tete with Him over shots of Tequila/milkshake? Has He ever come down upon Earth and set the damn protocols in stone? I’m an agnostic at times but this is not that. This is the God-believer talking. I believe in Him, His omniscience.

My concept of God is CEO, World. He handles the Finances, the Operations and the HR. And there are no broad issues with the three departments barring a few recessions, earthquakes and suicides. But where the bugger has fallen flat is the Marketing. Unclear of his positioning, he has inadvertently gone into various line extensions [read: religions] and brand extensions [read: castes, sects and all that shit] managed by radically autonomous brand managers.

I think he is a pretty cool bloke. He isn’t too much excited by Ramzans, vrats or yajnas. If you do any of these because your heart tells you to do so, carry on. But if you do it because your faith dictates you to, well dude, you’re an impotent pushover with no friggin’ intellect of your own! Start questioning!

And the sacrifices of blood! Holy blabber! Doesn’t ‘kindness leading to God’ ring a bell??

I believe He likes genuinely nice people. Not the perfect ones. No body’s perfect. He just likes people with a genuine concern towards humanity and an empathetic heart that can feel the pain of others.

He doesn’t give a skeletal ass to microphone chants and colossal bronze bells that make the life of others hell. The processions that bring the traffic to a standstill are plain jokes to Him.

Also, the places that have made Him a business, He makes sure He steers away from those. The Tirupatis, the Meccas, the Vaticans: there is more to Him than these. You do not have to go somewhere to seek Him. In this age of Bluetooth/Wireless, why stick to InfraRed? When we say he’s omnipresent, it means that even if you talk to Him from the confines of the walls your ping reaches his chat window instantly!

He never made any priest, imam or pandit the brokers between Him and you. They just reached there first and lay their claim. You don’t need these middlemen. The longer the supply chain, the greater the Bullwhip Effect. Deal with Him directly. Talk to him: make jokes, share sins. He likes it. He’s one big voyeur. But He’s a patient listener. And the Guiding Light as well!

And the riots in His name: Oh, what an absolute insult to Him! Some bastards, sitting at the top in peace, make their living by making you kill your friend from a different faith. Grow up. Open up your widely shut eyes. There is nothing – absolutely nothing – to die for, kill or rape. It’s the temporary insanity that overtakes your conscience and the ability to think properly.

Make religion a strictly personal domain and respect the rights of others to subscribe to a different brand of faith. JAAG!

“You may say I’m a dreamer. But I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us. And the world will still be one.” – John Lennon

P.S. Un-dear Feminists, kindly notice the use of ‘He’ for God. I honestly believe He’s male.
--

There are a few things that bother me. Rather, they piss me off. And what’s the most discouraging, if not disgusting, is the scale that these ‘evils’ have adopted. The text above was the first in the series of a campaign of sorts that I’m starting – JAAG! Help me if you want to by spreading the word. I am no hardcore optimist. I don’t hope this text is going to make any substantial difference in the way people think. But I’m a dreamer. And there’s a difference between the two.

Comes Without A Title*

2010-05-23T01:27:00.005+05:30

Okay, this is like the lamest attempt at humor.

Doesn't it happen sometime when you hear a movie title, a certain someone comes to your mind instantaneously. There is not even a remote connection between the two but the title fits so aptly on him/her that we cant stop chuckling. Here are some of the chuckles that I've had with Hollywood titles in the Indian context.

Any fit not understood by a reader will be duly explained. Kindly leave a comment. Also welcome are similar "connections". Let the creative juices flow (:

Artificial Intelligence - Rabri Devi

No Country For Old Men - Sourav Ganguly

Die Another Day - Ajmal Kasab/Mohammed Afzal

I Am Legend - Arindam Chaudhari (Think beyond the IIMs)

2010: The Year We Made Contact: Kishenji

Before Sunrise - Baba Ramdev

Jackass - Raj Thackeray

Jackass Number Two - Pravin Togadia

Minority Report - Mayawati

Italian Job - Sonia Gandhi

All About My Mother - Rahul Gandhi

Baby's Day Out - Varun Gandhi

I, Robot - Manmohan Singh

Clueless - Pratibha Patil

The Insider - Lalit Modi

Say Anything - Shashi Tharoor (On Twitter)

What A Girl Wants - Sunanda Pushkar

Down With Love - Shashi Tharoor

Up In The Air - Praful Patel

Con Air - Poorna Patel (Praful's daughter)

Wanted - MF Hussain

Almost Famous - Abhishek Avasthi

In The Name Of The Father - Uday Chopra

Dead Man Walking - Ashish Nehra

Life Is Beautiful - MS Dhoni

Interview With The Vampire - Shakti Kapoor

The Man Who Copied - Pritam

Scent Of A Woman - ND Tiwary (CM in sex scandal)

Definitely, May Be - Virender Sehwag

Kiss Of The Dragon - Shilpa Shetty

Zack And Miri Make A Porno - Mika & Rakhi Sawant

Meet The Parents - Jaya Sawant (Rakhi's momsy)

Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Sex - Sherlyn Chopra/Khushwant Singh

Extra Terrestrial - Krishan Kumar

A Beautiful Mind - Charles Sobhraj

The Innocent - Salman Khan

Basic Instinct - Swami Nithyananda (The Swami in sex scandal)

Beauty And The Beast - Sania Mirza & Shoaib Malik

Dirty Dancing - S. Sreesanth

Cruel Intentions - Raghu Ram

A Fistful Of Dollars - Madhu Koda

Boys Don't Cry - S.Sreesanth

Dumb And Dumber - Riya Sen & Raima Sen

Cast Away - Rahul Dravid

50 First Dates - Deepika Padukone

The Gods Must Be Crazy - Kamaal Rashid Khan

Bad Education - Arjun Singh

Devil's Advocate - Ram Jethmalani

Sound Of Music - Baba Sehgal

School Of Rock - Himesh Reshammiya (Jai Mata Di, Let's Rock :P)

Knocked Up - Neena Gupta

Whatever It Takes - Shit Rukh Khan

* because I couldn't think of one!!!!

Confessions Of A Bloody Erection

2010-05-20T20:35:00.006+05:30

I'm a man's worst foe. Damn, you say and I come into your life. Sometimes, you just fear me. I'm quite fond of making appearances at the wrong places at the wrong time. Sometimes you call me up, subconsciously. At others, it's not your fault. I come uninvited. I just love fooling around with your psyche. I love it when you really gotta pee, but you cant get up. I drool over situations when you are with your parents watching television and your dad asks you to get a glass of water. That's my all time favourite time of appearance. And at such times, I make sure that the more you wish I go away, the more I wake up. I’m the reason wallets now are being promoted to the pockets in front. If you are a new client, I love making surprise visits. With acquaintance, I tend to make you more comfortable and listen to you more. Gradually I handover my autonomy to you and surrender myself to your whims and fancies. But for that, you need to train me just like a Ninja gets trained – who is seen only when he wishes to be. From being a master, I’m now your slave. Well, almost.

I'm a man's best friend. Aloha, I say, and come into your life. Sometimes, you just love me. I provide you with confidence in the hour of need. I do fail you at times but that's just too naughty of me. Don't panic as I do it with everyone. How else on earth am I supposed to prove my worth? I'm just a call away, though. You gotta call it right. And when you or your special someone does, I appear in my full majesty bringing smiles all around. If it weren't for me, life would be so hard, pun intended. I am not so kind to everyone, especially if you have spent a considerable time on earth. But the medicos have come up with a stimulant. You know, I have weaknesses as well, na. Its the V-word. It makes me weak at the knees and facilitates my appearance whenever I want to ditch some old bugger. Anyway, I love spreading joy, happiness and ecstasy. If it weren't for me, the world's favourite and the oldest sport would be so hard, pun intended again. And there wouldn't be any life. I'm the creator.

I'm full of blood. That makes me Erection, Bloody Erection. And just like Mr. 007, I like it ‘shaken, not stirred’.

One

2010-05-19T22:27:00.005+05:30

The rustle of the leaves was excruciating. The pitter-patter of the rain drops on the asbestos could drive him crazy. The wind had been blowing for far too long. It had to stop now. He held the stainless steel blade in his right hand and brought it near the left wrist for the fourth time. Somehow, he could not gather the courage to go through with it.

He had stayed there - motionless - staring at her brutally violated body. She was pregnant of four months with his child. They had all raped her in turns, laughing and moaning like maniacs from hell. She kept on begging for mercy, bleeding like a leaking tap. They had then stabbed her at all possibly painful places with a butcher's knife and then slit her throat. All in front of his eyes. His limbs were tied disabling any possible motion. Honour killing couldn't have been more dishonourable. How could he live with himself without avenging the trauma? Next Panchayat session, he shot all the six bastards dead.

This wasn't the world he had lived in. This wasn't the world he knew. It had moved ahead. He hadn't. Twenty-four years in the Central Jail had made him everything but someone who could adjust to this new world from a sci-fi movie.

The first night. It was a 'room' for four. The lights went out. The biggest of the three roomies took a three-feet pipe out of his bedding and hit him in the jaws. It was physically the most painful thing he had ever experienced. Still gasping with disbelief on being caught off guard like this, he couldn't think of anything while the fatso kept on hitting him on the teeth. Not to beat him to death. But only because they could have him go on for all-nighters without the fear of his biting their penises away. And he did go on for nights, performing his duties, both ways, for months.

The text above is the first in the series of steps of an experiment. Kindly excuse the randomness, absurdity and abruptness of the same and comment only on the picturesqueness/style/connect/narration. Consider it as a big help that you'd do to me in an auctorial endeavour of mine in the very near future.

Khalish

2010-05-15T00:15:00.006+05:30

Khalish hai ragon mein, chubhan si badi hai
Ye jaam koi hataa lo yahan se

Na ho jaaye paagal ye gumnaam kaafir
Tasveer unki hataa lo yahan se

Tazeer si hai ye goshanasheeni
Deedar hota hai unka yahan se

Dum-e-waapasi ko toh aana nahi hai
Janaaza hamara nikalo yahan se

[khalish: pain | chubhan: pain | ragon: nerves | jaam: intoxication | gumnaam: lost/unknown | kaafir: unbeliever | tasveer: picture | tazeer: punishment | goshanasheeni: being in the corner | deedar: view | dum-e-waapasi: the last breath | janaaza: funeral]

A Lot Of Mush. A Lot Of Room.

2010-05-10T09:51:00.003+05:30

“Hey silly, marry me!”
“What?”
“Marry me, you shithead!”
“I can’t hear you. Call me up from the next station.”
“Aaaaai saaaidddd, Wouuuuuuld youuu marrrrrrrrry meeeee?” Standing on the doorsteps of C1, he screamed at the top of his voice; as if it would make up for the poor telecom connectivity.

Whoever coined the phrase “madly in love” was a genius. These two ‘iddiots’ knew what it meant. And they wanted to be exactly this mad all their life. Half the time they fought. The rest they made up. But they loved each other. Madly.

He didn’t want to hear stuff about other guys. He didn’t like it when she went out for coffee with them every single day. And he got irritated way too soon. She was paranoid about his ex. And she had a special ability to misinterpret everything he said. He cracked jokes none else on earth would even chuckle at. And she laughed her guts out every single time. Her jokes were even worse. And he made his special comments on them much to her chagrin.

Anything she loved was sure to be despised by him. Anything he fancied didn’t mean anything to her. He loved butter scotch. She hated it. He preferred to keep a ‘Plan B’ with himself. She never cared.

She read like crazy. He thought books were dog-piss. She loved Ronan Keating. He thought it was an insult to music. He was a movie maniac. Errrr, she wasn’t. She loved Julia Roberts. He was scared of the size of Julia’s mouth. He smoked like a chimney. She couldn’t stand the smell of it. He drank like a fish. She abhorred drunkards.

They had nothing to talk over the phone. Absolutely nothing. She never wanted to hang up. And he didn’t find logic in not doing so when there was nothing to be said. She loved the silences as well. He usually didn’t.

She wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t perfect. They broke up every week and patched up again.

He even forgot her first birthday together!!! “Its my birthday. You can wish me now,” she said at 0030 hours. She gave him a surprise visit a day before his first birthday together.

They had nothing in common. Unusually nothing. Creepily nothing. Zip. Zero. Zilch. They were the two opposite poles created by God in two totally different moods.

But when they met, they became the best things that ever happened to each other. The way they held hands. The way they looked at each other. The way he cared that extra bit not to hurt her while combing her hair. The way she filtered the information he didn’t want to hear. The way they could just sit there, saying nothing at all and it didn’t seem to bother. The way they could keep on blabbering any fucked-up shit about anything on earth. And it didn’t even have to make sense. The way he patted her forehead. The way she held his hand to her cheek. The way they touched. The way they hugged. The way they kissed.

This was love. They knew it. They were sure of it.

And they both loved mushrooms.

“You know I can’t.”
“What you can’t?”
“I can’t marry you right now.”
:|

“I mean, you’re there on the train and I have these darn exams.”
“Aaaaargh bitch. Would you tell me already?”
“Awww, that’s the sweetest way a guy could ever propose. Are you even on your knees?”
“I now am, fuckwit. You know I can fall off the train like this.”
“Yeah whatever. So you were saying something.”

“Babe. Growing old with you and arthritis isn’t half as bad and scary as sitting here near the door of this compartment. For the love of God and in the name of his arse, please be considerate enough to tell me if you would like to see this same ugly face, crooked nose and huge ears by the side of your bed every damned morning all your life?”

“Ummm. Lemme think. What are the options?”
“Well its just me and Shahid Kapoor.”
“In that case…”

There were jolts. Uncharacteristic jolts. Dammit. It shook ominously. He tried to get up stretching his arm to get hold of the rod next to the door. But somehow he couldn’t. The boggie seemed to revolve around a vertical axis. He got thrown towards the ceiling that accelerated towards the ground. And his head hit it. Real bad.

Blood. Silence.
--

He was a ‘Punching-Bag’. She was a ‘Pain-In-The-Ass’.

You Know What I Did This Summer

2010-05-06T16:30:00.002+05:30

Summer Internship. Sales. FMCG. Jharkhand.

For the uninitiated, this means that the two months are NOT being spent in any cozy air-conditioned office with transparent walls and free internet. Instead, I’m living out of a suitcase ‘touring’ all of Jharkhand. This also includes the interiors with terrestrial connectivity worse than the jungles of Amazon. Anyway, it’s an experience of a lifetime. An account follows.

Every address has ‘Near Hanuman Mandir’ on it. I wonder how many fans does the H-Man have in Jharkhand!
I’ve come across incredibly innovative spellings and grammar. “Please your on laggage”!!!!!
I have been sneezed and coughed upon in the face so many times now that I’m looking forward to being spitted upon – the Holy Grail.
I have peed in the most unhygienic of places, sometimes after climbing hillocks of garbage!
I have travelled in the most ‘rocking’ of vehicles – the desi version of Disneyland swings. My spinal cord seems wrecked for eternity.
I met a person called ‘Birbal’ for the first time in my life.
I have grown fond of Sattu – the desi Gatorade.
The dust on the roads and places named Telmocho, Chas and Tipudana give me the feel of Latin America.
I have pissed off a sales officer so bad that he has asked me not to call him up ever again.
I have travelled in an auto-rickshaw without headlights on streets with no light whatsoever at eight in the evening in thunder, storm and rain. Talk about blind trust!
I have come across a dilapidated hut named ‘Indian School of Learning’ that guarantees ‘100% placement’.

Half of this period has been spent in Ranchi. For people never been to the place, it is merely a newfangled capital of a newfangled underdeveloped tribal state. But the exponential rate of “development” has led to explosions – of population, traffic, pollution and noise. An account follows.

You know you are in Ranchi when:

The roads are narrower than Keira Knightley’s waist: far worse than the by-lanes of Jamshedpur.
You find no traffic lights but traffic police on squares in 2010!
The traffic is excruciating for the size of the roads.
All school buses are yellow in colour and are the biggest culprits in traffic jams.
Stuck in a jam, if A is behind B and B is behind C, all three are honking at the same time.
In a jam, if you don’t stick the nose of your vehicle up the ass of the one ahead, some vehicle is bound to cross the road from the gap in between.
The rickshaws turn at ninety degrees without a whisker of a signal.
Bumpers and potholes included, there are more speed breakers on the road than the rest of India combined.
There is no civic sense – AT ALL!!!!
There are no dustbins – AT ALL!!!!
You find a lassi hawker everywhere. Fortunately, the town is a sucker for it.
The favourite evening snack is Chinese food, especially rolls and momos. The extent of craze makes one wonder if it was once a Chinese colony!
If you are on the opposite side of the road to Big Bazaar, you have to drive for 2 kilometres to come back to mall’s side of the road.
Big Bazaar is a big big sham. It takes less time to shop there than to cross the road at 10 in the morning.
The service in restaurants is abysmal and is not a function of prices charged.

Anyway, its just a matter of 20 odd days and it gets over for good! Pray to God that I get strength enough to survive through all of this!

मैं शायर गुमनाम - 1

2010-04-30T15:17:00.004+05:30

These are some of the shers I wrote long back when my life was all shit. Today, I'm the luckiest person on earth.

Gaur farmayein! :)

Sailab
Har hanstey chehre ke peechhe kai sailab hote hain,

Wo dard hi kya jo sar-e-aam beparda ho jaaye...

Zinda

Nabz chal rahi hai, saansein le rahe hain,

Khud ko zinda kehne ka dil nahi kar raha...

Aag

Kaali andheri is raat ki jaane kab subah hogi,

Andar ki is aag se ujala kyun nahi hota...

Aandhi

Ik aandhi kya aayi aasra khojne lagey,

Us toofaan ka kya jismein akela chhod diya humein...

Der

Todna hi tha dil toh itni der kyun lagai,

Uunchaai se girakar zakhm dena chahte they aap...

:o

2010-04-21T13:26:00.004+05:30

Disclaimer: If you smell sexism, trust me, you are a hardcore sexist by heart. Kindly get your egos shrunk, minds broadened, maturity upped and irritabilities switched off. Freedom of expression is what I was born with.

--

They say science can explain everything – from falling apples to shining trails of light in the sky. But lately I have been bewildered by some of the greatest wonders of the world. The phenomena I’m talking about are not new at all. In fact, as impossible as it might sound, they date older than Shit-Rukh Khan. These have been an integral part of our daily lives, intertwined in such a manner that we no more marvel at their subtle existence.

These are some of the greatest mysteries. Unnoticed. Untalked about. Unsolved. But ultimately baffling.

One. I hear the fairer sex is sick of the better sex staring at their so-called assets in full daylight. If caught in the process, the “starer” from the curious sex is given so cold, mean and snobbish looks by the “staree” from the presumptuous sex that the former from the victimized sex has no option left but to un-stare. But would anyone care to explain why would the dumber sex adorn the pre-mentioned assets with t-shirts that sport a. catchy quotes b. crazy fonts c. flashy colours d. all of the above and beg for attention?

Two. Our action hero is waiting impatiently for her girl on their date on the thirty-second floor of a Rajasthani fort in Mumbai. He has the glow of fresh blood sucked out (khoon pee jaunga!) from the one-eyed villain who murdered his father in the last century. Back home he has a younger sister knitting on a wheelchair and a mother dieing on a shabby bed. And the heroine arrives. In no more than five minutes, we find the couple singing duets and dancing acrobatically!!! My common sense fails me everytime I try to find logic behind Bollywood couples “dancing” on dates. What’s this fetish? I mean, there are a million things to do (by the doer sex) or talk (by the talker sex). But why, of all the things, sing and dance?

Three. If that’s not all, the amazingly secluded terrace suddenly gets crowded by twenty people dancing behind the two (strictly equal number of males and females dancing in pairs as if it’s a group-date). I wonder who first thought of this masterstroke of placing uncles and aunties behind our couple on their date!! “Dance, India, Dance”!!

Four. Ever wondered when you accidentally enter the ladies’ section while ambling around in a shopping mall and some ladies’ tees catch your fancy? Almost all the quotes are always full of pseudo-attitude and inexplicable airs around them. Have you ever seen a guy sporting “Here comes trouble” or “I will date everyone but not you”. No. I mean, what’s with this show of unwarranted air? What exactly does the show-off sex want to show off? If you are your “dad’s bad girl”, be. Why do you have to stick in our faces? I’m sorry, babe, but if your t-shirt says more than you can pull off about how independent and obsessed-with-freedom you are, you are no better than Paulomi 2.0 from MTV Roadies 6.0!!!

Five. Another huge mystery is how some of the people from the inexplicable sex turn total sluts post-breakups. Swearing by their guys’ names when in a relationship, how can they find comfort in every damn pair of arms that comes their way? Apologies if all this hurts you, but all I can understand is that you were always a hippie by heart smothered by a relationship, the end of which not only provides you with sympathies from all quarters but an all-encompassing license to flirt. Why did you pretend to be in a sincere relationship, then? I feel happy for the guy who broke up with you.

There are a few more like:

· Why didn’t mythological characters have surnames back then (ala raVun Gupta)?
· Why does a doctor’s handwriting always suck?
· Why is the class name always written in Roman numerals on the classroom door? (IV ‘C’)
· Why don’t people remove air travel tags from their luggage?
· Why don’t we hear songs like “Thaade rahiyo, o baankey yaar” or “Na na kartey pyar tumhi se kar baithe” anywhere else but while playing the Indian game of Antakshari?
· Why doesn’t anyone else smell foreign hands of Cadbury-Kraft in the weakening of Indian economy when a one-rupee coin is replaced by an éclairs candy pan-India?
· How on earth did Shit-Rukh become an actor?!!??!!
· What is the purpose of KKR’s existence except merchandise-selling?
· Why do you go through all this shit on my blog?

You are welcome onboard if you are either of James Bond, Indiana Jones or ACP Pradyuman. The mysteries are unending. The answers I want. Feel free to take a shot in the space provided below.

Hiya!

2010-04-16T21:20:00.002+05:30

Thanks for all the nice pings and mails and comments of appreciation. Honestly, it was humbling!I never knew so many people missed me here. I suppose it wouldn’t be possible to maintain the same frequency of posts but I’ll try to keep up. Also, rest assured that I will read all your blogs and comments and mails and tweets and reply to them in due course of time. Also, I see a few new followers. Great choice! :P Thanks again!
--

I’ve been off my blog for twenty days now. For nerds knowing what radioactivity is, my blog is made up of a hyper radioactive material called khuja-lee having a half life of a million years. For the “kewl” junta, it implies that occurrence of a patch of such cessation of activity on my blog is as improbable as KKR winning an IPL match, or even more.

The reason behind this rare phenomenon of ‘judai’ is the occurrence of another phenomenon – Summer Internship. Without going into the details of the experience - which calls for a totally separate blog altogether – it would suffice if I say it’s been a heavenly experience till now.

Some of the retailers I’ve visited for data collection have treated me worse than they treated lepers in Latin America in the 30s. The heat is awesome: I start wondering the moment I find myself not sweating. Scorching sun has suddenly made the back of my neck magically granular. The traffic of Ranchi has raped the gears of my bike so bad that I wish Kieren Pollard hit me for a six everytime I have to crawl at less than ten kmph for ten minutes at a stretch.

Rewinding, the internship commenced at the city of joy (I wonder who called it that first!) – Kolkata. For someone who has lived all his life in one of the most planned towns in India, Kolkata was a synonym for paranoia. And it lived upto the (un)expectations. An account follows.

You know you’re in Kolkata when:

• The cabbies start “bargaining” from Rs. 280 and end up taking passengers for Rs. 80!
• The platform security check-up is a gigantic sham as anyone can bypass it through an eatery on the corner called ‘Comesum’ with two doors!
• The waiting room on the platform is on the second floor with fifty stairs!!!! (Grrrrr)
• The traffic jams every two minutes – right, every two minutes – raise no eyebrows at all: such is the level of acceptance!
• Girls in airtight jeans and more make-up than Shilpa Shetty buy lingerie with their boyfriends on the footpath!
• The crowd makes you think that all of the one billion Indians live in Kolkata!
• You find people crossing the roads running on the zebra crossings!
• You find kids bathing in full shame-shame costumes at the hand pumps by the side of the streets with more than average traffic!
• You sweat like a pig!
• There are no dustbins – AT ALL! The whole city is one big shameful crapbag!
• Everyone, I repeat, everyone smokes!!

God help the city, especially on the grand eve of the biggest festival of all time – an IPL match – when everyone seems to go insane.

Anyway, I guess I’m back on the blog and would be more frequent than the Haley’s Comet from now on. So what have you been upto?

Insanely Serene

2010-03-27T00:08:00.003+05:30

Tired, confused, alone

Vacuum inside my soul

I'm honest, I've always been

I'll never be in your control

I beg not for approval

Of skin, of bones, of blood

A foreign fear inside

Of slipping away unheard

I try, I cry, I die

The tears, the sky, the night

A dark, abandoned cave

Rotting to survive

Enough, the spirit hurts

She's caged, its been a while...

...The wind against my face

The light of being alive.

So close! So far!

2010-03-21T17:08:00.006+05:30

They were never strangers

To each other. Even though

They had never met,

They had never talked

He'd been through a lonesome road

And he had suffered enough

He had fought the world

And the devils inside his soul

The walls had been closing in

He was suffocated by the noise

He was tired, way too tired

But he would die to hear Her voice

And there She was finally

In the white robe he had sent

She was an angel, so beautiful

Arms outstretched She came

But in a flash everything changed

Her bosom was all so red

She came and fell into his arms

Trying to utter his name

The bullet that hadnt touched him

She took it for Her "love"

And the voice he fought to hear

Would always remain unheard

Surveyphobia

2010-03-19T11:54:00.007+05:30

A plague has come upon XLRI. And it has its roots in new 'in' thing: 'status' messages. There was a good old time when I looked forward to the hyperlinks in them. It was our desi version of StumbleUpon. Anyone who discovered anything interesting over the web shared it with his e-circle of friends.

But this plague is different. Its called "Survey".

From carbonated drinks to smoking habits, from product placements to IPL and from a new car to a new home, every XLer has been bombarded with questions, the answers to which he has none. The questions are masterpieces in themselves. The best one I came across was"

"During the past one month, how long(in minutes) have you usually taken to fall asleep at night?"

ROFL! I would lend my kidney to the person who could possibly answer this. Do notice the couple of words in brackets. "In minutes". Count baby, count.

And the seven-point scales. Phew!

Every morning I open my eyes, I ask myself:

"I dont want to wake up."

Staunchly agree/strongly agree/a lil less strongly agree/moderately agree/weakly agree/slightly agree/neutral

If this continues, there would be a time when an XLer would propose to the girl of his dreams in the following fashion:

"Rate on a scale of 1 to 7(7 being Strongly Agree). Would you marry me?"

The "surveyors" are leaving no stones unturned to make the survey reach even their mausi-ki-bua-ke-devar-ki-maami-ke-bhatije-ki-beti. Some surveys are even disguised in 'tinyurl's.

Yours truly has also joined the bandwagon. But this one's different. This one is not for market research. This one is for my blog! :)

Kill Me

2010-03-17T12:54:00.004+05:30

If you're the one with the trident

Kill me 'coz i wear a cap

I don't believe in your gods of stone

I have no saffron flag

Your folks were killed in front of your eyes

Their screams were all you heard

Forget the times when I touched their feet

Kill me 'coz I grow a beard

If you're the one in the Pathan suit

Kill me 'coz I have none

I dont chant prayers on a microphone

I don't fast for a month

A pervert raped your pregnant wife

And shot her in the head

Forget the Rakhi she tied on my hand

Kill me for my sacred thread

Kill me, brother, for I have sinned

Kill me 'coz my sin is great

Kill me because it was my choice

To be born in a different faith

Kill me 'coz you are only a man

And its human to be driven mad

To pay heed to the sensible mob

To follow...to be misled...

In memory of Late John Lennon

"You may say I'm a dreamer. But I'm not the only one."

Mr. Shit

2010-03-15T03:59:00.004+05:30

Claimer: Some might think that this post is based less on logic than on bias. It's true. 200%.

The hoopla started with DLF IPL Season 1. If someone could bring filthy rich glamor to IPL of this dimension, it had to be Shit-Rukh-Khan, henceforth referred to as Mr. Shit. He was the best thing that ever happened to Mr. Lalit Modi, whose wet dreams got a dream climax with Mr. Shit. Along with a few budding fashion models cum part-time cricketers, the guy went on Dandi-Yatra-ish ramp walks in a golden sling designed by some Malhotra guy. Preity Zinta, Shilpa Shetty (IPL2), Katrina Kaif and Akshay Kumar could only dream of this hype. After all, Mr. Shit has been doing this for ages.

He is a superstar in the true sense of the word. The guy hams and stammers and looks like a cross between an Al Pacino body double and Pinocchio. But he exemplifies what an awesome network of 'friends' and 'well-wishers' at respectable production offices and media houses can do to a wannabe. Add to that 'special friendships' with KJo and Arindam Chowdhary (both deserving assholes in their own right, pun intended as hell), he's set to rule the hearts of all the oh-i-am-a-girl-i-have-to-like-him-no babes out there. He's the grand daddy of social networking in India; Facebook and LinkedIn can take a leak!

The controversy-loving, publicity-begging, one's-own-trumpet-blowing (no pun intended, i wish!) idiot used all the business sense in the IPL, compromising on the much more needed sense: of cricketing. His team, KKR, was the first to break even, thanks to shitloads of merchandise guzzled in the first year. It started off its campaign with a bang with the McCullum knock I'll never forget in my life. And thud! That was it! Mr. Shit generated controversies on-and-off-the-field and his team kept on biting dust. And when things seemed to slow down a bit, there was the corny-yet-ever-effective formula to gain headlines again: the owner-captain spat.

Then came IPL2.0. John Buchanan was the new wand of publicity. The team that finished sixth among eight promised the Kolkatans of some magical turnaround. The team of eleven had some eight captains, six managers, twelve hairdressers and seven PR guys among them, thanks to the theory of Mr. Jo Buch. Merchandise was still flying off the shelf. Mr. Shit was still raking in the moolah. But alas! the histrionics did not pay off on the field. The team finished eighth among eight!!! And with it ended the purple patch in business. The black-and-gold t-shirts became more stigmatised than HIV. And dhandha became mandaa!

IPL 3.0 started with a tinge of sense and sanity. The hype was put to rest and cricket became he top priority. Who knows if the team starts winning again, the business can see a turnaround! And the buggers have won two matches as well! Lets see if one of the most unpopular teams of all time is able to win some respect this time.

MangoMan's discovery # 1239

KKR is an anagram of KRK! That says it all!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And the blasphemous uninitiated ignorants who have no clue about KRK, this is for you.

Link1 Link2 Link3 Link4

Kartey Nahi Hum

2010-03-13T14:22:00.005+05:30

Ho chali hai aadat zeher peene ki ab

Dil chhota yuhi kartey nahi hum

Dhuan hai, nasha hai ya deewangi hai

Ye soch aahein bhartey nahi hum

Lagti hai thokar jab raastey mein

Ashqon ko zaaya kartey nahi hum

Raha hoga shayad fasana koi sa

Nafrat ke sholon mein jaltey nahi hum

Peshani pe harf godey khuda ne

Mukammal jahan chaaha kartey nahi hum

Par ye bhi sach hai gaye hain wo jabse

Jeetey nahi hum, martey nahi hum

Ashq- tears; zaaya- waste; fasana- story; peshani- forehead; harf- words; godey- engraved; Mukammal- complete

Randumb Snippets

2010-03-11T13:24:00.007+05:30

I never wear bright colours. Gurdit says that I wear colours resembling a 'dead lizard'. Can somebody explain to me what-in-the-name-of-that-lizard's-arse does it mean? And why does it have to be dead?

These are some of the masterstrokes by the genius professors we have out here at XLRI:

"You would have looked very smart if you hadn't brought your face."
"When rape is inevitable, its wise to enjoy it."
"Boss, I can tell you at least maximum(!!!!????) would have done it wrong."
"Saari Raamayan khatam ho gayi aur tum poochh rahe ho Seeta kiska Baap!"
"You wretched-face creatures with no sense of dressing and walk in sleep..."
"The only thing you have learnt in XLRI is how to stand still after a bottle of whiskey."
"Can you please come down from the House of Lords (last benches, slightly elevated as you go back every level) and sit in the House of Commons (the front benches)?
"(The graph is) pressed from the top and getting big from the bottom...
"...but, a very big but..." [if you don't get this last one, Think JLO, think Malaika, think Nicole]

Sometimes I think what do the toppers(read: ghissus) get after burning midnight oil (it's a phrase!), slogging till their butt swells up, and giving up on the obvious delicacies of life! Even if they get an 'A' , their CQPI (cumulative grade) comes down! Poor souls! Their life can best be compared to the disclaimers on sleeping pills: "May not cause drowsiness"!! (link)

I got this sms a couple of minutes back. "Characteristics of VKG- finds smsing her taxing but blogs every moment. has nothing to talk about to her but adds a new topic to his blog daily. Finds walking with her taxing but goes to jubilee park with friends every week. Listens to everyone's complaints but not her. Will do every other work when with her but when alone, he either does "kuch nahi" or watches movies. Will give advice to everyone but not her."

Poor her! Or, poor me? :P

Kasoor

2010-03-08T02:36:00.014+05:30

Aaj phir se aayi hai sharam, Aaj phir se darr lagaa hai

Aaj phir hum hain akeley, Aakhir hamara kasoor kya tha?

Aaj phir chuppi hai chhayi, Aaj phir aandhi hai aayi

Aaj phir se hai andhera, Aakhir hamara kasoor kya tha?

Aaj phir thukraye gaye hain, Aaj phir dhokha hua hai

Aaj phir jhaanka hai khud mein, Aakhir hamara kasoor kya tha?

Aaj phir kashma-kash hai wahi, Aaj phir dil hai ye roya

Aaj phir 'Gumnaam' hain hum, Aakhir hamara kasoor kya tha?

I'm not sure if the following lines can do justice to the lines above, but an english translation follows for the Hindi-impaired friends :)

Yet again I am ashamed, Yet again I am afraid

Yet again I am alone, Where the heck did I go wrong?

Yet again there's a silence, Yet again its all too dark

Yet again I'm stuck in (a) storm, Where the heck did I go wrong?

Yet again I've been rejected, Yet again its been a betrayal

Yet again I peek into my soul, Where the heck did I go wrong?

Yet again the dilemma has crept, Yet again the heart has wept

Yet again I am so lost, Where the heck did I go wrong?

Claimer!!!!!

2010-03-04T17:56:00.012+05:30

Disclaimer to this claimer: Do not proceed if you find words of wisdom like "fuck", "screw", "damn", "butt", or "ass" offending/fucking/screwing your damn butt/ass. Also, keep all the potentially dangerous equipment away: you might want to kill yourself after reading this.

The demented author of this blog has been leased out from an asylum-cum-penitentiary-cum-zoo to save this world from an inevitable apocalypse. Anything he ~~writes~~ scribbles here is for the same mission and is the result of a severely tormented childhood.

Any resemblance to anyone living, sleeping, fucking, inebriated or dead is purely intentional. If the content seems to malign any club, organization, company, or individual, it is meant to be so. Get a friggin' self esteem and be offended. Go sue/screw me. I don't give the-tapeworm-in-your-intestine's ass!!

The images used are NOT the properties of the respective owners from whichever shit-holes you are leading your pitiable lives in. I won't give you credit. Its your damn butt's mistake to not use a watermark before uploading it over the internet. Even a seventh grader knows how to do that. I wont give you any credit for any material lifted from your blog and published here, verbatim or otherwise. Go get fucked, fuck yourself or get electrocuted.

I am not responsible, nor will be held liable, for anything anyone says on my blog in the blog comments. I'm not their goddamned nanny. Go chase their asses if you are a crybaby and have a grudge. Or what the hell, bring it on!

Also, do not come to me if your kid wastes time reading this shit rather than preparing for his board exams that guarantee a most-fulfilling rat race in store for him. Learn parenting first.

The intention is never to endorse/glorify/promote/sell any kind of intoxication. Yes, I do all kinds of shit but use your balls and brains before making a decision, that is, if you ain't already doing it.

This blog is not for my fellow inmates, ingrates or illiterates. Pregnant, probably pregnant, about to be pregnant or dieing to be pregnant women are advised to consult their husband, boyfriend or both and the physician before reading. Eating less than seven hours before reading may result in unhealthy movements of bowels. Not recommended for people over the age of 105 years and 7 months.

Although I might claim otherwise under the influence of heavenly spirits, this blog does not offer any legal, medical, veterinary, psychiatric, gynecological, archaelogical, astronomical, anatomical, astrological, philosophical, dermatological or zoological advice. Get in touch with a competent professional, your local daaru ka adda, neighbourhood association of amateur lawyers, your barber, washerman, gardener, aanganbadi kendra, phone book, online directory, local emergency number, mother or Google for the same. If you cant, it means you are an orphaned, computer-illiterate loner. Exit this window and repair your life, if any.

Do use your useless-and-hibernating-in-hell discretion before clicking on any link that might lead to any obscene, prurient, poisonous, pornographic, bad, disgusting, hostile, repulsive, virulent, frivolous, rotten, infectious, malignant, antagonistic, irritating, obnoxious, harsh, embittered, rancorous, resentful, acrimonious, pestilential, baneful, noxious, toxic, venomous, pernicious or repetitive material. Its not my fuckin headache!

Should you link to this domain or use, reproduce, republish, regurgitate, repeat, reiterate, rebound, reecho, reverberate, mimic, imitate, parrot or duplicate the information contained on this blog, you alone are responsible for that action. I never asked you to do so. Even if I did, fuck you!

Any funny/pathetic/offending/harsh translation by Google translator is purely the responsibility of Google, Inc. Go screw them!

Yes, I suffer from delusions of adequacy and grandeur. Its too hypocritic of you to not to.

All disputes subject to jurisdiction in Jamshedpur only. Move your asses down here at least. The limits on the financial damages is 10 INR irrespective of your hailing from any food-deprived land with hyperinflation.

And finally, FOR EXTERNAL USE ONLY!!

P.S. Quite contrary to the overall mood of the post, I would like to give credit to Herche. 12.679% of this post is inspired by the disclaimer on his blog.

Psychedelic Patterns

2010-03-01T14:58:00.014+05:30

They are all there. They are all cheering, hands in air. Roars and Applauses. He is the light at the other end of this tunnel. They are taking His name. The one in the red turban and an unkempt beard is a bit over the board. He's joining both his hands in an inexplicable manner so as to devout himself. The lady with the slightly unhooked blouse is screaming like never before. Their hands are dirty and their hair is rough and messy. The legs are weak and the feet are bare. Its scorching hot. They do not feel an ounce of heat. These are the winds of change.

"What the blip happened to the the picture quality?"

They are all there. Some new as well. Some did not make it.

He's blurry eyed. He can't see them clearly. The noise has risen like anything. They need their rights. They need their dreams fulfilled. They want back a part of themselves that they gave to Him. They do not seem to get it back. Why does this always happen?

They are all there. They are a JPEG image from this high. They are colours. The red crowd there - in the middle of the left row: He has to take care of them. They keep Him happy. He loves being happy. Everyone loves being happy. The chamiya loves the pearls, too. They have wild sex, every night. Its wild for Him at least. The blue in the right row do not even know the red are there. They have their own deals. They have their own ideals. They need to be listened as well. Do you have a friggin's clue what how many pixels they are and what their pixel size is? Be wise. Be calm. Be careful.

They are all there. They have assembled again. Long time back. Many centuries back in time. They are silhouttes. But not silent. They have voices, equally strong, equally shrill, equally loud and equally clear. The heroes are in white neat robes, fresh from their burial, not a long time back, together, all at once. They are taking Him to the gallows.

"Plug the earphones out, you bugger."

Its silent as death. Am I deaf as well? Its dark. Am I blind as well?

"Achcha, match shuru hone wali hogi na"

The above post was written and saved after six glasses of bhang. There were patterns in my mind. Of crowds, of cheers and of a hero. This is how I interpreted them. This is an unedited copy (punctuation and italicisation aside).

Pulp Non-Fiction

2010-02-28T20:24:00.011+05:30

Caveat: The intention is not to malign the already infamous (for all the exaggerated reasons) green state. Let me assure you that it's not the way of life out here. It was an exception rather than the rule.

Heads Up: Many will find it hard to believe. Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn! It was a near-death experience for a split second for me. If this doesn't go on the blog, nothing ever does.

The longest minute of my life

Chapter 1. The backdrop.

It was 6.30pm and it was dark already. On my Apache, I saw two goods trucks moving parallely straight ahead in the left lane. The lane was blocked and there was not more than three feet of space between them. Honking, I manoevered my black babe through the space to overtake them both.

There they were. We call them 'tribals' - the adivasis. Yes, we are a tribal state and are proud to be one. But what happened today challenged those notions to the core.

Chapter 2. Jai Jharkhand.

There were Nagadas and they were dancing to their beats with traditional weapons - bows and arrows, thick bamboo sticks and other wooden ones - their ancestors used for their defence. The bike overtook a few and they shouted their guts out. There were abuses hurled and directions screamed - to block our way - from the ones behind to the ones ahead.

All I could hear from inside the helmet was "Kahan", "Nikal" and the choicest expletives. I knew at once I had made a horrible mistake.

Someone slapped my helmet real bad. Jhannnnnnnnnn!!! My hearing got impaired for a split second.

Chapter 3. Fear.

It was a long time since I was slapped this bad. Last time I recollect getting a blow this hard was my second year of engineering. I didn't have a helmet then. Today even the helmet couldn't suffice. Chills went down my spine along with the vibrations that followed. The helmet almost came off my head, blocking my vision. The bike lost the balance. Engine ignition still on for a while, it fell down with my right leg slightly trapped underneath.

If there exists a feeling called 'fear' - this was it, for the first time in my life.

All of them, a motley bunch of around 50 fanatics, came onto me from all the directions. The one in the blue (probably) shirt about six feet away was the deadliest. He snatched something lethal from the guy next to him and rushed towards me.

Chapter 4. The second one.

It was a three-feet, realllly thick weapon that seemed like wooden sword - only three times the normal girth.

"Bhaiya, bas nikal raha hun...pata nahi tha..."

"...pata nahi tha, bhaiya..."

"Chhod dijiye bhaiya...please bhaiya...bhaag raha hun..."

I was apologising non-stop - for the apparent sin I had committed. And there it was - the second blow...from behind!!

Chapter 5. THE Experience.

Directly on the back of my head, on the portion without the helmet, it was painful. Fat gayi thi!!

Had it been some other moment I would have given up. But something miraculous took over me. Something. The leg that was seemingly trapped under the bike, gathered courage from nowhere. I caught hold of the bike and stood up. Pressing the self-start button, I started fleeing away when the blue-shirt-guy took a shot with that insanely huge and dangerous weapon on the headlight. Instinctively, I turned the axle of the handle, shifted gears and acclerated. It was as close a shave as one can imagine.

I felt something pointed on back of my shoulders. I was pretty sure it was an arrow's tip. I thought I wouldn't be able to escape. Something really ugly was going to happen. I even thought - that very fraction of a second - that this was it...this was IT!!!

Chapter 6. The Discovery.

I turned around. I didn't see his face. All I saw was a pointed wooden stick - a really long one - whose one end was excruciatingly sharp and the other - lot thicker - was around four feet away (again, probably!) in his hand. It wasn't an arrow for sure but it hurt bad! I acclerated as much as I could.

I fled and the excellent shock absorbers helped through the rocky path. All psyched up, I covered some fifty metres when I turned back. I discovered something. Gaurav, my pillion rider all this time, was not there!!!!!

Fuck!!!!!

Chapter 7. The climax.

No expression in this world can ever describe that feeling! It was the worst moment of my life. I was stunned! I had to go back!

I took a U-turn. Believe me when I say this: Fifty years down the line, if I shall be proud of myself for anything, it will be for having done this. I was on the verge of peeing in my pants a few seconds back, figuratively, of course. But there was no time to think. The next few seconds brought to my mind all the shit in this world. I imagined everything that could happen to both of us. But I kept on moving. I wouldn't have forgiven myself if I had chickened out then.

And there he was, trying to call me up on his cellphone, safe and secure! He had got off the bike the moment it fell and had the presence of mind enough to get out of the scene. The biggest 'phew!!!!!' ever! Thank you, God! I love you!

Tussi Ja Rahe Ho...

2010-02-26T05:07:00.011+05:30

It started at the JLT.

"I'm basically from..."

And we wondered how you guys found the word 'basically' amusing - every single time. Sitting in bunches, "introducing ourselves", singing, dancing, doing what not. The gyaan-rain. The folklores of the Gangoes and the Kakanis. The booze on the terrace. The SIC. Vasudha. Shivi Gupta. The B-nite. (link)

The de-JLT-fication. The dunking. The committees. You never skipped an opportunity to screw our asses. And we loved it!

Ratanjee. No comments! Juniors' nite. Bodhi Tree. Badde. :)

The SIP. One of the most memorable experiences, for all the bad reasons except the discovery of some of the most rocking of you seniors. All we needed then was a shoulder and a pair of ears so that we could just vent ourselves out. And you did more than that. You stayed with us throughout. You gave us rays of hope every morning through the Cactus-Tree's wake-up calls. And you stayed with us till the very rays got lost in the hustle-bustle. And there you were the next morn again!

We returned the favour next. We saw the suits, we saw the smiles and we saw the other side. (Treats pending though - that would always remain so I guess)

The Seniors' Nite. The nakhre. The bouncer-giri. The awards.

The elective gyaan. The placement gyaan. The committee gyaan. The general gyaan.

And then came the great leveller. The XL-IIMC meet. That was unity against a common foe. Rubbing shoulders and holding hands. Our voices in chorus hurling the same expletives - Ek Do Teen Chaar...

Nothing can ever describe this feeling.

We'll miss you!

Sachin. God.

2010-02-24T17:41:00.011+05:30

It happens only in India.

Dhoni on strike. Off drive. Misfield at long-off. India is batting and we get an extra run. But everyone goes crazy and hurls the craziest abuses on the fielder.

Dhoni on strike. Four. Cries of "Shit", "WTF". Next delivery. Six. Hall on fire. Wrath against Dhoni manifests itself in the form of a huge uproar and banging of tables. "Ek Do Teen Chaar...Dhoni Ki G**** M***".

This is the atmosphere in the Father Enright Mess when 'strike' eludes the little master for what seems like an eternity. We have waited 20 years for this moment. Some bugger from Ranchi can't snatch it away from us.

No one's moving from their places. India's GDP takes a dip. The whole nation is at a standstill. Its only in the last over when he touches the magic figure. The hall erupts. Yes, the wait is over. Gwalior is the new Mecca.

Click on the video to view crazy devotees in their moment of ecstasy

Yet another milestone. Yet another record. The day is not far when cricket will be remembered and addressed as a game this man played.

Don't bowl him bad balls. He hits the good ones for fours." - Michael Kasprowicz

My dad hates him like hell. He isn't quite fond of idolizing people and he knows what this man means to me. For me, he is beyond critiques.

When I was a eight, he was an example of someone who everyone seemed to know and love. Wills World Cup 1996 made me marry cricket. 523 runs in a single ODI tournament. Courtney Walsh couldn't make so many in his life!

When I was ten, he was reliability personified. 9 ODI centuries in 1998. Sharjah. Kangaroos. The tourney is etched in the collective conscience of a nation of fanatics. Indian cricket team ceased to be anything more than a one-man-army.

When I was eleven, he was an example of guts, grit and gumption. The legend stormed the Kenyan side in the 1999 WC by his 140* immediately after he returned from home after the most tragic incident in his life - his father's death. That's fortitude. That's determination.

When I was twelve, he was an idol already. He gave Shane Warne nightmares in 2000. That was what he could do to one of Wisden's five cricketers of the century. And this is what he can do to a server in Bangalore: cricinfo.com is down from the moment he brushed past 200.

When I was fifteen, he was an example of consistency and living upto the expectations of a billion loons. This man singlehandedly took the Indian side to the WC 2003 finals with 673 runs in 11 matches.

When I was seventeen, he told me what will power is when he returned with full steam after the tennis elbow injury to rule the world again in 2005 by hitting his 35th test century.

When I was eighteen, he showed me how to defy all odds and emerge a winner. He was booed at his home ground and he underwent a painful shoulder surgery. But he rewrote history with a 141* on his comeback debut in 2006.

When I was nineteen, he taught me how to remain unaffected of the criticism,keep the insatiable spirit alive and finally let go of the nerves that made him get out in his nineties seven times in 2007.

He is a living example of humility in the true sense of the word. Rahul Dravid's declaration in Multan, the ball tampering controversy, the Chappell brothers' wrath and even the newspapers calling hin "ENDulkar": he knew how to maintain his composure and let the newer stars balk in the newfound adulation. He saw the likes of Sehwag and Dhoni rise to what they are today. He even recommended Dhoni as the captain to the selectors and we all know he's never wrong. He's the one who is placed in an eternal pressure cooker with the colossal expectation of a one billion people burdening his shoulders everytime he comes to bat. The man has remained in the top for twenty years now. And he's practically unaffected. He's not one of the dime-a-dozen "rockstars" who change in a flash by fifteen-minutes-of-fame. Every single opponent who has had the (mis)fortune of playing against him admires him. And he's as respected, if not more, off the field as on it.

And today when I'm twenty two, he did something that around 2000 cricketers with ODI caps till date can only think of. He made 200 runs and remained unbeaten in a single one-day international!

He is Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. He's God.

C se Chomu!

2010-02-22T18:15:00.011+05:30

I just cant stop rolling on the floor laughing!

Here I was living my temporarily miserable life due to the sudden spate of quizzes follwing the XL-IIMC meet and my blog was "attacked", unbelievably poorly though.

The image shows a statistic of the blog visitors around 6pm. 32 visitors were online simultaneously - 31 of them from Calcutta!!!!!!!!!! And then started an incredibly hilarious episode of cribbing by the Chickens. At some moments, I really had my heart out at the sheer ignorance of the JOKArs. At others, I laughed my butt off at their "logic". I really wonder at the filtering process of the IIMs now. :P

XLer or not, visit this post(link) and have the laugh of your life. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease go through all the comments. It'll take time but will be totally worth it. The same cribs again and again - lesser the logic, more the frequency. :D

The highlight was something else though. Somehow, the JOKArs read this post of mine.(link). Here I wrote about how I wanted to go to IIMC of all the IIMs because it was my father's dream. Now the idiots' pea sized brains made them mock me as if I'm making fun of the people out there only because I didnt get through it. A couple of them asked me to prove that I did by putting up the offer letter on the blog. LOL! For the people who mocked me for preferring XL, rest assured I'm having the time of my life out here. Thank God I made this choice. :)

Now, let me stop laughing like a dork first. Hmm. Now. I made fun of the lack of sportsman spirit, you buggers. I never said IIMC is not a premier institute. Or, I never compared it with XL. It was strictly pertaining to the meet. How did that argument-cum-personal-attack come into the picture?

To add insult to your injury, I am terribly sorry for you. This is the offer letter you wanted. (link). And my TR number is in the image itself. Go to your admissions office and, what were the words..."do the honours"!!! More proof? Here it is. (link)To your horror, I actually preferred XL over IIMC. Sorry again! Never thought I would have to prove this, but what the hell and let me be honest, I'm loving it. :D

P.S. For the weak-at-RC folks out there, this is an example of making fun. So please dont start again cribbing about me being a "crybaby"!!! LOL! I posted this because I was forced to :D

P.P.S.: For 'the fingers on the keyboard": I respect the way you put forward your points. :)

The intention is not to malign IIMC at all. Its just that a few people were incredibly illogical.

C for Crybabies

2010-02-21T02:52:00.005+05:30

So close...and yet so far! The two day extravaganza couldn't have got a better conclusion - a photo finish.

Sledging and scuffling knew no bounds. Tempers ran high. Higher ran the emotions.

The scoreline read 9-9. Football happened to be the decider - penalty shootouts at that. A cliffhanger. A nail-biting sensation. And the JOKArs won it 5-4.

The winners failed to win the hearts though. Cribbing, complaining and crying never seemed to die. Sportsman spirit was something they might never have heard of. The following two examples show how ridiculous they were.

1. Internet. On the field.

Our goalie was injured during the match. The swelling on his wrist had beyond doubt rendered him incapable of performing his duties anymore. As a result, we had to have a different one. The cribbing started. A new rule in football suddenly seemed to be in the air. The goalie change was opposed and how! The game had to be stopped for half an hour because the buggers were checking out the rules on the internet...on the field!!!!!! The official FIFA rules seemed to have no mercy for the cribbers who finally had to accept the rationality.

2. LOL!

Can a group of postgraduate students in management be this pathetic??!!??!! The women's volleyball was stalled for more than an hour. The reason: they wanted the rules to be changed. They wanted to do away with the rotating serve because they had only two who could serve!! The arguments were as hilarious as they could get. Imagine: Indian cricket team captain goes to the umpire and says only two of the eleven can bowl and wants each of them to bowl 25 overs each!! ROFL! The referee had to intervene when the stalemate seemed to last forever. He, logically, refused to pay their "concerns" any heed. The losers didn't even give it a shot and gave us a walk-over!

Losers...who won the trophy but lost the respect!

P.S. Amidst all this high-adrenaline drama, the staging of 'Red Black'(link) happened to kick ass. We rocked the show!!

C-Sickness X-humed

2010-02-17T22:46:00.012+05:30

Exhume /eks"hju:m/ /eg"zu:m/ verb [T] to dig up for reburial.

Behold. Beware. Its that turn of the fate again. The monsters have woken up from their cocoons. The cobwebs have been gotten rid of. The swords have been sharpened. The soothsayers are wary. The chroniclers are ready. The battlefield is set. All it needs is blood. And there will be blood.

February 19, 2010. The deadliest, the fiercest, and honestly the grooviest battle will commence. Its a 35-year old tradition - the XL-IIMC Sports Meet. For the uninitiated, it is the most awaited event of the year where the only rule is: "There are no rules". Where pinching the bums of the players are as much allowed as flashing the manhood in frustration. Yes, the latter has been the talk-of-the-towns since it happened. A couple of ignorant out-of-line females who dared to challenge the endowment of a young man were proved wrong with immediate evidence by an act of the mighty - "flashing".

For the never-walked-out-of-the-couch, XLRI-Jamshedpur and IIM-Calcutta are two of the most hallowed institutes across the country where we also learn business management. Thanks to the potentially explosive but perennially idle and available grey matter on campus, these are some of the T-shirt quotes that adorned the mighty XLers in the past:

Only XLence matters. The rest is IIMmaterial.
3 decades. 2 B-Schools. Both try. One XLs.
60 miles above C level
CAL-i-fornication

The list is endless. Well, to be fair to the Chussus, they did try to put their best foot forward. But its just not in them. The poor sods with their slogged and spent asses are already like living zombies. In their crammed schedules that involve 21 hours a day of Microsoft eXceLing, they could come up with slogans like:

C is constant. X is unknown.

Awwwww!! Poor souls! All I can compare them is to Ashish Nehra and the look he gives to the batsmen after each wide that he bowls - the look that intends to offend but ends up amusing.

For the IIMC-IIM B meet, the JOKArs did try to go through their colossal database of research papers they're proud of. (We're proud of the colossal database of movies on our server, by the way). And thus they came up with something bordering on Ishant Sharma - a notch above Ashish Nehra.

And we thought there could B no worse than XL.

And immediately below was written "IIM Calcutta". Aaarrghhh!!

The pitiable male cherubs can't even come up with foul swearing. That too, has been relegated to the females. Kindly type "IIMC XLRI Swearing Scandal" in the Youtube search box and witness a shameful exhibition of un-feminity.

Well, to each his own. We'll keep on being the ones with the bigger heart. As Anil Kumble once remarked, "Only one team played in the spirit of the game." We'll gladly be that team.

Let the graves be dug. Again. Let the weak be tamed. Again. Let the show begin. Again.

Because...any sport elsewhere needs just one ball!!!

P.S. Yours truly is not in the cricket team. *Gulp*

How I Wish...

2010-02-17T01:20:00.007+05:30

- Written, composed and performed by Varun Gupta

Out exclusively on Broken Records

Download Song(link) : Low sound. Kindly use ear/head phones.

How I wish, I could be, in your arms tonight

I just can't, stop the tears, rolling down my eyes

Memories, bothering, of what used to be

Of the love, of the life, that you gave to me

How I want, honestly, I could stay a while

How I wish, I could be, in your arms tonight

बातें वो अनकही, बातें वो अनसुनी, जिनको कहना तो था, पर दबी रह गयीं

कहना चाहूँ मैं उनको अभी जानेजाँ

ख्वाबों का कारवां, जो चला ही नहीं, उड़ना चाहे है वो, एक पल को सही

जानेजाँ...जानेजाँ...

हाथ ये, छोड़कर, मैं न जाऊं कहीं

How I wish, I could be, in your arms tonight...

That Bitch!

2010-02-13T00:00:00.004+05:30

What do you do...

...when nothing's under control?

How does it feel...

...when you miss it from this close?

Where do you go...

...to find strength in this pain?

Who do you trust...

...when life's a bitch again?

Arbit! Again!

2010-02-11T20:04:00.008+05:30

Read 'Arbit!' here(link)

Image by Dr. Madhukar Shukla, XLRI.

Its the same mood again. Something's wrong. Somewhere. I want to write. And there's nothing. Or, probably, there's too much. This is the third time I'm putting up this caveat in this blog - do not proceed if you do not have time for shit. The placement season is on. Pressures and emotions are high. But if it weren't for pressure, wouldn't a diamond still be coal? There are only five seniors I respect like anything, whom I want to see big in life. They deserve every bit of it. One is still left, waiting to be 'placed' - as if we are commodities waiting to be placed on a FMCG shelf. Better the 'package', more the 'shelf space'. Better the 'brand', more at the 'eye-level'. And that we are - tradable commodities ever-ready to sell ourselves. The whole system is flawed. Do I have a solution? But, if I am not a part of the cure, am I necessarily a part of the disease? Guess I am. Guess everyone is. Committees' elections are approaching. The people are a lot nicer. They need votes. They need friends. Why don't I have friends? Why do people have friends? I've seen 'friendship' stoop real low here. Bitching behind backs is a custom. The better your grades are, the more number of friends you have. Do I need such phonies? Am I alone? Am I lonely? I entered the Yahoo! chat room after ages. Was disgusted by the plethora of bots and despo males. Get a life, you morons, or get a porn CD!!! I don't feel like watching a movie. Is it the same me? Guess no. I've changed. Why can't I be the same person again? Why the heck do I keep on harping the same and crib? Why do I want to be the same? Why can't I accept change to be the only constant and move on? Why do I blog? Why do I have to scribble shit that would make no sense to anyone, whatsoever. And even if it does, can they ever share my frame of reference? Can they see things as I want them to see? They can't. Can I see things like they do? I can't. We're fuckin' normal. That's what we are - trapped in normalcy! I've screwed up this academic year real bad. Can I recover? Do I want to recover? Do I have the balls to put in the effort? Where am I heading? Am I lost? Or, are they lost - the rats in the race? I've started reading random blogs. Lots of them.Trying to relate to more and more strangers - the 'weird' ones. The un-understood ones. I'm loving it. I feel attached to them. Some of them feel like real close ones. Its a shame I cant let them know that. Everything sucks! As someone said: life is like a nigger's left bum - it ain't right and it ain't fair!

Red. Black.

2010-02-07T20:48:00.003+05:30

DRACULA (Dramatics And Cultural Association) presents Red. Black. as the Public Production 2010.

Here's the trailer. I'm playing Sudesh. [My pic at 00:58] :P

February 20th, 2010. Tata Auditorium, XLRI Jamshedpur.

रावण

2010-02-06T02:58:00.004+05:30

बिलखती आई वो मेरे पास

चीथड़ो में मुरझी हुई

टूटी चप्पलें पहनी थी उसने

रूखे बालों में तेल नहीं

"भैया, पापा फिर पी के आये हैं."

हस्सो कहते हैं सब उसको

प्यारी सी परी सी है

दो सौ वाट के बल्ब सी आँखें

जिनमें अब नमी सी है

"भैया, तू कुछ करता क्यूँ नहीं?"

तीन छोड़ के घर है उसका

दौड़ती वह आई है

खिलखिला के हंसती थी जो

आज उदासी छाई है

"भैया, पापा ने मम्मी को फिर मारा."

कहानियां सुनती है मुझसे

निरी सारी खुदाई की

राम की और रावण की

अच्छाई और बुराई की

"भैया, रावण को मारो ना."

Tinted Glass

2010-02-04T17:01:00.002+05:30

- Written, composed and performed by Varun Gupta

Out exclusively on Broken Records

Download Song (link). Low sound. Kindly use ear/head phones.

There'll be moments, it'll be hard to love each other

There'll be times, we won't look into the eyes

There'll be things, we would say on the face

Everything would seem like one big lie

There'll be places, we would die to run off to

There'll be people, and ready shoulders

There'll be pain, (yes, there will be!) it'll seem we've had enough

We'll ask ourselves: could it be any worse

Chorus

At that time baby, we'll need to hang in

Do what we do the best, Just keep believing

Believe in the promises, we made to each other
Got lost in the mists of time, and fake covers

Believe in ourselves, believe in our love

Believe in the fate and what it has for us

Believe in the God, believe in His plans

Believe in the list that we made of 'We Can's

I know I know, its a big risk we're taking

But you know what, we might not want to have the doubts

And make sure that, we read nothing between the lines

We sure could stop seeing through that tinted glass

We'll see for ourselves, life is not all that tough

When someone picks us up, when we fall down

When there's someone, we can trust with our lives

Who'll hold our hand (when we have) to cross the road

Chorus fades.

Unfortunately. Unintentionally. Unconditionally.

2010-02-02T22:06:00.008+05:30

Presenting some of the masterpieces that disappeared in the mists of time. Intended to be epitomes of seriousness, these somehow lost track and landed on the other side of the spectrum. Do not dare to insult any of these by leaving them midway. Each one is a supreme example of journalism/art/cinema and has set honorable benchmarks.

The first on the roll is the most sincere television news correspondent in the world. "Never Say Die" is the motto he swears by. Perseverance and perspiration are his virtues who has never learned to give up. Go, Chand Nawab bhaijaan!

Next is the Indian Superman. Its an almost six-minute video but trust me, every second of the video is worth the time. The abstruse lyrics will scream volumes:

"Tuu mera Superman, Tuu meri lady. Ho gaya hai apna pyar already!!!!!"

As always, the cherry at last. No words. Winner of three Grammies and two Golden Globes. If you haven't watched it till the end, well, your loss!!!!!!!!!

No Sign Of You

2010-02-01T22:09:00.005+05:30

- Written, composed and performed by Varun Gupta

Out exclusively on Broken Records.

Download Song (link) [Low volume. Use head/ear phones]

Lyrics:

Its been two hours, you said you will be here.

I booked for two, on this roof top.

The candle flames dance with the breeze...

Its a starry night, critters singing sweet.

The guitar's tuned. There is no one around.

The table cloth's wet with the mist...

I have loosened the knot of your favourite tie I'm wearing only for you...

Your cell phone's switched off, I've tried a hundred times, there's still no sign of you...

Baby, miss you. I really miss you.

I miss the way you laugh at my silly jokes;

I miss the way you make me feel.

I miss the silences, endless, when eyes do the talking.

Baby, miss you. I really miss you...

The Powerpuff Girl!

2010-01-31T03:09:00.012+05:30

Breaking News: Heavy duty girl power on display

XLRI, Jan 30-31. Roars of applause on every sentence completed. Shouts of "Unfair" on every below the belt blow to her by "the brotherhood". A brave face, a new face. A fresh zing to everything - a desi tadka. A need for change that suddenly got a voice. Attacks involving unchartered territories fended incredibly. Nervous home team. This was the scene in the Father Prabhu Hall during the marathon elections.

Calm. Composed. One-woman army screwed them all who ganged up against one brave soul who didn't just have the dream but actually gathered up the guts to be the only one who stood up against the "system".

Had the previous show involving six protagonists and six hundred questions - majorly by the candidates' proxies themselves - been a little less unbearable; had people not been off to BishuDa for a quick smoke and tea; had they witnessed the racing-throttle-response by this hell of a lady I have an acquaintance with...who knows...it would have been the greatest upset in history!!!

Pyrrhic victory indeed!

"Which were the first and the last companies to visit during this LRP process?" ... LMAO...Get A Life!!!

Sorry Shaktiman!

2010-01-27T19:43:00.002+05:30

Woke up to an excruciating headache, an apparently unquenchable thirst and nebulous recollections of the last night's dream. Sat up at once, thumbs pressed insanely against the sides of my forehead. Damn, it hurt!!! Springed up to the mirror that showed 2ml of clotted blood and a teeny-weeny microscopic injury possibly caused by a pointed object to the least of my knowledge. It missed the eye by an inch!!!

Water suddenly seemed the rarest commodity on earth. The bottle next to me didn't even have '60ml' - the magic figure that also happened to be the name of a new star in the galaxy of sports lounge bars(link) where yours truly guzzled seven (a truly conservative estimate! possibly eight :P) large vodka pegs on an empty stomach. This was the worst hangover, ever.

I'm never gonna drink again. Sorry Shaktiman!

[Left: 'In it went' ; Right: 'Out it came']

Saala kab tak chalega?

2010-01-26T00:31:00.010+05:30

Pre-Script: This blogpost is as commonplace as you get. You are advised to ignore unless seriously unemployed.

Thanks for reading further. The fact that you are in no hurry and have chosen to read at your own wish and peril, you must be complimented for your taste-induced-trust and ridiculed for an absolute lack of commitments.

The post.

India turns 61 as a sovereign republic. The Constitution turns 61 and so do the perrenial loopholes. The newspapers today will try to highlight the same in ink and colours along with our "glorious past" and "opportunities galore" for the Indian tiger. Piss!

For the same reason, I would abstain from critiquing the senior citizen. Nor would I draft "Vision 2020"s. The post lies midway. Its just a "To-Do" list of sorts. Its just a reminder of what we already know to the last alphabet but somehow slip up. The drop in the limitless ocean never feels guilty. But the weighted average of goddamned consequences just screws the country shitless.

The post will be a success if even one of the tormented readers stops for a while, not to think, but fuckin' act!! Lets take responsibility of the relatively individually insignificant but collectively diastrous footprints of ours that we leave behind through every wrapper/ciggi-butt strewn, every voting franchise missed and every damn action out of the "Chalta hai" attitude. Nahi chalta yaar. Saala kab tak chalega?

# A chewed chewing gum is supposed to be wrapped back in the wrapper and dustbins are supposed to be used.

# You are doing enough damage through pollution and passive smoking while puffing your favourite smoke away. Butts are supposed to be put out and carried back in the pack to the dustbin.

# Vote for christ's sake. Do not be an elitist crib otherwise. You are as redundant in the scheme of things as a "Melty Man" victim. Use the power you have, you impotency-loving self-obsessed freak!

# Plant a sapling in your backyard. Stop breathing otherwise.

# Stop wasting food. You were just born lucky to not starve to death. Count your totally undeserved blessings and pay back.

# In your whole darn life, bring the light of literacy in the life of at least one much less privileged as you are.

# Now when you have survived through this shit, let this imbecility take the logical climax and comment on this god forsaken blogpost!!

So, before you waste hours on today's edition of TOI, get down and do something this Republic Day! Jai Hind!

I will pee there!

2010-01-06T15:01:00.005+05:30

No comments...except...you're gonna love it!

Copyrights with woodbulb

Woodbulb's channel on Youtube(link). Artistically inclined can try to satisfy their insatiable intellectual appetite by visiting Buffalax's channel(link) as well.

Arbit!

2009-12-18T12:07:00.008+05:30

Disclaimer: My mental state is far from stable. Do not proceed if you want to read something that makes sense.

I've just come back to my room after an end-term paper. We have the last one tomorrow. I'll be one-third of a manager. Its been five times I've clicked on "New Post" and then aborted the operation. I desperately want to write about something. Some...thing. But it eludes me. I don't know what it is. I don't have a frickin' clue, whatsoever. Read about an IIM-I prof murdered at her residence. Its bothering me. I want to watch 'City Of God' for ages and its right there on my hard disk drive. Why do people always misunderstand me? Why do I always want people to understand me? Am I an approval junkie - a monkey wrapped in suits? (Link) I pretty much pride myself of being exactly the opposite. I am what I am. The tagline has made me loyal to Rbk. I don't give a nine-legged spider's ass to what they think. I think I do. I think I've started doing that. Heck. Suleimann Benn manhandled Mitchell Johnson. Haddin instigated them. Cricket is no longer a gentlemen's game. Am I a gentleman? I want BM to win the Prestige Cup 7-0. Why cant I bowl leg-breaks the way I can bowl off-breaks. I believe in God. I used to talk to him. It has reduced to a mere formality now. I am not on Twitter. I want to tweet. What's so special about Google Wave? Is it a distorted example of Missionary Selling? Do I care? New orkut sucks like hell. I want a PPO in HJ Heinz. I want to prove things to the world. Again. I suck. I'm changing. I don't like the change. I will quit smoking one day. Smoking kills. It has started showing effects on my lungs. I don't smoke much. Why me? Why cant I quit? Bon Jovi is religion. Their music never got its due. I've ceased listening to music. I need to install Windows 7. I wish I had a Macbook. I like Pacino. Is De Niro better? I want to act. I think I can. Everybody thinks he can. Is "everybody" singular? The show's name is Everybody LoveS Raymond. Its singular, or is it? I need to get my bike serviced. I'm just in love with the machine. Its the best babe on earth. Why don't people leave a word of appreciation/critique on reading a post? Why can't they do a little thing that means so much to the blogger? Why is it important to the blogger? I've started drinking again. Jesu's business dinner was awesome. The same White Mischief felt so different, so smooth. Five-rupee coins are being smuggled to Bangladesh where they are melted to make razors. Six of them, two-rupee each from a five rupee coin. This would contribute towards a liquidity crunch. Inflation will rise. As if I care. I don't have another B-school interview scheduled. MBA sucks. The education system is as outdated as Ashish Nehra's scantily disguised out-swingers. There's a lot of learning involved. Outside the classroom, of course. Would I spend my life selling sabun-tel? FMCG attracts me. I've been trying to find dental floss for some time now. What has come upon Jamshedpur? There's no Gilette deo as well. So much for the 'push' strategy - the thumb rule in FMCG. I loved yesterday's Marketing question paper. People thought it was gas. It was a quality B-school paper after months. Practical problems that required on-the-feet out-of-the-box thinking. I want to make ads. I think I'm creative. How? I don't know. I am. I haven't done anything to proclaim it. MTV Roadies is deteriorating. I miss Roadies 4 and 5. Our senior is there - one of the roadies - in Africa in the current edition. I don't wanna end this post. Would I publish it? I think I would. Would anyone be interested? Do i want them to be? I think I do. Again.

Sorry!

Kuchh bhi!!!

2009-12-15T22:40:00.003+05:30

ROFL!!!

If you can't figure out the hilarious discrepancy...one, get a common sense and two, go join American Megatrends, Inc.

Ashamed of being a man!

2009-12-12T18:22:00.010+05:30

"Don't tell me hundred ways how you cannot respond to the problem. Can you ply your mind for that one way that you can respond to the problem?"
- Sunitha Krishnan

I've always believed in the superiority of females over us when it comes to being the stronger species. But if this is what being a man is all about, I'm ashamed of it. Sunitha Krishnan(blog) co-founded Prajwala to rescue 'sex slaves' and find them safe haven. If nothing else, we could contribute our bit by sharing this video with as many people we know.

Make sure at least one of the link works.

TED | Youtube | Veoh | Milk & Cookies

Magma | Mefeedia | VTap

"Can you break your culture of silence? Can you speak to at least two persons about this story? Tell them this story. Convince them to tell this story to another two persons. I'm not asking y'all to become Mahatma Gandhis or Martin Luthers or Medha Patkars, or something like that. I'm asking you, in your limited world: can you open your minds? Can you open your hearts? Can you just encompass these people too? Because they're also a part of us. They're also a part of this world."

Find the Transcript here

Disclaimer: I might be guilty of yellow journalism as the title is not that relevant to the post but the purpose was to share this video with as many people as I could. The ends, baby, not the means.

P.S. If you can't access any of the links, let me know. I'll do something about it. But please, spare a few minutes to support this cause.

Jab We Met...Socha Na Tha!

2009-12-10T23:58:00.004+05:30

A day of failed and partially-showing-promise visits to all the offices in Jamshedpur for the sponsorship of the largest and the oldest Marketing Research fest in India - MAXI Fair @ XLRI. Headed to Bauaji (Google Maps link) for the best tea in Jamshedpur.

Guess who I met at supposedly his favourite hangout in the Steel City on a dilapidated chabutra at the world-renowned-in-Jamshedpur Bauaji Tea Stall.

Imtiaz Ali and moi!

Ganged Up - Part2 [6-10]

2009-12-06T19:00:00.013+05:30

Read the part 1 here.

Well, I pretty much expected the sworn Scarface fans would mind its being there in the first part. Just to make it clear, I would any day love to watch Scarface more than a couple of movies in this part. But that's majorly due to Pacino and the overall influential style. As far as the genre goes, the plot, the treatment, the technology (as much as I understand) and the overall impact as a Gangster movie helps the following movies make the cut in the top 10.

#10 Blow (2001)

Tagline: Based on a true story.

Nothing new. Misguided, intelligent, good-at-heart protagonist makes it big in the drug peddling industry. But the very fact that it's inspired from a real life saga makes us stop and think. Father-child relationships: Liotta-Depp and Depp-daughter well explored. Liotta, by the way, is outstanding, understated, touching. Depp's one of the finest performances. Emotions. Love. Greed. Desperation. Power. Rise and fall movie. Nuances, nuances, nuances. Funky. Sixties to Eighties well captured. Empathy invoking climax. Penelope's sensual (in her clothes). A must-watch!

# 9 Casino (1995)

Tagline: You don't stay at the top forever.

Scorsese-De Niro- Joe Pesci: my fave hollywood trio. After an awful lot of cheap comic flicks about Vegas and casinos, I came upon this classic lately. A fabulous exploration of the work that goes on behind the lights, moolah, greed and deception. Relationships captured beautifully. De Niro-Pesci; De Niro-Stone; Pesci-Stone. Not a dull moment. Unbelievably under-appreciated. Complex. Multi-layered. Betrayal. Lust. Power. Destruction. The finest details. Great homework. Rise and fall movie. Profanity reaches dizzying heights and yet it never seems forced. 398 uses of "Fuck". Magnificent performances. De Niro's one of the understated best. Pesci: well, he's a gem of an actor who never got his due. Quintessential him: the same crazy dialogue delivery. And Sharon Stone...gosh! An unbelievably fine performance as a psychotic who makes us hate her like hell. Go watch!

#8 Mean Streets (1973)

Tagline: You don't make up for your sins in the church. You do it in the streets...

First of the nine Scorsese-De Niro. The gangster stuff. The streets. The hoodlums. Their bonds. Their relationships. Their (lack of) ideals. Their life. Charlie(Keitel) doesn't fail to impress. Johnny Boy(De Niro) stands apart. The simple yet surreal string of "Wha(t)"s or the wild rebel dance with respect to nobody towards the end, he's one of my all-time favourite characters. Energy. Vivaciousness. Flamboyance. The very fact that it was made way back in '73 makes us realize the influence it has on the so-called cult crime sagas. Honest. Real. Into the skin. Highly under appreciated. Crude. Minimalist. It's said that Scorsese wanted to be either a priest or a gangster and he could be none. The movie, though, does full justice to both the themes.

#7 The Departed (2006)

Tagline: Lies. Betrayal. Sacrifice. How far will you take it?

Scorsese fiiiinally gets an Oscar! Its a treat. Di Caprio-Wahlberg-Nicholson-Damon. The most enchanting plot I've ever seen(credit to Infernal Affairs). Fantabbbulous performances by all. Probably the best by Di Caprio. Quirky, hilarious lines for Wahlberg. One of my fave characters - Dignam!

"Let's say you have no idea and leave it at that, okay? No idea. Zip. None. If you had an idea of what we do, we would not be good at what we do, now would we? We would be cunts. Are you calling us cunts? "

Intelligent. Edge-of-the-seat. Flawless. Refined. Violence. Gore. Profanity. Stunning. Engulfing. Twists and Turns. Unpredictable. Entertaining. Fresh. Dark. One of the most interesting screenplays. A story-telling that keeps you involved. A cant-afford-to-miss!

#6 Reservoir Dogs

Tagline: Seven perfect strangers team up for the perfect crime. They don't know each other's names. But they've got each other's colour.

God Tarantino's debut. Quintessential him: razor-cut characters - each a masterpiece; supreme wit; crazy funny dialogues; cynical; stylish; violent; non-linear; motormouth; profane; debauch; dark humour. Real. No-nonsense. No comic relief. No romance. No big stars. No make-up. Just a gang where trust is the last thing to be found. Intentionally ludicrous at times. Plot revolves around a jewel heist, never touching it. Almost entirely within the four walls. It's a movie that grows on you. No one can watch just once! Michael Madsen's best performance among the ones I've seen. Every other just eases into the character. Dialogues just make you wonder and get amused at things not funny at all.

"Listen kid, I'm not gonna bullshit you, all right? I don't give a good fuck what you know, or don't know, but I'm gonna torture you anyway, regardless. Not to get information. It's amusing, to me, to torture a cop. You can say anything you want cause I've heard it all before. All you can do is pray for a quick death, which you ain't gonna get. "

"You shoot me in a dream, you better wake up and apologize."

"Are you gonna bark all day, little doggy, or are you gonna bite?"

P.S. Go watch it even if you have already watched and loved "Kaante". It has got much more to it. Kaante was just a masalized version of Dogs.