Freedom,

Its India's 63rd independence day, and there is a celebratory wave running through the country. At the same time, i see an increasing amount of cynicism. People are questioning the quality of this freedom, the increasing restrictions on it, even questioning why we need to be free at all ("one world, ainnit??") and if we say common language/culture/history entitle us to be free from 'foreign' rulers like the British...going by that logic, the sikkimese, the tamil, the kashmiri and various others would much cherish their freedom from an ethnically and culturally different 'Indians' controlling and running the show from the remote Delhi.

We dont have absolute freedom, but then absolute freedom is a Utopian myth. Freedom is always relative to the past or to the contemporary situation elsewhere. We're politically more free than we were in 1947, economically more free than we were in 1990, in every way more free than our bretheren in Myanmar,North Korea, Pakistan.

We're certainly right to celebrate our freedom. Just look around. That the naxal movement that spoke up for a farmer's right to determine use of land owned by him was given its due respect till it became off-track secessionism (try that in Chechnya) . That We are vocal about right to love and marry as we choose (try that in Afghanistan!) ; women's right to drink in public(try in Saudi Arabia!); to sing & dance and read what we choose to ; that our constitution guarantees fundamanetal rights, and the proper recourse if theyre flouted. That all the above is done by people we elect into office and we dont have to look up to foreign rulers for an approving nod.

So we celebrate our freedom and independence.But its step by step,not a giant leap. Steps to get it, steps to protect it and steps to make it even better. Today is a token celebration of a goalpost, all that we've achieved, all that which is free and correct about our country.The idea is not to sound jingoistic or content, but we should cherish what we have as we concurrently strive to make it better

Jai Hind!

What the Khap ??

What the Khap ??

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Today at 1:20pm | Edit Note | Delete

The title is a tribute to the outraged, hyperventilating mass media and its loyal followers on the subject of Khap panchayats.

In popular perception, Khaps are medieval,retrograde,dictatorial self appointed kangaroo courts found in the back of beyond, the remote (not anymore!) countryside of Haryana and UP. Outrage brews readily in the urbanite's head at the cruelty and apparant stupidy of their decisions. Even more outrage brims over when we hear of a ex chief minister (Chautala) and a sitting MP, also national flag hoisting champ (Naveen Jindal) come out and voice their opinion in defence of the Khaps.

The commonly discussed facts are that the Khaps frown deeply on women's inclusion in public life, on marriages in the same gotra (broadly the residents of the same village) and most modern, progressive changes in social life.

Scratch a little below the surface..What is important to a village farmer in Haryana, who is hundreds of miles from administrative instituions of the government and untouched by private sector enterprise? That he gets the maximum (or at least a fair) return on his professional endeavours in agriculture. Do you remember last year the sugar mills,through government manipulation, tried to pull down the minimum buying price of sugar that wouldve added handsomely to sugar mills' bottomline, but sent large hordes of small sugarcane farmers into poverty or een bankruptcy? How many of us even remember something like this happened..but we do remember the 2 day road blockage caused in delhi by farmers marching in and demanding reversal of the price policy. The person who led this rally, and eventually saved a lot of farmers by forcing the govt to reverse the policy was Chawdhury Mahendar Singh Takait, The most prominent of Khap leaders and president of Bhartiya Kisan Union.This is just one recent example of many fights for farmer's rights. When there is a land dispute or a property dispute in a village among neighbours, they have an option to go to the Khap or to the district administrative machinery for a resolution. Time and again, the Khaps have proven themselves to be faster, fairer and less prone to fall to temptation of exploiting the situation than the apparantly modern and systematic government machinery.

It is because of their proven capability and track record as an efficient administrator and judicial authority for material disputes that the word of khap is taken as law in the villages they operate in. They bring a sense of law and order to places which would otherwise have been completely lawlwss lands.

Now, problem is that with increasing urbanization and education of the country, the khaps are feeling outdated,increasingly irrelevant and are extremely insecure about their thinning support base. This is making them take extreme steps and start invoking ancient guidelines which they cannot justify in the current setup.

I think Navin Jindal is right in saying that the Khap as an institution has its place and merits. I would add that as lobby groups and as arbiters of material disputes, theyre fine as they are. What the government and judiciary ought to immediately do is quash their quasi-judicial authority over personal law matters like marriages, education, moral code etc. Khaps should not have any business meddling in personal affairs of people.

That's my two bits. Views welcome.

India , The time traveller

Note, how both come out of the same media group, too..


http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/news/india/Only-whores-choose-their-partners/articleshow/4984378.cms

http://timesofindia.hotklix.com/link/lifestyle/relationship/Im-for-adultery-in-the-purest-form-Vikram-Bhatt

Kaminey : First Impressions

Im not a movie critic and this is not a review..I'd categorise myself as an analytical movie buff and here are my first impressions of Kaminey :

Even as Shahid Kapur hogs double the screen space playing the unforgettable twins, the real protagonists of Kaminey are the twins of scriptwriting & direction. It moves at a superfast pace, involves enough characters and sub-plots to make Valmiki jealous, and showcases some remarkably honest performances by both stars and gritty theatre actors.

Apart from using theatre actors, the style looks like a tribute to the Manmohan Desai school of filmmaking, previously attempted (and butchered) by Abbas Mustan. Vishal Bhardwaj not only matches up to the grandmaster Desai, but surpasses him in weaving a complex web of characters,situations and sub plots, all culminating into one massive orgy of a grand finale. While the script moves at breakneck speed, the edgy background score not only keeps up pace, but adds another dimension to the storytelling. It is a boon when a talented music composer like Vishal takes up moviemaking, as the end product simultaneously appeals to multiple senses. The excess of blood and gore on screen does not jar, but fits snugly into the general scheme of things, as a mini tribute to that connosieur of violence as art, Quentin Tarantino.

For Shahid Kapoor, this could be his giant leap forward from an also ran to the next big star of Bollywood. He essays starry glamour as the gangster (Charlie) and boy next door (Guddu) vulnerability at the same time, doing full justice to the screen time given to him.

Priyanka Chopra in her little screen space as Sweety packs a neat performance.She is so comfortable in her deglamourised avatar of the simple marathi mulgi that one tends to forget her star status. She's given some subtle shades of gray to play with which she does with panache.

Amol Gupte lives the role of Bhope Bhau, the gangster turned opportunistic politician out to grab ethnic votes with his Jai Maharashtra laments. He shows a characteristic twisted sense of humor, matched aptly by crazy baby bookie Mikhail (Chandan Roy Sanyal) and his frequent breaking into the spiderman theme.

Shiv Subramaniam(Inspector Lele) and Hrishikesh Joshi (Sub Inspector Lobo) as the corrupt Narcotics cops are pillars of effortless acting. Tenzing Nima as an overstylised goa based drug lord (Tashi) packs a punch.

The movie is a daring attempt at commercial art. Something simlar was attempted recently in Johnny Gaddar, which unfortunately didnt become the box office gala it should have. I hope the public does not disappoint this time and cheers this style of moviemaking.

In conclusion ; fuperb fcript, fuperb direction, fuperb finamatography..ka ka ka kutting edge finema!!

Dilli Ki Badnaam Galiyaan

Disclaimer : Purely personal observations, so if you think its inaccurate/disrespectful/plain stupid , leave a stinker of a comment. Its a democracy..everyone's entitled to an opinion and an asshole. help yourself.

Special thanks : Mr. Darymple, whose literary genius i unashamedly take inspiration from.

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Its been an uninterrupted year in the city I had loved to hate and now, hate to love.A pet activity is ghosthunting and sure enough, ive found a few in the national capital. 9 lives,baby :

1. Ghost of Central Delhi 

Power defines this one. The folks haunted by this ghost either have it, or are chasing it with a fair degree of success, or are sitting on the sidelines, pulling the strings of the semi-puppets . The King & his court , The challenger and his force, the kingmakers and their pawns are given a jolt every morning and scutter about the rest of the day fulfilling what the ghost commands.The money is either with those who've had it forever or those who pretend to.Pedigreed finess and class in language, persuits and interests prevails and the blood is blue, royal blue

2. Ghost of Delhi Old

Like its name , this ghost is obsessed with the glory it once had. The old hag is full of tales of the past, but not much of plans of the future. Despite everything, it serves its purpose as the time capsule, wrapping in its curves the wars fought, the honours saved, the brutal punishments and bloody retaliations.The Economy is mostly old world, open bazaar style. The blood is black from stillness.

3. Ghost of Delhi South

This ghost is of the age between the brash teens and the content middle age when one has got the fruits of struggle , and can either decide to start a biger struggle, or to plateau at this comfortable height.The language, persuits and indulgances are a notch below real class and are the top of the wannabe league. The blood is deep,satisfied  red.

4. Ghost of Delhi West

This ghost is the upstart, the fighter, the firestarter. This one's ultimate trip is to make itself the ghost of Delhi south and it will work hard, work smart and kick ass to get there. The language is pure wannabe, persuits opporunistic and indulgances pretentious. The color of the blood is shallow, quick running, fierce orange.

5. Ghost of Delhi East

A ghost who hasnt yet identified what's it made of, and is too lazy to introspect. It just sits around,wandering its way through time. language is uncared for, persuits by default and indulgances,if any, depend upon lack of effort in acquisition.The blood is a dull, murky brown.

6. Ghost of Delhi North

This is the academic ghost with horn rimmed glasses and a joint of hashish. It haunts its way about classrooms, hostels, rent ,libraries, student politics and that great discovery - that of the self. Of the ones affected by it, some persue learning while others learn persuing.

language is a dish of mashed potatoes, persuits dictated by the black hole of future and indulgances defined by impression and affordability. The blood is the hot red of directionless energy.

7. Ghost of Gurgaon

This is the most confused ghost of the lot. It obviously missed the original party, so decided to throw its own a little south of the venue. problem was, it invited all those who were not invited elsewhere,either.A certain lawyer said that direction is more important than speed.The ghost's tearing hurry to move forward has led it down the wrong side once too often. The ghost is a split personality and it shows in the language, what it runs after and what it splurges on.Arbitrary and heterogenous. The blood is ultra thin translucent red, at strain with all the pushing and pulling.

8. Ghost of Noida

The ghost of Noida is the ringmaster of those animals who once had a chance at striking it big. The ones who've shook hands with fate and accepted the reality of mediocrity.Home-office-home is the rhythm of this hopelessly middle-class mass. The language is mild, the persuits predictable and indulgances budgeted tightly. the blood is a defeatist,slow maroon.

9. Ghost of Faridabad

This ghost has a dual personality. One is the entrepreneur taking the convetional, manufacturing route up, the other is the sort who can neither move up, nor slip down from the lower middle  class stickiness in the social ladder.The language is rustic, the persuits conventional and indulgances irrelevant. The color of the blood is a confused burgundy.

Bollywood against AIDS

Bollywood's contribution to the anti AIDS campaign : 'Rubber ne bana di jodi'

AIDS control ad

Thought of a tagline for an AIDS control program :

"Its better to check all you mate than to mate all you check."

The Mercenary

For a few pieces of the shiny metal, he sold few people’s right to live.He was a merchant of death.A mercenary.

It began to haunt him tonight. Years of fighting for money had not scarred him as past 2 days had. Earlier, it had been wars against other mercenaries, other merchants of death. Here, he was up against lovers of peace. Teachers, students, parents, bakers, poets, intellectuals who were ready to die for their beliefs but seldom rose up to kill. He had started to remember what a soldier was made of. It was not the ability to give pain but the ability to bear it. Willingness to smile into death for what one lived for.

Tibet. That holy land forever torn between peace of thought and violence of action.He saw lunatic passion in the eyes of the first man who bit his bullet. He heard reckless belief in the voice of the woman who followed. He saw unshaking unity in the joined hands of the 3 students he had gunned down that afternoon outside Lhasa palace. He heard unrelenting faith in liberty in the choruses of the masses that marched on and past him.

He started out a soldier. A patriot who fought for his country, killed for his country. He moved on the fast track in the army, picking up honor after honor to become the most decorated soldier of his batch and the 5 batches preceding him to be the poster boy of the armed forces and face of its recruitment programs.

The threat of foreign invasion loomed larger everyday. One fine morning, the radio cackled that the bully neighbor had annexed the country. The government, courts and armed forces were declared invalid and were to be disbanded immediately. The sleepy populace suddenly woke up and wrecked havoc on the street. Unarmed peasants, teachers, bakers poets, intellectuals .. everyone revolted against the arbitrary rule.He took on the cudgels to organize the former army into a guirilla militia and commanded it to victory after victory on the enemy forces, forcing them to withdraw. The slogan of FREE KUWAIT rang loud in the streets.

The shit hit the fan. Some politicians of his own country conspired with the enemy to sell off their nation for a handsome personal profit. Of course, the rogue commander of the rogue army would be taken care of too, as part of the deal. He was arrested and made to appear in a fake court martial on charges of fanning separatist violence ; Impeached and awarded death. A public hero had become the national shame. He had resigned to his destiny till he was being shifted from ordinary prison to high security prison. The guards were sympathetic to him and let him loose near the border.

He crossed over into another country, into another life. His spirit was broken but his bones were intact. He was a trained crack commando and knew his job well. To keep alive and away, he became a mercenary. He moved from war zone to war zone , fighting for his paymasters of the moment. There were dozens of land disputes across the world being solved by the bullet, and he would be the shoulder that carried the gun, along with others like him

A soldier died.A mercenary was born.

He was emotionally dead and never thought of who had been on the other side of the gun once he was done with the job. But today was different. He drank 5 stiff ones but couldn’t get the innocence, the determination of those faces off his mind. Most of all, it was their correctness that haunted him. He fought for money. They fought for justice. Half an hour of tossing and turning later, it was clear that sleep would be elusive tonight.

He went to the bonfire of the camps he was living in and requested the clerk to get him a fix. The clerk was a deputee of the paymaster and he was happy to oblige the mercenaries with alcohol, cigarettes or a fix, free of cost. Almost as soon he reached his tent, his fix followed him in. He had noticed the natural beauty of Tibetian women, but this one was a piece of art. Almond brown eyes, smooth skin, long brunette hair and a delicate citrus perfume. But still the whole of her was more than the sum of its parts. He was rough and reckless with her, but she was understanding, even encouraging. Half an hour later, he fell on his side, slumbering in his sex and booze haze.

She turned him slowly onto his back, gently sliced his throat with her knife, and patiently engraved FREE TIBET on his bare chest for the world to see and melted into the moonless night.

A mercenary died, a soldier was born.

The Russian Consignment

Manny ran a tense hand through his smooth beard. “Ive done this before, so what if the goods are a bit different this time..I know I can..I will” ,thought he,trying to steady his shaky nerves. He hugged his accomplice, Sukhi, a goodbye. The hug turned out a moment too long , a grasp too tight, and betrayed his discomfort and lack of self assurance. Sukhi put a brother’s hand on his shoulder and said cheerfully “Rab raakha” (may god take care of you). Even this lighthearted good luck wish did more to stir his discomfort rather than steady it.

Shrugging his shoulders, he stepped into the Swarn Shatabdi which would take him and his cargo to his destination, Ludhiana. He made sure the cargo was settled in safely and comfortably and then took his own seat, 2 rows behind…2 rows behind, close enough to keep a hawk’s eye on the goods, far enough to slip away into nothingness if things got tricky.

Manvinder Singh Lakha was the blue eyed boy of his village in Punjab. Born into obscurity, he had always harboured dreams of money, glamour, big city life. He pushed himself hard and soon found himself in Ludhiana, working for a big property firm as an accountant. He was sharp, smooth and willing to bend rules, which took him up the ladder quickly. Right since the beginning, he had noticed that the firm’s profits were extraordinarily more than what the property deals could add up to. Of course, he was quick to adjust these unaccounted for funds into the normal transactions. Over the course of two years, Manvinder became close to 2 of the 3 partners, often joining them for drinks and entertainment.He was now called Manny by everyone outside the village. The partners confided to him that they had 2 more associates, who operated out of Russia and together ,they ran a trade in Import-Export. The profits from this were hidden to save tax and that’s what the unexplained funds were.

The 2 policemen casually entered the coach, putting ‘checked’ stickers on luggage without once checking a single one. The moved about the compartment casually, flashing their smiles and stenguns to the passengers. Most passengers ignored them out of habit and continued with their newspapers/tea/cellphones. Manny tried hard to focus on the words in the newspaper as the policemen inched closer. One of them, a big fat lump of corruption, stopped near Manny’s cargo and gave it a intrigued look from top to bottom.Manny mind was oscillating furiously. He could take the policemen aside and trying to bribe his way out or abandon the cargo altogether and flee. In a cold sweat, he almost jumped from his seat. Just as he looked up again, the policeman smiled ,flashing his stained teeth smile at the cargo and continued down the aisle, without pasting the ‘checked OK’ sticker onto the cargo. Manny realized just then that he had not breathed in or out for the last 2 minutes.

His mind jogged back to 6 months ago, when he was offered a bigger pound of flesh by the 2 partners. “ run some Russian cargoes for us , from Delhi airport to Ludhiana station, and take 20% of the profit as your share” Fair enough, he had thought. The goods were usually small technical items, not illegal because of what they were but because they were undeclared to the government. Manny ran such a cargo assignement every week for six months, till he became familiar with the staff, and even the seats of Swarn Shatabdi, Delhi-Ludhiana leg.The money was coming in like never before, and it bought the little joys and healthy savings.Manny was a big man now, bigger than the traditional landlords,’zamindars’ in the village. Respect and love followed freely to him. His ambitions were bigger than ever and he had even started dreaming migration to that El Dorado of Punjabi psyche, Canada.

Then, last Sunday over scotch and soda, one of the partners, Lakhwinder Singh ‘Lucky’ had said, “ enough of the donkey work. We like the way you work Manny. I think its time we trust you with some real work. It’s a big consignment you’ll be bringing this time, and you have to be careful.” He had accepted the assignment readily,without even asking what it was.
The cocky self confidence had made his head dizzy, and his steps surer.

The feminine electronic voice announced, “blah blah LUDHIANA blah” . Manny rushed to the exit with his cargo, trampling a few feet and many egos on his way. Lucky greeted him with a broad smile at the exit, standing next to his new Lexus, black tints shining with opulence. Manny helped the cargo into the backseat, and embraced Lucky. Lucky jumped in and gunned the engine, as Manny looked on from the outside. Just as the tyres began to screech ,the rear window pulled down and Manny’s cargo waved to him.

Manny broke into a bleak smile and waved back to his cargo, ladies of the night Natscha, Gustava & Svetlana.

At first sight

She immediately caught his eye…through the haze of pollution, dust, blaring horns, pleading beggars and other miscellaneous sounds and sight that accompany a traffic light turning to red.

She was behind a tinted window, this girl. She was talking into her phone while unconsciously brushing her hand through her hair silky brown hair..

He knew it. It was nothing more than a gut instinct, but no lesser, either. The way she looked at him, he knew she had a thing for him. He was a master at the game, always playing to win.

It struck him. She was in a BMW, while he, well, never mind. She wore a custom tailored designer dress, he wore one of those tatters you justify by calling ‘old favorites’. How in the world could he go up to her and even say hello, leave alone flirt.

The time meter below the signal caught the corner of his eye..10 seconds to go. Now or never. If he did not speak to her now, he may never see her again. Urgency pushed him into action. He put on his best smile and strode confidently towards her car. Damn, this limp ! always makes me look like a clown..5 seconds to go, he reached her window. He doubted himself even more as he saw a well dressed, robust man sitting on her side.He had not noticed this man earlier and was a little startled by his sudden appearance.The man said something to the girl while pointing a finger at him. He entertained the thought of turning around and running for an instant but the look in her eyes..those eyes!! they pulled him towards them.

She flashed him the most brilliant smile he’d ever seen..He gulped, and the words got stuck to the back of his throat. “Should I open my mouth and spoil this trance or play along with her and see where it goes”, thought he.2 Seconds, the light was already on orange. She dipped her hand into her bag to fish out a small object. She took her hand into his and placed the object there. A thousand things rushed through his mind..a momento? A visiting card ? a gadget?? He dint want to look down and spoil the surprise. As the light turned green, the BMW surged forward and she was lost in the buzz of the city. He clenched his fist tightly before looking as he made his way to the side of the pavement. The flesh on his hand was still tantalized by her touch, and his mind was racing to imagine what the rest of her felt like.

Finding himself in the familiar safety of the road side, he opened his fist slowly to see what she’d given him..goosebumps of anticipation formed on his skin.

The goosebumps disappeared and were replaced by a single tear to acknowledge reality as he saw what lay in his hand..A shiny 2 Rupee coin for the beggar at the traffic signal.

The Indian stock market resembled a bloody carnage today while East India was reeling under the threat of bird flu snowballing into a calamity.
This one to commemorate this orgy of tragedies

"Bird flu,eh?? Slaughter all the stock!! no, wait a sec, wait, not 'that' stock...Hey..HEY..nooo"

Sex and Sensex

Disclaimers:

If reading material like this hurts your sensibility, there's always karanjoharmovies.com .

If you're a kid, I dont give a damn. most of you're bloody corrupted anyway

If you're the moral police, kiss my arse.

If you're still here, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

What kind of an investor are you? Clues to be found in what kind of a fucker are you..

Stabilizers

Invest only long term, blue chip securities and “G”-Sec bonds and rely on steady dividends over the years, completely ignoring opportunities thrown up by periodical fluctuations and arbitrage. Just like getting married / committed early, staying loyal, and enjoying the fruits of holy matrimony. They will occasionally look at their peers and think they should try out active trading or a mistress, but will be too cushy in their comfort zone to actually do either.

MBA (Mediocre But Arrogant) / (Married but available)

Some others prefer to have a ‘balanced’ portfolio, depending on their appetite for risk, determined for most part by their age and financial security. In a parallel universe, some screw around like mad when young, only to stabilize to a steady partner, plus a fling or two on the side as age catches up. They invest in 10% bonds, 20% large cap, 20% mid cap, and 50% small cap. This gets revised to 20% bonds, 40% large caps, 30% mid cap and 10% small cap as the age advances. This is like being under the normal curve, an umbrella which covers 80% of the consideration set. These are typically the sort who’ll preach morality while making some short, quick adjustments to their own morality. The sorts who’ll tout vegetarianism as the big virtue, only to take a quick dig into the juicy hamburger.. “Just for the taste,la!!”

Pirates of the Carribean

Then we come to the ‘Buy Today, Sell tomorrow’ and ‘Daily Traders’. These are true pirates, vagabonds who love the thrill the risk, the magic , the possibility of starting a pauper and ending an emperor, or the other way round..all in a day’s work. Often, these people thrive on quick news that they desperately snatch before others. This also has to be followed by flawless execution of the guerilla warfare tactic.. eat, shoot and leave. Remember that friend/ acquaintance/ ex-flame who’s been running loose all over the place..yea yea.. that’s him/her. Its always ‘someone you know’ and never you. 1^st distinguishing character of a punter is to be in denial of the fact that he’s a punter, with no fundamental understanding to back his actions and only out for some opportunity hunting.

10 Colored African Macau

Often termed weirdos . These are the ones out to ‘try’ the other varieties, mostly for the heck of it. Bi-curious , inter-racial , bondage , and maybe other species too. They often elicit reactions like “gross!” “disgusting!” “creepy!” by the others. Commodity trade, futures and options, money market, bullion, derivatives all fall into this category. An overwhelming majority of the junta doesn’t really understand it, and is not even interested to get a grip.

Dog-Watch

Last comes the one who watches over the going-ons of the market, to set the rules of the game and to implement them, so as to keep going an illusion of a fair, non rigged market, one that the small investors feel safe to enter with their small stakes. It’s the Market regulator in the securities markets and the law and order machinery (with voluntary support from the self appointed moral police) for the other side of the moon.

Remember, it is these small stakes that aggregate to become the large pie all the big boys want to dip their fingers into. They are the ones who all come in to join someone else’s party, mesmerized by the lights and sounds and end up either crossing over to the big boys side, or getting royally fucked, mostly the latter.

So long ,and happy ‘in’vesting!

The Next Episode

Think about the photo on the left...Think! let your mind loose and gather all the evasive thoughts spinning thru your head..

Done?

Lets begin..This is collaborative story making, bit like web2.0 .Im starting the fire but have no idea what final shape it will take & neither does anyone else..
Everyone's welcome to post the next episode,but please read all the previous comments to get the drift.

Time tah post!!

pls note : I will take the liberty of deleting irrelevant posts.

Aaja meri gaadi mein baith ja..

Breaking News..really breaking it>>

Back in days of the raaj, okay not that long back but it seems so, I used to read 2 news papers every morning, cover to cover.
Here, I havent read a paper in 2 months. When the world media's falling over itself to cover the Karachi blasts, my dear editor here publishes some obscure politician's pukaar to create a ramrajya in the Ayodhya. When the sensex is bungee jumping and investors of the nation are bleeding their money,Ed tells us that Shyam Sunder Yadav, fell into a ditch and suffered a fracture last night, and why the municipality doesnt do anything about it. Mr SS yadav's claim to fame in life being, well, falling into the ditch.
And this is the paper which is crowning glory in these parts, something the hotel staff gets specially for the sahib from bada shehar.
Ill rather stay outdated and preserve my sanity than vice versa. Thanks, but no thanks , Ed Bastard!

Symbiosis

Symbiosis, def : various degrees of close relationship between organisms of different species, in which at least one organism benefits.

Some time earlier this year, I had gone with a friend to one of mumbai's nondescript restaurants for a quick lunch. We ordered and sat down to wait when I noticed a mouse climbing one of the tables. A huge fuss was made.Words like 'Hygiene' , 'cleanliness' , 'food inspector' , 'legal action', 'shame on you' , 'sorry' , 'reimbursement' were exchanged loudly.

Cut to Chhattisgarh , lunch with a colleague in one of the fanciest restaurants of the place..a mouse casually climbed onto the empty table next to ours and sat there majestically, flashing his moustache at us. I half willingly looked around for the waiter, who smiled sleepily back. I just broke a small piece of food from my plate and gave it to the mouse, no quetions asked.

In this place where a lunch..any lunch at all, is sometimes doubtful, one just learns to exist in harmony with brothers of other species.

Life Tax

In a coal-mine town today..The population consists of mine workers, engineers, officers and a small service sector to cater to the above. The scene looped my mind right to Kala Patther, the 70's movie. Red-Black dust subdued the sun and the people themselves were right out of a anti-racist philosopher's dream ; neither black, nor white, but exact gray, coated with coal dust! wonder what Mike Jackson has to sing about ladies from this part of the world.

We were driving back from a sales trip into the (further) interiors in the stockist's car when a bunch of gray boys, in their mid teens, formed a human chain across the road to block us...It did seem a primitive toll tax booth but when we stopped, the stockist actually started negotiating the toll amount with them..they came down from 100 bucks to 70, but started getting agitated when pressed further.Suddenly the leader of the gray pack shouted angrily "Pay up 100 now nahi to bhaiya will visit you personally tomorrow."

This bhaiya ,I found later, is the local self styled naxalite who does the 'collection' to keep the wheels of agitation well oiled.

Hey! Johnny Beggar

Location : Retail hut in a village called ItReallyDoesntMatterDoesItPur
Time : 11 AM
Scene: me making a pitch at the shop while this limping beggar swaggeres by, asks the shopkeeper for some money..the rascal's stinky as a pig, more alcohol than lack of hygiene.

Beggar: allah ke naam pe de de kuch paise garib ko, seth!
Shpkpr: paise nahi hai, boney ka time hai
(11 AM-boney?? just a day oin the life of rural india-shankar)
Beggar: Kuch khila hi do seth, raat ka khana bacha hoga
Shpkpr: Khana nahi, peena bacha hai..peeyega?
Beggar : angrezi hai to chalegi, desi suit nahi karti apne ko!!!

Shine on,India!

Bigadda.gym

Friends go, Love goes, Money goes, Homes go ; Gym remains - Lets pump up!!

UV

The Saturday night fever carried on to the hotel too. The normal corridor lights were switched off, and instead, bright blue bling lights lit up the entire way. “here comes de hotsteppa” Move over Marriott, Hotel Shiv Gopi’s gonna kick some ass.