Very depressing

Modi’s huge win in Gujarat is a very scary development for this nation. Because it endorses that a vast majority of Gujaratis are delighted with his brand of politics and governance. And inspired, the beleaguered BJP and its allies will now take this winning model forward with great vengeance across the nation, since development and progress are concepts that don’t seem to find many takers. And that can only be a very dangerous and regressive trend. As a nation, we have already paid a very heavy price on account of communal politics, and clearly, a lot more needs to be paid.

No, one isn’t questioning Modi’s financial success in his State, maybe he does know what it takes to pave the path to prosperity. (Though I have always believed our very enterprising Gujarati folks need little help from their netas to get ahead.)

But there can never be lasting peace and happiness if one segment of the citizenry is left out and alienated. It will only help breed contempt and hatred.
Notice that not even once in all these years has Modi apologised or taken responsibility for the riots, rather, he continues to behave as a hero. Which means, divisional politics will now move into the fifth gear in Gujarat, and that is very frightful.

Well, looks like India is still many, many years away from the next stage of evolution.

Brand India

(Had written this for TOI four years ago. As you would notice, nothing has changed.)

After feng-shui, bowling alleys, thirsty ganpatis, names with six Ks, quiz shows and ABCD films, it's the turn of a brand new fad: Brand India. As they say, this, too, shall pass.

The idea was mooted in Ad Asia when industry bigwigs spoke on India as a brand and the media went ODing on Brand India, as if archeologists just discovered a goldmine inside Bangalore's Devanahalli call centre.

I think it's a mistake to promote India at this point of time. Because, as the legendary ad guru, David Ogilvy, said, "Nothing kills a bad product faster than great advertising." India is a substandard product. It's a condom that leaks, a toothpaste that leaves a bitter after-taste, a noisy car, a stained shirt, a sloppy airhostess and yes, yes, it's a chocolate with worms slithering inside.

Our infrastructure is a fricking mess, corruption has replaced oxygen, people burn each other alive in the name of religion, the No 1 national issue is whether to build a mandir or a masjid in a mofussil town, bandhs get called for no reason at all, and India's commercial capital has a brand new name: Slumbai.

Forget selling India, the brand, we have failed to sell India, the tourist destination. Most of the firangs who arrive here, face enormous hardships, just so they can momentarily partake of the magnificence of the Taj.

And we just had a CM who was all set to write the obituary of the one monument that earns us foreign exchange, the nation's last known asset. The bitter truth is, techies like Infosys & Wipro have done well despite the nation, not because of it.

Birla says, "We have to stop skepticism and focus on the positives. There is a general tendency to focus on the negatives." Hullo Sirji, it's all very well to focus on our strengths, I like that, but how long will you shove the rats under the carpet?

What is the use of making power presentations inside the boardrooms of New York and Tokyo, encouraging firangi CEOs to visit, and then have their crotches grabbed by naughty hijras on the crumbling roads of the Western Express Highway? And this, after the insatiable customs officers gleefully cleaned them of their scotch and dollars.

Here's the deal: let's not put the cart before the bull. Let's focus internally first, let's set our house in order.

First, let's manufacture a good, solid product, and then go out there and sell it. Isn't this the most basic lesson they teach in B-school?

The Black-lash

Let me clarify a few things, since Aamir’s comments on Black have blown into a full-fledged controversy in the media. In my interview with Aamir for the Mumbai Mirror (here’s the link), the actor was simply reacting to a specific question on Sanjay Bhansali’s much revered and much awarded blockbuster. That question wasn’t pre-planned, it became part of a freewheeling conversation as we went along. So let’s be clear and immediately kill any suggestion that Aamir was using the interview to get at Bhansali.

Two, although I have the highest regard for Mr Bachchan (I grew up on his cinema), I do believe there was absolutely no need to deride Aamir for his comments on Black, I daresay it was a tad unbecoming of an actor of his caliber and stature. We are all entitled to our views on stuff that falls in public domain, and we must accept that there will be people who don’t agree with our work. I felt disappointed that our dear Big B reacted so strongly to comments made by an actor so many years junior to him. And I will make it a point to mention this to him when I have the good fortune of meeting Mr Bachchan next.

Incidentally, for what it’s worth, I do agree with Aamir. Black left me cold and unmoved, which was a shocker. A film loaded with an emotional story, that of a girl who is dumb, deaf and blind should have tugged at the heartstrings. And I think it’s gotta to do with the totally clinical and antiseptic way the film was directed… there was zero soul in the film. And it’s not that I have suddenly formed this opinion, these were my exact comments in a column in Sunday Mid Day soon after the film’s release.

Er, Kirsten is right

Now that we know the incoming cricket coach doesn’t relish Indian food, finds hotels in small towns laughable and thinks there’s no point driving a luxury car in India as it gets rodgered within days, the fellow will always find himself stuck with the off-the-cuff comments he made ten years ago.

Clearly, he’s taken up this hugely onerous job as the biggest challenge of his life (the pot of gold must have played a part too), but his discomfort with the Indian way of life will make things iffier for him.

While I do not agree with Gary Kirsten on the food and shelter bit… Indian food is the most delicious in the world, no wonder the firangs are falling for our khana, and I wonder if the equivalent small towns of a non-descript Rajkot in any part of the world have seven star hotels.

But I DO agree with him on the car. You will rarely find a gaadi (especially a luxury sedan) that hasn’t been deep-scratched. And the honours on new cars (to break their ‘virginity’, eesh!) are carried out by playful Pappus and Buntys of the building society or by the angsty urchins passing by parked cars. I kid you not, but a friend, the moment he got delivery of a spanking new car, carved a huge scratch on both the sides. No, he hasn’t gone insane, this was his way of saying, “Look, if my car has to be vandalised, I may as well do it myself, so I don’t feel violated later!” Hmm. It’s a thought.

Would recommend Kirsten buy himself a sharp paper cutter the moment he arrives on our shores. At least he’ll have one less thing to carp about.

BOOM!

No other Indian fest gives me as many creeps as Diwali (though Holi is a terror too, with creeps being unleashed on the streets to have fun at strangers’ expense). And apart from unwanted guests and unwanted calories, it’s the firecrackers that give me nightmares.

But yes, despite all the crackling sounds, the number of bombs being blasted in the neighbourhood has seen a dramatic fall. I recall my childhood days at Cuffe Parade where for days together, residents of Cuffe Castle and Mehr Naaz buildings would be in serious competition on who could make louder and longer sounds. Now, the noise levels have gone down, and that’s a surprise given that in 2007 AD, the Indian middle class has extra bucks to burn, there’s just too much black cash lying around waiting to be exploded. The boom in spending on conspicuous consumption is testimony to that.

Elated environmentalists believe the decline in noise is because today’s kids are far more environmentally sensitive than the earlier gen, that they do care about all the pollution that crackers create. That they don’t like it when dogs, babies and elderly citizens go crazy. And I think that’s sheer bunkum. If the new kids were so sensitive and caring, so many parents wouldn’t be getting dumped in old age homes, violence in schools and colleges would have come down, and we know it’s exactly the opposite that’s happening.

If the farting sounds on Diwali have reduced, it’s gotta do with only one thing: the kids today have far more action than we did a decade or so ago. Why waste money and time on setting some stupid fireworks into the air, when you can invest the same moolah into cooler stuff? Like chilling out with the gang at a lounge bar. Or taking the weekend off to Lonavala with the blokes. Or dating that chick from Orkut. Or having a sex romp in the friend’s vacant flat in Chembur. Or at a seedy resort in Malad.

So the noise has reduced only because the kids of today have more options and the means. And has nothing to do with pollution control. Take away the choices, these doods would be out on the streets setting the skies on fire.

Tehelka for Modi

Full marks to the Tehelka journo for the expose in Ahmedabad. Having spent a couple of hours with Praveen Kumar Togadia inside VHP’s office in Mumbai, I can tell you the atmosphere can get very charged and pregnant with hazardous possibilities. And this chap spent all of six months with a spy cam living, eating, breathing with people who can get lethal, and that’s a highly creditable act. A brave journo, indeed.

However, what leaves me baffled is this: will anything come out of the ratification of truths we already knew about five years back? Modi and his men have made no bones about being communal, that is their ideology, the plank on which they amass their vote bank. So there’s nothing new we are learning now. Since the matter is in courts, and if the judges admit the tapes as evidence, then that’s great, but that’s as far as this sting will travel. And sadly, no more.

In fact, what worries me is that the story will backfire on the journalists, and it will make Modi’s brand even stronger than it already is in Gujarat. The Gujarati Hindus had more or less forgotten all about the so-called revenge attacks five years ago, and the focus, even for Modi’s election campaign, has been on growth and prosperity. At the recent Hindustan Times Summit, a beaming Modi spoke for the first time of inclusiveness. Whether he meant it or not, it was clear communal politics in Gujarat had lost its steam.

However, the wounds have come alive again, and will create serious religious tensions in the State. And this means another thumping victory awaits Modi. Again, it will be all about ‘let’s get our lion back into the hot seat’ war cry.

So does this mean sting operations is a bad idea on perpetrators of crimes in Gujarat? No. But five years later is just too late to make any real difference. Other than to provide steroids to Modi’s on-going election campaign.

An imploding nation

It occurs to me, Misbah of the Pak cricket team might just have saved his and his team members’ lives. By holing out to Sreesanth in the last over of the T20 Cup final. Because had Pakistan won the cup, and drove out on a victory motorcade on the streets of Karachi, they could all so easily have been blown away from the face of the Earth.

Pakistan is a totally failed State, a liability on the whole world, the ground zero of global terror, and with respect to our country, an incurable cancer sitting like a monkey on our right shoulder. All the terror activities on our soil can be sourced back to Pakistan; they won’t live in peace, and neither will they let us.

The sort of reception Benazir Bhutto received on her return home, was another proof that this nation has violence seeped into its DNA, that no one is safe out there anymore. And no, I didn’t suddenly decide today is Pak bashing day, it’s just that last night’s incidents shattered the last minor hopes one had for that country.

Clearly, neither is the military dictatorship able to deal with the terror elements (either intentionally or otherwise), nor are they willing to let go of control. And it’s really scary that these self-destructive people have a nuclear bomb lying around somewhere.

So what’s to be done? I see no other option but for the G8 leaders (and Pak’s buddy, the US, in particular), taking an active role in taming this rogue State. They need to forget about Iraq and Iran and find ways to monitor the destiny of this failed and messed-up place. Because left to themselves, not only will these guys destroy their own selves, but will make the whole world a dangerous place to live in.

As they say in medical science, if a tumour doesn’t self-heal, there’s no option but surgery.

Troubled gods

The terrorists have permanently changed the way we live (and die), and there’s ratshit we can do about it, except to grin and bear. What’s most depressing however is that they have not left our gods and festivals alone, and instead of joy and celebrations, our festivals and places of worship arouse immense fear in our minds and hearts.

There is not a single important place of worship in Bombay that hasn’t turned into an army fortress, forever gone are days when one could simply slip in, pray and leave. The recent Ganpati fest had me thinking of the worst-case scenario, what with the millions collecting at the beaches, and it’s no different right now with the Navratri and Durga Puja festivals, the Eid and the oncoming Diwali. Singed with gaiety is fear and horror. And it has become so bad for me, I no longer look forward to these otherwise joyful occasions, as they raise the level of terror warnings.

And the thought that’s even worse is that we have learnt to live with this destiny… not only do we not demand resolutions from our leaders, we have stopped expecting it as well. So there’s the office, the beer meets, the romantic dates, the mall ratting, the reality television shows, the cricket matches, the matinees, and the bomb blasts. It’s gotten programmed into our lifestyle. Kids who are growing up right now will refuse to believe there was a time when RDX did not feature on the menu.

Well, keep safe. And hope it’s not you in the next round of attack. And even God can’t help you, He/She is under attack as well.

War of the roses

It was good to learn the Supreme Court has decided to go easy on the Mid Day journos who were facing a prison sentence under the contempt act. An enquiry has been ordered, and let’s hope justice prevails. If their explosive story about the retired judge’s alleged misdemeanours is found to be accurate, then the law should take care of the accused and follow its natural course of justice. And if the story turns out to be yellow and malicious, then the journalists must be ready to face the music, as simple as that.

Two others points. I entirely agree with Outlook’s ed Vinod Mehta when he says that in this war between the press and the judiciary (the two pillars on which this country still manages to stay afloat), it’s the politicians who will have the last laugh. If there’s anyone the netas want immediately fixed, it’s the honest journalists and the high-integrity judges. Which is why this spat must be resolved quickly and fairly.

The other thing is, yes, we do need to revisit the Victorian contempt law, which debars the media from running investigative stories on judges. Because although a vast majority of the judges in our nation are men and women of great honesty and integrity, there are still a few bad apples left, and this comes from the mouth of a retired Chief Justice, no less. And these few taint the image of the rest, and it’s best if they are made to stand for scrutiny. If the judiciary allows itself to be open to examination, it will do its own self a huge favour.

And if some creepy journos are found to take advantage of this situation, and use unfair means, then the punishment for them should also be very heavy. So that the reporters do their homework well, and think many times before meddling with the judiciary.

This case has gone beyond Mid Day, it has opened up a very important discussion as far as justice and democracy go. And I sincerely hope the big result is a suitable amendment in the contempt law. That will be the best possible justice.

Bhopal's Angel

(The full-on Indra Sinha interview. The Mirror carries the abridged version. Enjoy!)

I have known Indra for many years, and feel proud to be called his friend. Not just because he’s an immensely gifted writer, but also because Indra cares. For us. Even as we locals look away from all the screw-ups that go on in our own backyard, here’s an Indian born Brit who’s spent his life fighting for the cause of Bhopal’s gas attack victims. He’s written award winning ads to raise funds, he’s set up a free clinic for those affected by the tragedy, he writes provocative columns and blogs to mobilise opinion, and now he’s written a book on the subject. And quite deservedly, finds himself in the Booker shortlist for Animal’s People. I speak to the writer over e-mail, as he punches away his power thoughts from his villa in the South of France. A standing ovation for Indra Sinha, dear ladies and gentlemen. Because this Colaba boy stills worries about us, forty years after leaving the country.

It was courageous to give up the lucrative job in the ad biz, did you always know you'll make it as a book writer? The response to your first attempt, The Cybergypsies, wasn't very encouraging...

It was more courageous of Vickie (Indra’s wife). I was fed up with advertising, itching to quit. On my 45th birthday I took a piece of paper and a pencil and drafted my resignation. Then rang Vickie, read it to her and said, 'I've nothing else to go to. I want to write. There'll be no money. Shall I tear this up, or hand it in?' This can’t have been easy for her. As you know, Anil, at that time we had a big house in the country – daughter Tara had a horse – in fact you were with us when we bought it. But Vickie said, 'You're not happy. Hand it in. We'll manage somehow.' For that I will always be grateful. She is a pearl, I can’t speak too highly of her. We've had some tough times since, but a few years of austerity do wonders for one's values, and next year we’ll have been married thirty years.
The Cybergypsies was a fragmented, somewhat hallucinatory memoir of the pre-web net that flattened the perspective between fact and fantasy and treated both as equally real. My old chum Neil French said it was unreadable, but at a literary festival in Perth I heard it described as "Confessions of an English Opium Eater meets The Beach". So there.

As a copywriter, how much of your IQ - your Indian Quotient, crept into your ads?

Very little. I was working in London. Nothing I was doing had any connection with India. For years I had only two close Indian friends, Shreeram Vidyarthi from Books From India who appeared in The Cybergypsies as Pustaq Keet, and Sital Singh Maan who runs The Punjab restaurant in Covent Garden, where I’ve had the privilege of helping cook curried Christmas turkey for 30 people. I did feature Gandhiji in a couple of ads, one for Amnesty and the other, bizarrely, for the British Army. Neither ran. I wrote a series of ads for Books from India. One was about Salman Rushdie's use of gaali in Shame. It concluded, "The saalaa deserves all the Booker prizes he can get."
These were isolated exercises in nostalgia. I was out of touch with India for years. It was not really until I became involved with the Bhopalis that it re-entered my life.

You've said that awards are the advertising industry's way of numbing itself against the knowledge that most of what it does is inherently worthless. What do you feel about the Booker?

Being nominated for the Booker assures a novel of being widely read and talked about. The focus is on the book more than the writer, and novels are a powerful force for good in the world – they entertain, delight, comfort, inspire and transform. What do ad awards achieve? After I left advertising, I burned my portfolio and threw away all the award trophies and framed certificates.

Do copywriters make better book writers? Do you feel that your years in advertising have made you a better book writer?

Quite a few ex-copywriters became successful novelists – Fay Weldon, Joseph Heller, Peter Carey, Salman Rushdie – but so have ex-sailors, teachers and priests. To write books, one has to think in long curves and at the same time imagine very deeply and in great detail. Having said this, my approach to advertising was that of a storyteller, I used to turn everything into stories. For Guinness I created a series of Sherlock Holmes tales in which the dark stout was always the clue. For example, a murderer left the imprint of his moustache in the creamy head. I later adapted one of these ads as a short story and entered it into a national Arthur Conan Doyle story competition. It won second prize.

Your long copy ads have often been called journalism, not advertising.

Another advertising question? Anil, you are obsessed. A page in a newspaper or a magazine is a paid-for blank white space into which you have the freedom to put whatever works best. Does it really matter what you call it? Neil French has proved over and over again that none of the supposedly essential elements of a press ad are actually needed. The gurus of advertising who say that people don’t read any more and that pictures work better than words are out of touch and simply wrong. I try to write as well as I can, and try not to manipulate the readers or insult their intelligence. Our Bhopal fundraising appeals run to 1,000 words each and not only pay for themselves, but for a dozen years have generated enough response to run a clinic. People think there is a formula, but there isn’t. It’s instinct and writing from the heart.

Khaufpur (the fictitious town in Animal’s People) has its own website. Is that a result of your years in advertising - a total communication package?

You are very insistent on the advertising connection. But the answer is no, it’s a result of years spent editing Bhopal campaign websites and knowing the impact the internet can have if you get it right, witness the Yes Men. I was very keen that Animal’s People – phew, at last I can mention my book – should be read as a novel in its own right, and not as a vehicle for Bhopal campaigning. This is one reason why the city in the novel is called Khaufpur, not Bhopal. A city like Khaufpur should naturally have its own website, which would be a place where people could find out more about the novel. It also gives the opportunity for Animal to create a little bit of humour and mischief.

Do you think we Indians don't care enough for what happens in our own backyard? You have shown more commitment to Bhopal than the whole lot of us out here.

There are plenty of Indians who never get any praise or acknowledgement, working hard on behalf of poor and oppressed people. I can think of dozens of people in Bhopal, in other badly polluted places like Cuddalore and northern Kerala, those who are working with tribal people whose lands are being forcibly snatched by big business and its political friends. There are thousands of quiet heroes, working for little or no money and without the slightest recognition. No one gives them awards or prizes, yet still they carry on.

Would it be correct to say that your life has turned out rather like Rushdie's, you have followed his career in almost every single way, except for the fatwa and Padma Lakshmi?

Why do you say that? Is it because we both grew up in Bombay, both went to Cathedral school, both were at public schools in England, both read English Literature at Cambridge, both went into advertising as copywriters, both worked at Ogilvy & Mather, both worked with the same art director, Garry Horner, on the same Fresh Cream Cakes account? We differ in that Mr Rushdie claims to have written the slogan ‘Naughty but Nice’ and I do not. Also, I have not won a Booker Prize, did not suffer a fatwa, have no friends among the jet-set and society hostesses don’t seem to have my number. I admire Salman Rushdie’s work immensely. Midnight’s Children is an utterly brilliant book, but I don’t want to write like him. People must find their own voices.

Do you think the language in Animal’s People is too raw for the Booker judges? That it could come in the way in the final judging?

No one knows what is in the mind of the Booker judges, but the fact that they have twice chosen Animal's People, and that it’s in their top six out of 128 novels – must mean that so far at least they’ve coped with Animal's foul tongue. Animal’s People is up against five novels of great strength and beauty. Personally I can't wait to read Darkman's. Having admired Camus's use of the second person in La Chute, I am interested to see how The Reluctant Fundamentalist handles its subtleties. I am a huge fan of Ian McEwan's and read everything he writes. The Gathering is surely an elegant piece of writing and Mr Pip sounds irresistible. Given such formidable competition, it won't be something as trivial as bad language that stops Animal’s People from winning.

Animal's People. Would I be right in calling it your most effective long copy ad for Bhopal?

You are straight back to advertising. Dammit Anil, I would really hate to think of a novel in that way. The novel isn’t some carefully planned and meticulously worked out campaign. It’s a story. To write it at all, I had to let go of Bhopal, forget its history and its twenty years of intertangled issues. This is why Khaufpur came into being. I imagined it in almost obsessive detail, so much so that when I went to Bhopal after the writing was finished, I was surprised to find things not where I expected – I'd been living in Khaufpur too long. The characters are everything – them and their Khaufpuri sense of humour. Animal leapt to life in my mind and immediately began abusing me. How can you, who’ve never been hungry or homeless, or had to shit on railway tracks, write about our lives? The solution was Animal, you talk, I’ll record.

Do you honestly believe victims of the gas tragedy will ever get justice?

What is justice? What justice for the dead? What justice for someone who has already spent twenty three years barely able to breathe, living on compensation that works out at seven rupees a day? What justice for kids born brain damaged or deformed, whose lives are blighted before they take their first breath? ‘Rights. Law. Justice. These words sound the same in my mouth as in yours but they don’t mean the same. Zafar says such words are like shadows the moon makes in the Kampani’s factory, always changing shape. On that night it was poison, now it’s words that are choking us.’ (Animal, speaking in the novel.)

You said the Indian politicians have betrayed their own people…

How much of a list do you want? Making a deal with Union Carbide that caused its share price to jump for joy? Keeping back half the money for over a decade? Ending all studies into the medical impact of the gas leak? Not making Union Carbide clean up its factory before it left Bhopal? Not pursuing the extradition of Carbide boss Warren Anderson? Giving no support in the ongoing US case about the poisoning of 26,000 people by chemicals leaking from the abandoned factory? Ignoring a Supreme Court of India order to provide clean water to the poisoned communities? Beating up women and children who dared to ask why nothing had been done? Allowing Dow Chemical to trade in India even though Dow refuses to produce its 100% subsidiary Union Carbide in the Bhopal court? Doing a deal with Dow to buy Union Carbide’s METEOR technology – a deal that had to be called off when Bhopal supporters exposed it? Permitting Dow to market as safe in India, a pesticide, Dursban, that is banned for domestic use in the USA? Failing to take action against Dow after it was revealed that Dow had systematically bribed Indian officials for years? As we speak, the politicians are conspiring with Dow to make an out-of-court deal that frees it of its legal liabilities, all for tainted US dollars. Meanwhile people are still forced to drink poisoned water, children are still being born damaged. What part of this cannot be called betrayal?

One thing that pisses you off about Bombay every time you visit?

The only thing that pisses me off about Bombay is that I’m never able to stay long enough.

Is this just?

In a strange way, I feel a bit sorry for Alistair Pereira. Sure, he needed to be punished, and I actually agree with a section of the junta that feels he ought to have got a lot more than three years. After all, he’s just 21, he’ll be out at the age of 24, and has more than ample time to refresh his life. Not something you can say about the families of the seven labourers he mowed down after driving sozzled.

The reason I feel sad for him is that a whole lot of us drive drunk in the city, and have been doing so for years. Years ago, on a New Year’s night, I was involved in a head-on collision with another car, whose driver was equally pissed drunk. After spending hours of the Big Night finger pointing inside a police station, we wished each other a great new year, and moved on. Back to driving drunk.

So, Alistair simply got unlucky, like in the roll of the die, he ran over people sleeping on a pavement, and now he must pay. And thanks to his misadventure, the laws have been tightened, the police patrolling has shot up, and incidents of drunk driving have gotten lowered if not totally eliminated (they will never come down to zero, there are still many who think they’ll get away with it).

And what goes further against Alistair is that he’s not a popular movie star, so no one’s crying foul. Imagine the media outrage had Salman Khan got a similar sentence (he still might!), all the Bollywoodians would collectively protest that the star is paying for his celeb status.

Bottomline: Given that the dude was simply following a norm on our streets, given that the youngster was only emulating the rest of us, given that he simply got unlucky, should not an alternative punishment have been dished out to him? Like, sponsor the lives of the families he destroyed, through a fixed sum every month, for the rest of his life? His sitting in jail will be of little use to the lives he irreversibly damaged, in fact he’ll be out soon.

So the judgment is unfair all round, I am hoping our law makers start thinking a bit differently when another Alistair incident happens on our roads.

The ticking in my arse

I am often called a total cynic by readers and friends, but I think in this instance, most die hard optimists will reluctantly agree with my highly negative view: I think we are heading for a huge disaster in the coming future, I think we are on a free fall to mass death and destruction.

The terrorists, helped and abetted by disgruntled locals, are toying around with us, I guess their delicious dilemma these days is which target to choose next. Much the way we discuss where to meet for a drink this weekend.

And in the democratic system we have, the two national parties have ensured our path to destruction is smoothened and ready for use by the agents of terror. The Congress and its allies will not do anything to smoke out people who provide a base to the foreign terrorists, as they consider the Muslim community to be a key vote bank, and they would never risk offending any innocent. In harder States like the US, UK and Israel, this consideration would not exist at all… even as you read this, in similar circumstances, they would be knocking on the doors of every suspect. I recall how the Brits used a battering ram to break open the doors of a popular mosque in London, because they thought it harboured terrorists. Signora Sonia would not even consider such an option.

And then we have the BJP and its allies, who began all the trouble in the first place when they inspired the demolition of the Babri mosque, and achieved great success in their vote garnering strategy: totally polarise the society, thus inflicting an irreversible rift between communities. How can there ever be unity in a divided India? The members of the minority community will forever feel alienated and bitter.

Bottomline: Either ways, we are screwed. One party wants to take no hard action, and the other is determined to cut us into parts. And the people who pay the price for this criminalised democracy is we, the condemned junta. As bombs explode up our arses when we go out to eat chaat or watch a movie. I don’t think anyone is asking if there’ll be a next attack. We are only wondering when and where the next explosion will be. All depends on where the dice drops on the board of terror.

Chak De blues

Here’s the reason I completely loved Chak De, and if you haven’t seen it yet, please do so: The lessons in organisational politics and leadership skills the film showcases. Forget for a moment it’s the game of hockey, and you’ll notice the same issues we deal with in organisations. The backstabbing, the plotting, the favouritism, the selfishness, the inability to work with others, the ego clashes… we see all that in our workplaces all the time. But sadly, what we don’t find is the sort of leader the coach plays, his commitment to the cause of the team, the fanatical urge to succeed, the courage to keep team ahead of oneself, the ability to slot the right workers for the right jobs, and then to motivate them… such leaders don’t exist in the corporate world.

I can well imagine if the coach had been the CEO of a company, what might have happened. He would have fed on their division and ruled, he would have covered his arse for the hockey association by bad mouthing the players, he would have sacked girls with ‘attitude problems’, he would have leaked stories to the media, promoted himself, and in the end, taken all the credit for the team’s success, and blamed them for failures. And perhaps even slept with some ambitious ones and promoted them out of line.

And if such leaders like Kabir Khan do exist, they would get knocked out sooner than later, labelled as being difficult to work with, and inconvenient.

They say cinema is all about escapism, and I sure agree. And it’s good to see the escapism with Chak De has gone beyond soulful love stories and expensive Karva Chauth songs. We now can escape into the arms of a leader who can only be imaginary.

AAAAIIIIIEEEEEE….

Two days back, a nameless, faceless, housemaid went diving down to her death from the 16th storey of a building in my neighbourhood. And the security guard who saw her body crash down like a piece of unwanted trash, heard the teen girl call out to her mother in her most desperate moment.

The routine happened. The society officer summoned the cops. Who met the maid’s masters. Some quick investigation was done. Rookie journos from the media landed up to earn their daily bread. The dead servant’s relations arrived, cried hysterically, cursed their luckless existence, and went back to their daily chores. And within hours, life was back to normal in the building. The master claims the maid climbed to clean the glass windows, tripped and fell, as simple as that. The cops seem to have accepted this as a fact, and soon the file will be closed.

What no one is asking is the one unanswered question: Why was the maid cleaning the glasses on the 16th storey of an apartment, whose owner had not fitted in grilles as a protection device? And if he hadn’t, why had he not given strict instructions to the maid that no cleaning will be down without adequate supervision? (I don’t think anyone is even considering the possibility that the maid may have actually been instructed to clean the glasses minus the protection… but that’s hard to prove in any case.) So clearly, a large part of the responsibility for the poor girl’s death must lie with the landlord, if for nothing else, then at least for recklessness.

However, this is India, life of a poor citizen counts for nothing. She’s already forgotten, and the building complex is right now busy planning the Independence Day celebrations. During which, members will belt out desh-bakhti songs, cheerfully wish each other, and then partake of the buffet lunch organised for the event.

No, I shall not be there. I never do participate in flat hoisting ceremonies. Not because I don’t respect the nation, but because I don’t respect the fact that we have built a nation where the life of an individual is measured by the price tag attached to her dead body.

Sorry, this is not the India of my dreams.

… But now for vertical integration

So, Sanjay Dutt is behind bars and all’s well with the world. Or is it? There are murmurs yet again about punishing the folks who committed atrocities during the riots that triggered the bomb blasts (as in Narendrabhai’s famous action/reaction principle). The Sri Krishna Commission report has been tabled and accepted, and it’s high time the State Government took some hard action so we know even if justice is delayed, it’s still unbiased. But this gutless government will only be provoked by mass morchas and agitations; else it will simply bury its head in the sand, as it does on all controversial matters. The deed of doing justice has to be larger than simply punishing the bombers and the rioters… we need to nail all the politicians and religious leaders who caused all this damage to begin with… the people who incited and energised goons into bringing down the Babri Masjid. It was THAT mother event which led to a chain reaction of other crimes, including the Bombay riots and blasts, and then the Gujarat riots. If we let these divisive, hate-mongering sharks get away with it, punishing a small fish like Sanjay Dutt will serve no purpose. So while Justice Kode may have done his job on Sanjay and the other Bombay bombers, the nation’s highest court needs to find a way to get the big villains of this saga. It is only then can we speak of true justice.

Kudos to Kode

(In case you missed this... wrote it today in the Mirror.)
People often forget our judges are human too, and are a part and parcel of the society we have created, and in which we live. And surely all the emotional hysteria and the huge media interest in the Sanjay Dutt case must have put the TADA judge under a degree of pressure. But yesterday, Justice Kode stood up for what is right; he neither let emotional pressure nor the star’s cult status come in the way of dispassionately following the law of the land. All those of you who think the sentence on our Munnabhai was too harsh, must remember that the crime against which Dutt was convicted was a very serious one too. Imagine if all those of us who get threatened begin to arm ourselves with weapons of mass destruction… we would be at war within the country. This is not only a landmark judgment in India’s legal history, it will serve as a great precedent for future trials which involve public heroes and stars. A whole lot of us who have interacted with Dutt (and that includes me) truly believe he is a lovable man, and is always kind and helpful. But the law simply cannot ignore a grave offence committed by a man who may now have been reformed. I don’t know if Sanjay will get a chance to read this piece, but if he does, this is what I would say to him: Much as though the punishment may seem hard, do remember, in your own way, you have helped push the envelope on justice in this country… a whole lot of ordinary people who were losing faith or had become cynical, will now have their faith restored. The politicians have badly let us down, the judiciary is the last hope of this nation, and we just cannot afford to lose that hope. You brought Bapu back into our lives with your cool film, now you are helping us believe in the law, even if you didn’t want it to turn out this way. Perhaps that’s the silver lining that will see you through the oncoming cloudy days.

Of course we are honest!

You bet Mumbai is an honest city. I am appalled to hear some people doubt the study conducted recently, where they placed the city at the 5th position in the world on the honesty scale. I have seen great instances of honesty in every sphere of life. There is no corruption at all in any government office. No one asks for ghoos in our courts, in our ration card offices, in the stamp duty and property registration offices, in the hospitals, at the passport office… it’s all spic and span everywhere. Our taxi and rick guys never ask for extra fare when you disembark at railway stations and airports, and in fact they lower rates when it’s raining cats and dogs. And rigging fare meters is a thought that does not even occur to their Mother Teresa minds.
Needless to add, everyone in the city pays their due taxes, diligently and correctly. Especially the businessmen and the movie stars and the cricketers. You won’t find a penny of black money in their designer closets. And of course, no one converts his profession to be a legalised farmer.
There are no pickpockets on our streets, homes don’t get burgled at night, and conmen don’t pay our housewives a visit during noon. There is no adulteration in the milk we drink, the cement supplies carry no sand, and the gas we put in our cars is absolutely pure.
And no one steals electricity, no one buys or sells body organs, no one pays to get admissions into schools and colleges, and there is no question of corruption in the police force. And our mantris are the living embodiment of our honesty and integrity.
So how dare anyone doubt the credibility of the study? We Mumbaikars are very honest people. Especially me. Can’t you gauge that from this post?

Tell me what to do

I have a serious problem.

The hansta khelta undivided parivar staying on the floor above me is a maha loaded one. They are rolling in black money, which explains the new top-end cars and premium apartments they purchase every other month. They are medium scale industrialists, and have a booming family business. And one of the things they do when excessive black money gets accumulated, is to renovate their various houses every other day. “Humko Dharamji jaisa makaan chahiye,” is their single line brief to the decorator.

So am I feeling jealous? Well, not entirely, though I would love to have been born in a family that’s raking in big-time, who wouldn’t? But I have a different problem. I am really worried about the constant ‘renovations’ they keep doing, literally on top of my head. The perpetual deafening noises the workers make is the least of my problems. I am really worried about the damage they could be causing to the beams and the pillars, as walls come crashing down to seamlessly merge the bedrooms and the toilets and the kitchen with one another. Will not the regular overhauls weaken the skull of the building, is my big fear. The other day I narrowly missed instant death, as the ceiling fan came loose because of the heavy marble tiling that’s underway right above, and the damn thing fell right on top of my pillow (mercifully I was away at work.)

Now here’s my dilemma: I feel totally helpless. There’s no point complaining to the building society, as this particular family is not just ‘well-connected’, it has ensured their own members are an intrinsic part of the management committee. In other words, any complain would reach the mahogany desk of head of that very family, and am worried in their khunnas, they might instruct the masons to hammer around even harder. So that option’s out.

Then again, there’s no point sneaking to the municipal ward officers. If these gents haven’t already been bribed, they WILL be after I meet them, and all I will end up with is paan stains on my shirt.

The option of going to the police does not exist, they’d laugh and advise, “Baat cheet se settle karo do, bhai.” And the acronym RTI sounds like 120 days of privilege leave to me.

So all I do is pray. Pray that they aren’t damaging the pillars and the beams. Pray that the building won’t come down on my head one fine day. All I can do is bloody pray.

And am sure I am not alone in this situation. Corruption and greed has brought upon us many evils in this country. Death under the debris of you own sweet home is just one of them.

Is this the Prez we want?

I have said this before, and will say it again: We must completely do away with the post of the President. The person adds no value to our lives, and is in fact a burden on our taxes. However, if that’s not going to happen, can we please find a way to re-look at the process of election, and make sure we have a good man/woman inside the Rashtrapati Bhavan? The problem with leaving the choice to our slimy netas is that they WILL go for a person who will run when they scream, “FETCH, MOTI, FETCH!” Which means he/she can easily be manipulated, thus making the fancy post a total farce, clearly the Constitution did not want that to happen. But, it does, so something’s gotta be done.

Given the ugly war that’s been going on for weeks to plant a new Prez on the Hill, surely the time has come to reinvent both, the role of the Prez, and the manner of the selection. I think we have a great opportunity to select a person of unquestionable integrity on this occasion. One who is universally admired and has been a huge success in his/her sphere of life. Such a person should be selected by the Supreme Court bench, and his/her role should be to play watchdog to the nation, and he/she must be bestowed with executive powers to deliver on that job definition. The Prez should keep a sharp eye on the various evils politicians inflict upon us (promoting communal hated, corruption, murders, etc), and ensure they are brought to
book. Not being selected by the netas, the Prez shall not be answerable to them, and he/she can then run the show with only the nation’s good in mind.

Indian democracy sucks big time because slime balls and rascals are the ones who eventually find a way into Delhi’s power corridors. That’s the price we have paid for democracy. Can we not put out a power policeman to control these people? The Prez can be that man/woman.

And if it has to be a canine, I’d rather it barks and bites. And doesn’t fetch.

Everything sucks… except the drains

And so, another messed up day in aamchi Mumbai. Pictures of people struggling under waist deep water. Laments of people who could not go about their business. Buck passing and excuses spouting BMC. The missing in action CM. TV journos speaking to middle class families whose clothes and utensils went for a swim. The power cuts engineered by the nervy Reliance. And of course the one mandatory thing that makes me retch: the famed Mumbai spirit and how citizens step out to help each other. Like a bad D grade film rerun on a SAB TV or a Jain TV, this sequence plays out every monsoon, and then people crib and carp a bit, and life simply moves on as if nothing happened. I think our collective apathy has reached a dangerously boring high, we just don’t want to do anything anymore. Even 26/7 wasn’t enough for us to rise and do something to change this city’s spiralling fall into destruction. This city has become a whore… we sleep with her, we use her, we earn from her… and after we’re done, we leave her alone to die. And we pay our netas to play pimps for this over-worked, AIDS ridden randi.

Sahib Singh RIP
While all of us were saving our lives in Mumbai, elsewhere, the BJP leader died in a car crash. Frankly, I don’t know much about Varma. Maybe he did outstanding work for Delhi, whose CM he once was. Maybe he was one of the men who divert our taxes to make Delhi rock. But I will remember him for just one thing, and that was his flight on Jet Airways. Here’s the link to my article I wrote in Mid Day 4 years ago. (Click here.) May his soul rest in peace.

To B or not to B?

As much as I have adored Bachchan’s performances on the screen, I have been severely disappointed with his actions (or the lack of them) off it. Despite all the hero worship for Sachin, SRK and probably Aamir, I am convinced Big B is our greatest living role model, with the largest base of fan following and hero worship.
But then why has he always been a selfish man, why is he busy only fattening his own bank balance, why does he never even attempt to convert his awesome brand value for the betterment of his nation? Why is he hanging out with a fixer like Amar Singh? How on earth can he be a part of a campaign that is aimed at usurping farmland?
I have always found it depressing that people like Bachchan just don’t care for us, that has made me even more cynical about this country. And when I went to meet him for the Mirror interview last Friday at his swanky ABCL office in Juhu, I pretty much told him so. And all I got was the famous cold stare. Here’s a link to the interview (click here), perhaps you will find some answers therein.
My own take: Big B has become as cynical and negative about this nation as the rest of us. Damn!

The real boss

I don’t understand a word of Tamil. And yet, I followed 90% of Sivaji, which should give you some idea why Rajinikanth is India’s biggest movie star, and also what to expect in his new blockbuster. It’s all there. Pulsating songs set against garishly elaborate backdrops, over the top costumes, and loads of oomph and energy. AR Rahman has, as always, delivered the goods. 'Vaaji Vaaji En Jeevan Si Sivaji' tempted me to join the gang on the aisles, even if I have no clue what the words mean.
The legendary Rajini fight sequences have gotten laced with mind-blowing special effects, so expect shots like a bullet stopping itself millimeters away from the star’s forehead, a train coming to halt inches away from our hero (flagged down with a red chunni by his gal, who, while heaving a sigh of relief, also cares to heave her ample cleavage). And yes, there are enough trademark Rajini punch lines through the three-hour plus marathon. Although I did not always follow the lines, that did not stop me from whistling wildly in the company of hundreds of die-hard fans. Rajini does that to you, he transcends all language barriers through sheer charisma.

Superb performances
Lead actress Shreya fits the part perfectly. She can at once be an ultra conservative Tam Bram, and in another jump cut, a sexy damsel oozing with raw passion. Cinematographer K V Anand has come up with rich and grandiose imagery, and art director Thota Tharani’s techni-coloured sets ensure not one member from the audiences dares strut off for a quick ciggie.
Commenting on Rajini’s acting is a waste of time, the man is a class act, a great delight to watch. He may have given up his unique cigarette flicking gimmicks, but Rajini more than makes up with chewing gums and one-rupee coins. But full credit for making a sixty-year-old man look convincingly thirty-plus must go to costume designer Manish Malhotra and hair stylist, Sandrine Verrier Seth. The cool blonde wig was a roaring hit in the Bangalore audi.

The story has been told
If there’s one negative to Sivaji, it’s the lack of a novel storyline. While director S Shankar has been hugely protective on pre release leaks, he need not have worried. It’s an out and out James Bond flick, with a very faint and oft-repeated ‘social message’: the rich must also think of the poor. And even if some loaded Bangalore techie was moved, it was more because of Rajini’s rapid-fire kicks and punches, and less because of the kind message he imparts. But that does not stop Sivaji from being a cinematic treat. Simply because Rajini overpowers and eclipses all storylines. The actor is bigger than his canvas, a true larger-than-life hero. There is no one in Bollywood who can claim that sort of a mass appeal, no wonder AVM has readily put Rs 80 crore riding on his slim shoulders, making Sivaji the most expensive film in Indian history.

Big B versus Rajini
Amitabh in his best days (Deewaar, Trishul) had a similar cult following, but there’s one key difference: In an Amitabh film, the galleries blew whistles and catcalls as he first appeared on screen. With Rajini, the hysteria begins as soon as the dull and dry censor certificate comes on. Still want to debate who’s the bigger movie god?

(Originally written for Mirror.)

Damn adjust maadi

(Wrote this for Bangalore Mirror readers)

I think one expression Bangaloreans should immediately erase from their dictionary is 'adjust maadi'. Not just because the rest of the nation now associates it with an underwear brand, but also because it's no longer cool to simply adjust with whatever life in the city has on offer. In fact, it's self-destructive to continue to behave thataways, given the seismic changes that have happened in the city in the recent past, and I am not referring to the tongue-teasing name change. (With due respect to all my Kannadiga friends, Bengalooru is a bit of a mouthful for the rest of us, it leaves a tickling sensation in my fragile larynx.)

The auto rick guy cheats and abuses you? Don't adjust maadi, demand he take you there, AND give him an earful all through the journey. The reason these crass creatures get away with crude behaviour is because we have been adjusting maadi with them for too long now. It's payback time.

That lunar crater (called pothole by nice Bangaloreans) down your street doesn't get repaired for months and years together? Don't adjust maadi. Gherao the local corporator (do you even know his/her name, dear adjuster?), and demand he/she take action. Never forget you pay for his/her salary and the gas-guzzling Amby.

New road projects and rail links are delayed by years, causing you great hardships and health problems, not to mention massive fuel losses? Don't adjust maadi. Do some Gandhigiri with the mantris and babus. Send them a bouquet of flowers a day. And if that doesn't work, mail some balloons loaded with carbon monoxide.

You get robbed of your laptop at primetime in the heart of the city? Don't adjust maadi. Visit the police commissioner's office and demand quick answers. In case your latest excuse is you don't know where to find the good officer, here's the address: No 1, Infantry Road.

Yup, I know, it's heart breaking to trash a phrase that's your most fav, one that's definitive of the city itself, one that's symbolic of the good guy Bangalorean. But sadly, it's time to bury 'salpa adjust maadi' for good. Because it's become irrelevant and accursed in the very messy, mismanaged and under-pressure New Bangalore. In fact, the powers-that-be will want us to always be relaxed, chilled out and adjusting as citizens, so that they can have a free run with the city, all the more reason we should dump it ASAP.

And most importantly, because surely none of you wants Bangalore to become synonymous with an underwear brand.

Don't insult the whore

(Sorry, have been travelling. Here's what I wrote in the Mirror today in the meantime.)


Good work, NDTV. Assuming the tapes are accurate (there’s no reason to believe otherwise), that was a cool sting operation in the Sanjeev Nanda hit and flee case. It has yet again reminded us of the rot in the criminal justice system in this country. But will anything change after the great expose? No, you guys have simply wasted footage. May as well have given that much television time to your party reporter Ms Anisha Baig, at least she brings in some cheer into our dull and dreary lives. We are an intensely corrupt nation, and our lawyers are one of us, they haven’t come from another planet. There is corruption in the army, in the police, in politics, in the bureaucracy, you name it. So why should the lawyers behave themselves? We Indians eat ghoos, we drink ghoos, we burp ghoos, we shit ghoos. Apart from nations in the sub-continent, I cannot think of a single country where the prosecution and defence lawyers hunt in pairs. The only entity I implicitly trust is the street hooker. Because there is no deceit, no hypocrisy, no fraud with her. What you see is what you get. She must be the most honest worker in this country today. So please, let’s not insult her by saying our lawyers are prostituting their profession. Instead, let’s idolise her.

Husain in a mischief monger

There, I said the cruelest thing possible about a grand old man, a man renowned for painting goods that fetch millions of dollars in the market.

Popular view suggests we must not be harsh on a man that age. And I say, a man of that age should in fact be expected to appreciate banal things like respect for the law of the land, respect of people’s sensibilities, and most importantly, respect for all religions.

Under the excuse of freedom of expression for artists, Husain cannot get away with insulting gods, whichever religion they might represent. God only knows how deeply the Indian masses feel connected with their almighties, a visit to a local temple, masjid, church or a gurudwara would be an enough hint if you are still in doubt. Even our movies and television soaps reflect our strong beliefs in faith. India is a failed democracy, our leaders have consistently let us down, and all the common man/woman is left with is faith, faith that keeps them going. And any mischief with that aspect is bound to cause hurt, and I am dead sure our artists understand that. These Johnnies aren’t beings from Mars, they invest in real estate, they hold meetings with their CAs, they dabble in stocks, they too live the real lives. But moment the brush comes into the hand, they behave like super creative, super beings, who must be left alone to do what the eff they want. Bollocks, mate.

In my view, it is creatively burnt-out artists looking for easy recognition who stoop to the level of degrading people’s religion. They know some rabid fanatics will seize upon the chance to whip up further emotions, in fact that’s what I suspect they WANT to happen, as it gives them some form of a cult status and cheap publicity. There are a hundred billion subjects artists can choose from, but the only one thing they want to draw is that what creates hysteria.

It’s a pity Husain didn’t stick to drawing raunchy images of Madhuri Dixit; his sexy muse got married, flew out of the nation, and worse, put on oodles of weight. But she’s back again, and has lost a lot of kilos. Perhaps he should shift his naughty focus back on the backless choli lady.

Be Husain’s muse again, Ms Dixit. Only you can save gods from further degradation.

The unthinkable has happened

Without a doubt, Mayawati cannot be trusted. Any neta who comes up with the preposterous idea of building a shopping mall as an annex to the Taj, needs to have his of her head examined, and if found sane, needs to be put behind bars. And you can imagine what awaits us if such a leader becomes the PM one day (and Mayawati well might). She’d pass an order for a multiplex opposite the Raj Ghat.

Having said that, even as the rest of us in Bombay gave all the tamasha over the UP elections a quite go by, as we should (except of the fact that Bachchan was caught lying in the TV commercials to appease his fixer bhhaiya, and except for the fact that failure of political leadership in UP and Bihar adds to the numbers of taxi and rick drivers in the city), Mayawati went and changed the country a bit. And shockingly enough, for the better.

It’s staggering to believe that in a caste and community damaged and divided nation like ours, the woman managed to bring Dalits, Brahmins and Muslims together under one roof, and they all voted for her! This is like a tiger, deer and wolf joining in the same party, and doing a merry jig together. Yes, it’s that incredible.

Of course, what helped her cause were some asinine side acts. Like the foot-in-the-mouth disease Rahul Gandhi suffers from. Like the fact that the BJP is as relevant in our lives today as a manual typewriter. Like the loss of credibility Bachchan enjoys in this country, from the date he started hanging out with Amar Singh.

Despite the above, you have to admire the lady for having achieved the unthinkable. She reached out, and the masses trusted her, as simple as that. While the rest of us weren’t watching or were simply sniggering, she’s gone ahead and changed the course of history, she’s actually made us look like a better nation. Whether Mayawati has the skill or the desire to make the most of this development, remains to be seen. It would be a waste if she spends the next five years only on digging into her rivals’ skeleton filled cupboards, and sadly she will, but at least she’s made a difference for now. Maybe now the rest of the politicians will realise the divide and rule policy no longer cuts ice with India, maybe now they will move onto developmental issues. And just for making that happen, much as though I hate to say it, Mayawati should be chosen Prime Minister, sooner than later. I for one am deffy voting for the BSP, come next elections.

Sure, there will be a Mallika Sherawat doing pelvic thrusts next to Bapu’s samadhi, but at least we won’t be killing each other in the name of caste and religion. This is Gandhigiri, Maya style, and boy, am I lovin it.

Law and disorder

Phew! The Bombay High Court has done the right thing. It has pulled up the prosecution in the Alistair Pereira hit and run case, saying it was ‘insensitive’ while dealing with the matter. (I think insensitivity is a kind word in this situation, I would be tempted to use much harsher terms.) In a stricture for the lower court that acquitted Pereira of culpable homicide not amounting to murder, the High Court said it should have examined co-passengers as witnesses. I cannot believe the prosecution failed to make the witnesses testify, usually we are saddled with crimes where there is no witness, and here we have as many as three of them, and yet they aren’t interrogated. The High Court has asked the Police Commissioner to explain certain "loopholes" in the investigation. The honourable judges have also asked the investigating officers to verify whether the victims have got the compensation and how they have invested the same. Sure, not only should the victims be adequately compensated but also I do hope the judiciary doesn’t let the prosecution and the cops get away with this. Alistair Pereira must face the music for sure, but so must those people who indulged in ‘shoddy’ work. In fact, I hope there is an investigation into whether the work was indeed shoddy, or were there some financial transactions involved. The High Court has the opportunity to make this into an exemplary case for all future hitters and runners, and their helpers.

What about Narendrabhai?
With the Gujarat government facing the heat in the fake encounter case, the state CID has detained a few middle and lower level policemen who were part of the operations led by the three arrested senior IPS officers, according to NDTV. A case may be registered against these eight policemen and they are likely to be arrested once the CID is sure of their role in the crime. The CID is interrogating certain policemen of the ranks of Inspector, Sub-inspector and Constable who were members of the team that tracked the victim Sohrabuddin Sheikh all the way from Hyderabad till the scene of the encounter in November 2005. What worries me about this story is this: while it is all very well to track down the criminal cops and try them in the courts, what about the culpability of the netas under whose instructions and goodwill these heinous crimes were committed? Sadly, they will as usual get away with murder, which is, to my mind, the single biggest failure of our great democracy.

Paparazzi vs. Naraaz papa

Almost always, Amitabh Bachchan is a picture of dignity and correctness. Whatever faults one may find in him (especially his relations with badland bhaiyyas), you have to admit the man is all class. Which is why his media-blackout policy for the big fat family wedding surprises me. Bachchan has done enough time in the industry to know that Bollywood stars cannot cut the world out when there’s a marriage, especially not when the alliance is between the nation’s top stars. He would have known all along there would be hundreds of photographers surrounding Prateeksha and Jalsa, and that’s exactly what’s happened. So why did he allow this cat and mouse game to go on, completely beats me.

Sold out the shaadi?
Which is the reason why a popular theory doing the rounds is that Big B has sold the rights for the wedding to an international celeb mag, or a television network. When examined logically, this makes sense, this would explain all the hush-hush and locked iron doors, and image-busting Volvo buses. And if indeed this is the case, then I don’t understand why the mega star isn’t announcing that to the public… once we know the pics have been sold to another media brand, most of us will back off from desperate photography, and wait for the real stuff to appear. My own hunch though is that Bachchan might not have sold his son’s biggest day, the entire clan appears too conservative and superstitious to do things like that. And if my reading is right, I cannot fathom this privacy nonsense, it’s Ash’s wedding for god’s sakes, we WOULD be interested. If Abhishek had married a Dippanita whatever, the entire media would have been outside Alistair Pereira’s door today.

The ugly skirmish
And so, the inevitable happened; blood on the lawns of Prateeksha. And I neither blame the photographers (it’s their job to shoot exclusive pictures), and nor do I blame the black cats (they are paid to act before they think, they are edgy kind of guys, and a situation of a hundred photographers surrounding Abhiash would have been against orders from the top). Although Bachchan has graciously apologised, he must accept that the fault lies with his crazy blackout policy, it was a time bomb waiting to explode. All he had to do is what Rahul Dravid did on his wedding day: finish the ceremony in private, and then emerge from the house so that the photographers are awarded with their Kodak moment. And all would have gone home happy.

Holy instructions?
It’s possible one of the manglik-reversing sadhus commanded the blackout happens, then things make enormous sense, of course. Good luck, Abhiash.

Hit, Kill, Run & Chill

Drunk driver-cum-killer Alistair Pareira’s acquittal on charges of culpable homicide (click here for story) should provide great relief to many of us who drive drunk. The news that you can run over and kill seven people and yet be let off lightly makes me want to order another double patiala peg for the road. (Salman Khan might have thrown a wild bash in celebration… his own drunken driving case in which one person died is still stuck in the trial courts, and poor Salmanbhai killed just one chap!) Obviously, some serious money exchanged hands, and the evidence was sabotaged. After all, what’s the cost of lives of migrant labourers from Karnataka and Andhra in a city like Bombay? Zilch. That’s a no-brainer, the truth that the nation’s law enforcement machinery operates on the principle of different strokes for different folks.

However, what I don’t understand is this: why don’t they make amendments in the law, and make every death caused by drunk drivers tantamount to culpable homicide, without exception? Would that not prove to be enough of a deterrent for drunken drivers? And that sort of an amendment is badly needed in a city that’s full-on with people sleeping/squatting in the city’s patli gallies… in fact, pretty much every street in the city is a patli galli today, thanks to unplanned development and monumental migration from other states into the city. It is also a fact that a whole number of people drive drunk on our roads, and accidents are inevitable.

Sadly, that amendment ain’t gonna happen in a great hurry. Not at least till some big neta’s family members get run over by a drunk Alistair Pareira. Until now, only the zero-value people have been mowed down.

Till then, let’s hit the roads, bottoms up! Cheers!

Same shit happens in organisations

Although I have pretty much dumped cricket from my life, the backroom twists and turns excite me no end. Like all religious Indians, I have been carefully following the Greg Chappell versus The Great Indian team nautanki, with a good deal of interest. And the reason is: the current situation in the Indian cricket is ditto what happens in the corporate world.

A kick-arse, professional, unbiased, results-driven leader joins a large existing company. A company that is packed with executives who live on their past glories, suits who are long past their sell-by date. The new CEO’s mission is to turn this ‘living in the past’ company into an aggressive, cutting edge, today’s organisation. And to make the seniors managers accountable for their performance. So he comes in and puts his plans into execution.

However, the managers, who, despite not delivering results in the market place are heavily paid and toasted in the social circuit, start to feel insecure by the CEO’s dramatic changes and cut-throat style of functioning. They feel threatened and see the possibility of changes at the top level. At the same time, they have become too old and slothful to learn new tricks. So they do the only thing they know best in order to save their own skins: they get together and politick against the new boss. They unleash rumours into the boardroom that the man is not a people’s person, that he’s going around destroying morale in the office. That since he’s an outsider, the chap doesn’t understand local markets and working conditions. And that he’s cut-off from the core group and is inapproachable. They even use emotional speeches to grain brownie points with the shareholders. These slimy execs understand their only chance to make these ploys work is to hunt as a herd, and they go all out in a ‘huddle’ to save their jobs.

And because of all these political machinations and power games, the distracted company turns up with even more dismal results than the past, and the new CEO is left with no option but to put in his papers.

Which is why I am not at all surprised Chappell has booked himself a one-way ticket on Quantas. And I will be even more surprised if a single senior Indian player gets sacked. I have seen the same scenario played out in many organisations. I am sure you have too. And maybe even participated in it.

Divide and Drool

Thank heavens, the Supreme Court has ordered a stay on the 27% reservation for the OBCs, such a whole lot of reservations cannot possibly be decided without doing a careful study on the real numbers of various communities in this country, and also exactly who genuinely qualifies to be certified an OBC. And I don’t say this because I don’t care for people from the backward castes, I say this for two reasons: One, this is too big a decision to jump into on some neta’s whim, it affects lakhs of students and their families. And even more significantly, we just cannot allow our netas to continue to ride their divide and rule agendas, I can guarantee you Arjun Singh’s heart (read that as boss Sonia Gandhi’s) doesn’t bleed for backward communities, it only bleeds for the mass of votes they can bring in.

But more importantly, I just can’t believe that in the year 2007, when our industrialists are buying out global giants, when our IT guys are leading the world, when our filmmakers are making international waves, our netas are going on unchecked with their divide and rule methods, something that actually the Brits started. So the Congress wants to cut us based on caste, the BJP wants to cut us based on religion, and in Mumbai, the Shiv Sena wants to cut us based on the language we speak. Thackeray’s latest command that 80% jobs in the city’s BPOs and MNC companies be reserved for the Marathi Manus is nothing but another divide and rule agenda. They have realised the non-Marathis anyways shan’t vote for them, so why not indulge in the sons-of-the-soil type of jingoism.

The problem is we are freely allowing our political parties to carve us out like a gooey chocolate cake, and no amount of globalisation is able to stop this regressive trend. Sure, there will come a day when the gullible Indian masses will be literate and matured enough to understand the situation, but that could take decades, even a hundred years. And by that time, permanent damage may have been affected on our social fabric, we may have reached a point of no return.

I think time has come for our apex court to kick arse of politicians who continue to indulge in the divide and rule methods. Time has come to make amendments in our Constitution, so that politicians who seek votes based on divisions are made to do time in the slammer, no less.

Death of cricket

The joke going around in newsrooms these days is: all crime reporters need to be transferred. To the sports desk, that is.

Funny, sure, but not very cool. And also scary. Don’t know about you, but I most deffy have lost interest in the game of cricket, and no, it has nothing to do with mid-life crisis. The World Cup is on right now, and I cannot believe I don’t want to be a part of it, the thought itself would have been unthinkable a few years ago, when I was madly crazy about the game… I used to report sick even when India played boring weaklings like Zimbabwe and Kenya. And again, the loss of interest has nothing to do with our humiliating exit from the World Cup. My loss of passion for the game has to do with just one thing: I no longer know what I see on the screen is reality, or, like a low brow reality TV show, a stage managed competition. I mean, if heavily paid stars like Hansie Cronje, Shane Warne, Azharuddin, Wasim Akram and Ajay Jadeja cannot be trusted, how can you ever tell what goes on on the field has anything to do with real sport at all? And if I want to see theatre, I will go and see real theatre, thank you very much.

And it’s the advent of the one-day format that’s taken the game to the dogs. Things weren’t so bad as long as the match was played over five days. Apart from odd incidents on the field (like Lillee and Miandad threatening to have a go at each other), the game was played with honesty and commitment. But ever since ‘chaddi’ cricket made its appearance, things have gone really ugly. Today, cricket is less about bat and ball colliding, and more about rabid sledging, racist slurs, billion-dollar bets, match fixing, doping and underworld connections. One bloke was even suspected of rape! And as if all this wasn’t bad enough, now we have an Agatha Christie inspired mysterious death during a World Cup; according to latest reports, Bob Woolmer was murdered in his hotel loo, either by pissed off bookies or angry fans or astoundingly enough, the Paki players themselves. I cringe to even imagine what lies ahead.

And sadly, all of this has taken the joy out of the game. How I wish I was around when the game was first invented, English burra sahibs in crisp whites enjoying a lazy noon outing with bat and ball, as wives and mistresses sipped high tea, graciously cheering from the lush green park. Ah, would kill to live those innocent days again.

Should Amrita be generous?

In a poll conducted on Mumbai Mirror, we asked women in the city if Saif Ali Khan came knocking on ex wife Amrita Singh’s door, should she forgive and forget and accept him back into her life. (The chap’s just broken off with girl friend Rosa.) And many women were of the opinion that the estranged wife must not accept her ‘unreliable’, ‘philandering’ pati, that such a ‘cheater’ cannot and must not be trusted. The responses reminded me of Mahesh Bhatt’s autobiographical film, ‘Arth’. The betrayed wife Pooja, played by Shabana Azmi, refuses to accept her cheating husband with that all-important question: “Would you have accepted me back into your life if I was in your place?”

Now, I realise this is a complex issue with no easy answers. Also, the question of children comes into play. In Saif’s case, the actor is known to be very close to his kids, so should not Amrita, for their sake, give her husband another chance? Clearly, this is a grey zone and it’s foolish to expect pat black and white solutions.
However, here’s my own uneducated view in this matter: When I look at people around me, I see rampant cheating. And this sort of cheating happens on the hide, where the man/woman strays clandestinely, and when the affair fizzles out (most of these diversions tend to be transient in any case), they simply resume lives as if nothing happened. The people I speak of don’t necessarily see this as an issue. They have no intentions of leaving home and hearth, but also don’t see it as a sin to ‘enjoy’ that what life has on offer… the zip and excitement that’s missing in their otherwise predictable lives. As a close friend once said, “That what is not told, can do no harm.” And in our changed, very liberal times, I see this tweaked ideology of relationships becoming increasingly inevitable. Today, couples find it hard to maintain the so-called sanctity and sacredness of marriage, they have learnt to live with the truth that diversions can AND will happen. Once we accept that changed reality, perhaps the concept of marriage will survive rather than die because of reasons of infidelity.

Coming back to Saif, what Amrita chooses to do will be decided by her own sensibility. However, we have to admit unlike the rest of the zillions of cheating partners, whatever Saif did, he at least did it openly… he wasn’t having fun on the hide, while pretending to be faithful. And ironic though this may sound, this makes him, in my judgment at least, an honest man who should be sympathised with, even respected, and not crucified.

We, the pissing

So the BMC in Mumbai has decided to fine or force people to clean up all the mess they spit out on the city streets, and you can’t possibly argue that’s not a sensible move. The whole city has turned into one huge kachra bin, as we pee, spit, throw stuff out without a care. If you dare to stare at the city roads, you’ll see more red than the potholes, and that’s saying a lot. The real problem however is this: how can you fine a billion dirty cads? We people are so used to treating anything outside our own homes as a garbage bin, the entire BMC force will have to be unleashed on the roads to nab the culprits, there are just so many of us litterers. And even that won’t be enough. And I will be entirely surprised if some of the BMC staffers themselves aren’t found to be guilty too. So then what’s the practical solution? None, actually. How on earth can you change something that’s embedded inside our DNA? We Indians simply lack the particular gene that monitors civic sense, we just don’t know how to respect our city and the environment. And worse, we lack basic courtesy for fellow citizens, and this shows up in our behaviour at public places. We break queues with impunity, we never say thanks when served, we clean our noses (and scratch our balls) for all to see, we don’t even bother to cough into the damn hanky. As for the kachra, I think ‘lack of enough dustbins’ is a pathetic excuse, even when the bins are in the vicinity, we carelessly chuck rubbish on the roads. So the BMC better not waste its time keeping an eye on us. Rather, it should worry about quicker clean up systems and mechanisms, so that the damn Mithi river can suck efficiently. We do, and will always litter. We are like that only, and perhaps even proud of it.

Power goes to his head.

I have been thrown out of interview meets before, so when Maharashtra Energy mantri Shri Valse Patil short-circuited our chat, I was not entirely, to use the right word, shocked. (To read the truncated interview which appeared in the Mumbai Mirror, click here.)

All the same, it’s a shame that these people don’t want to be answerable to the people, and it’s a bigger shame that the quote-starved, subservient media, especially a large section of the electronic media, allows these bullies to get away with it.

Consider this: till just five years ago, Maharashtra had so much power at its disposal, we used to sell it to other States, and a power cut in Bombay was simply unthinkable. And just a few years down the line, many suburbs of the city have massive cuts, and other towns like Nasik and Pune and Nagpur have gone to the dogs. And it’s too embarrassing to even discuss the situation in our villages, those poor sods have forgotten what a lit bulb looks like. And you don’t need a degree in electronic science to figure that it’s complete mismanagement and inefficiency of our mantris that has brought us to this situation, they haven’t done their jobs, and we have to all suffer now.

And what pisses me off the most, is that these leaders aren’t the ones who will get hit… while I was waiting at Valse’s office for two hours, the A/C in his massive cabin was left on so that when the boss arrived, he could chill inside a cool, cool room. And the man had the gall to later gloat he has lunch in the dining room with the fans turned off! If such blokes are sitting in on our destiny, no wonder we are all collectively screwed.

But while saab was lunching, his other ‘fans’ were on in flow flow… all the idiotic journos from the TV media, sitting around like obedient disciples, and who later (the mantri himself said to me) were bitching that I was being too harsh in the interview! To begin with, you slime balls have sold your souls, you aren’t doing what the public expects out of you… to put some pressure on a mantri who’s clearly unfit for the job… and are instead pissing on someone who is at least trying.

People say the media explosion in India is a good thing, I am not sure about this. Because the explosion has left in its wake, vast debris of rubbish who I would not even think of calling journalists.