Need special courts for sexual crimes

The only way to curb (they will never get eliminated) sexual assaults on women and children is for special super-fast-track courts to be created to deal with these particular crimes. These courts should be given a strict deadline of max one year to either convict or acquit the accused.

In this nation where we waste crores of bucks on nonsense stuff (black cat commandos for faltu netas, free air travel for their extended families, etc), surely some money can be used for the safety of the most vulnerable sections of this nation.

And added to this, there needs to be harder punishment spelt out for such crimes, especially cases of molestation, which currently don’t invite harsh punishment. So, bigger punishment, faster judgment is the only way to go. This can and will be the only deterrent against attacks on women and children in our democratic set-up.

The continued non-action of our governments in this matter is appalling. I mean, what are they waiting for? Vigilante justice to become rampant in this country?

Take the case of the Haryana tennis player who got molested by a cop 19 years ago. She killed herself in 1993, and the trial court has only reached the judgment now!!! Isn’t this sheer madness, an insult to the dignity and life of a minor girl? Think of the way the world has turned upside down in the last 20 years to give you an idea of completely non acceptable such a delay is. And even now, unless the media had got into the act, the guilty cop would have simply walked home.

As someone said, “In the history of the world, the true test of a civilization is how well people treat the most vulnerable and most helpless in their society.”
I am afraid we score a big zero on this parameter. Shame on us.

The Big Fat Indian Buffet

On a ‘package’ holiday, one part of the action that gives me the heebie-jeebies is the ‘free’, ‘complimentary’, buffet breakfast that hotels line up for us. I just can’t seem to handle these, and I usually end up parked in a lonely corner, ordering a la carte, and paying up big for it.
The reason is simple: we Indians totally lack the buffet consumption etiquette, and what should be a pleasurable activity, where you get to partake of various delicacies on display, turns into a nightmare, an event I totally don’t look forward to.
Here are some tips for readers on buffet behaviour, and I have compiled these after many unsuccessful attempts at this mother of all (mis)adventures.

•Just as it’s deeply offensive and uncivil to jump queues at malls, airports and ration shops, so is the case with buffet spreads. If you follow the food line, you will not only enjoy the ride, but reach your choice of platters smoother and faster. Jumping the line leads to chaos in the food chain, and I have seen people viciously elbowing each other out to get at that extra helping of coconut chutney. Makes no sense to me. Folks at the community bore-well queue are more chilled out. And yup, when you arrive for that second/third/fourth/tenth helping, it’s only correct and fair to rejoin the line. But I know this isn’t gonna happen anytime soon. Indians in general viscerally loathe the concept of queues.

•It’s never a good idea to unleash your kids into the buffet consumption process. With the mad frenzy that often gets underway, I have noticed children being trampled upon (ouch!), and I once spotted a little girl crushed between the legs of some heavyweight patrons. Also kids, quite naturally, struggle with the large food dispensers, the lids of some of these contraptions aren’t easy to pull, even for an 80 kg hulk like me. And so accidents become inevitable. A brat once dropped an entire container of steaming hot sambhar on my crotch. Sure, go ahead, laugh. The feeling isn’t funny though, trust me.

•Some groups (especially the undivided family wallahs) attack the spread in unison, much like a pride of lions. Now this is bad news for the rest, as this causes longer waiting periods, but it can’t be helped. I guess some people actually believe in the theory that ‘families that eat together, stay together’. Though I am quite certain whoever wrote that, didn’t have buffets in mind. But that’s cool. What gets my BP raging is the sight of some of these ‘Hum Aapke Hain Kaun?’ clans get involved in heated debates over which dish appears worth trying… the intense arguments over the merits and demerits of each item. Am sure that’s how families bond, but clearly this practice is unfair to folks waiting in the long queue. The correct thing would be to top up your plate, go to the table, and THEN gossip over the cuisine. Or play antakshri, or whatever it is that gets you off over breakfast.

•After you have richly dug into the container, the polite and hygienic thing is to shut the damn thing down. Hotel staffers do all they can to keep the dishes adequately warmed. Either setting them on simmer, or replacing them at the right intervals. Leaving the containers open not only cools the dishes swiftly, it also makes the khana vulnerable to assault from flies. Is that such a difficult thing to understand?

•I kid you not, some food lovers sniff right into the containers, before deciding if it’s aromatic enough for their refined taste buds. Others grope and feel each chapatti/bread before zeroing in on the chosen one. Do you really want me to explain why these acts are totally repugnant and unhealthy?

I could go on, and am sure you have your own list of buffet peeves. All we need to understand is that the concept of the buffet spread is to make the experience of eating brisk, varied and delightful. It’s not meant to be a game of skill, power and crude behaviour.

Hey, me no terrorist!

To give you an idea of how crazy our intelligence officers can be, here’s what happened when I ran into the Karnataka CM on my recent trip down south. The piece was carried in the Bangalore Mirror. (See below.)

However, before you read it, here’s what you must know about the trauma I faced practically all night after the short interview. I was surrounded by intelligence officers who suspected my background. They grilled me on my name, address, family history, criminal records (not kidding!), blood group, passport copies, ration card copies, hobbies, bad habits, vices… and I don’t even recall what else. The reason? I dared to interview the CM without an appointment!!! And without showing my press card.

Sometime after mid-night, completely pissed-off with this wild, senseless interrogation, I switched roles, and got after the sleuths instead. And then the real picture emerged. Apparently, their chief was maha upset with his officers, because they allowed me to meet the CM without frisking me first, and without demanding my visiting card!!! So they were trying to make amends by harassing the hell out of me. And that too for such a brief, non-scandalous interview! Now just imagine how these smart intelligence cats go about in their jobs to nab terrorists and Naxals.

Here’s the article:

A walk down the Kabini with Yeddy.

I ran into the CM quite accidentally last night. I was put up at the quite and picturesque Kabini River Resort, when sudden hurly burly woke me up from my siesta. I was informed the CM, Shri Yeddyurappa, will be coming over to stay for the night. In the adjoining Maharajah Cottage.
And he, along with his entourage, did so. As I walked out into the lush lawns in the evening for some fresh air, I found the CM doing exactly that, though there was great nip and stride in his amble. Quite understandable that, he had just emerged from possibly the biggest crisis of his long career.
And I asked for an unplanned interview. And to the CM’s credit, despite the fact that this was his day of rest, he gamely agreed. And we spent about 15 minutes stretching our legs and talking politics along the lawns of the swish Resort.
Here are some excerpts:

Sir, what brings you to the Resort? Taking a break from all the recent tensions?
Actually, I am on a thanksgiving journey. Yesterday I prayed at the Chamundi temple, and tomorrow early morning I have to go to pray at another temple close-by, and that’s the only reason I decided to stay at this Resort tonight. I want to thank God for helping me deal with this political crisis.

But Sir, is the crisis really over?
Yes, it is, all disagreements have been resolved, everyone is happy now.

But you had to make many compromises…
No, I am still the CM, and I will continue to work for the people of Karnataka. We are launching many infrastructure projects, especially in Bangalore. We are investing crores of rupees and you will see the results from within a year.

But Sir, media reports suggest that you have now been divested of many powers, and that will hinder your work.
Nothing like that has happened. And I would like to thank the press for all the support.

What was the core issue with the Reddy brothers?
It’s all amicably resolved now, we have to look ahead and work for the benefit of the people.

What are LK Advani’s instructions to you? What was his solution to solve the state’s political crisis?
The party leadership has asked me to take all the MLAs along as I function, so nobody feels ignored or left out.

Which means you were ignoring some colleagues all along, especially the Reddy brothers…
As I said, I have to take all the MLAs along, that’s the party’s thinking, and I will fully go along with it.

Sir, honestly, with all these compromises, do you really believe you will be able to perform effectively for the full term?
Of course, I will.

What made you cry in front of the cameras?
I was genuinely feeling bad for the people of Karnataka. I get very emotional about my people. It is they who have chosen us, and we are answerable to them. That we should have been paying more attention to their problems.
The BJP in Delhi is in disarray. Think this will affect the party’s state wing?
All issues have been resolved, we have full faith in the party leadership.

Who will you like to see as the party’s chief once Advaniji officially retires?
(At this point the CM closes the interview with folded hands. And continues with this long, relaxed walk down the beautiful Kabini. He deserves the break. Yeddy has a long, thorny and winding road waiting ahead in his political career.)

Lest we forget Kargil…

A friend asked me to upload an article I had written for Sunday Mid Day in July 2001, when General Musharraf arrived in India to a grand, grand welcome. And all this tamasha and shor sharaba was happening for the man who was the architect of the Kargil war. The man because of whom many of our brave soldiers lost their lives. Leaving many families shattered and permanently damaged.

I was really pissed off with the mushy welcome for Musharraf, and wrote this piece out of sheer angst and great frustration. It was basically satirical in nature, but by default, it helped us recall the sacrifices made by our brave men and women during the Kargil war. All these images were carried on one page, though I have scanned them separately for readability. The headline was: ‘In loving memory of the Kargil martyrs’.

Despite changing three houses since, I finally managed to locate the piece. And now it can be archived forever. Not just a vivid reminder of the bravery and sacrifice by our soldiers, but also a warning to the rest of us that we must never support the agendas of dirty netas who divide us based on caste, lingo and religion. These good men who died for the nation, for all of us, weren’t thinking language and religion when they took the bullets. Hope we never ever forget this.

A footnote: I have been honoured with a few prizes for my writings. But the biggest honour I received was for this piece from the mother of a slain Kargil soldier. Mrs Kapadia of Mumbai, who lost her only son Nawang, aged 19, in the Kargil war, sent me a miniature kukhri knife (Nawang served in the Kukhri regiment), with a note of appreciation.

That little kukhri will go with me to my grave.

Why Mumbai needs to worry.

Can you imagine ANY walk of life where a person/team is rewarded for non-performance? Well, it happens in Maharashtra politics, for sure. The Congress/NCP has been voted back in for making a total mess of the state.

And this has happened not because the voters are idiots, but because the state politics has been reduced to a one-horse race. With the sort of options available, especially key rivals like the BJP and the Sena, there simply is no choice for the voter. The BJP has been busy drafting its own obit all over the nation. And with Bal Thackeray a spent force today, and his son boasting of as much character and charisma as a safety pin, the victory for Cong was a given. This is like being invited to a buffet spread, and being made to choose between a stale vada, cow dung and, er, safety pins. Which is why it amazes me that in TV studio debates, they continue to wonder why the city doesn’t vote.

So even as the Congress bosses celebrate, they must understand that they are back in by default. And not by design.

But here’s why we Mumbaikars need to be worried:

Vastly emboldened, the ruling Congress will now take the state and the city for granted. Even more so than they ever did. They are now assured that they can sleep, sloth, plunder the city and grab lands openly, and life will simply move on. Why make an effort to work when it doesn’t electorally count at all?

They will continue to give a free reign to Raj’s goondas. Because he has become their most important ally. He is doing their dirty work by making sure the opposition remains exactly that… in the opposition. So the next time Raj decides to terrorise the city, like before, the state leaders will smile and look the other way. He is their most productive employee after all.

Meanwhile Raj, having hit the bull’s-eye with a divisive agenda, will now go all out with his plans. Because this brand strategy is rocking for him. So the migrants can look forward to many kicks and slaps in the coming future. And we can look forward to much violence on the streets. And this will be purely symbolic, and not much else. The illegal encroachments will go on, as they serve as Congress’ key vote banks. No hon, they aren’t going to be removed in a hurry. So the ultra parochial Marathi manoos can perhaps take delight in some bhaiyya getting his pants taken off now and then, but life for him/her will remain unchanged.

Gets worse. The Mr Safety Pin Uddhav will now finally understand that, a, he has no future in politics. And b, his ONLY chance is to go back to his dad’s tried and tested militant ways. Which means in the coming years, the two cousins will compete hard on who can unleash greater carnage on the streets of Mumbai.

Bottomline: Expect corruption, inefficiency, violence and hatred to scale new levels in the state. Jai Maharashtra!

My weekend date

Meet Tulsi Kamble. She’s all of 76 years young, and I date her every Diwali. Without fail. Come hale, high water or terror. And as always, we caught up for ‘chahaa’ on Saturday.

Here’s how it all began: Towards the late nineties, for a few years, I used to live in Powai, a Mumbai suburb. Tulsi used to work with me as, what we in Mumbai call, a ‘chhutta bai’. She’d arrive sharp at seven in the morn, do her number, and leave at around eight. Usually housemaids are ‘blind spots’… we know they are at work, but we don’t really take notice of them. (Unless you are one Shiney Ahuja, but let’s not even go down that road.)

However, what got me chatting with Tulsi was that she was the most unusual maid I had seen or hired. A weak, under-nourished, tottering elderly woman (most colony residents had refused to hire her), but always full of life and beans. Her eyes sparkling with joie-de-vivre, reflecting and spreading happiness and energy. She used to be more like a nagging granny to me than a maid. I cannot recount how many times she gave me an earful. For the odd cigarette, for leaving my used clothes all over the place, for messing up the kitchen, for not waking up in time to open the door for her. On one occasion, she nearly spanked me for yawning too loudly (in my defence, I had had a particularly late night). But almost always, she would surprise me with a plate of warm and delicious kandha poha.

Intrigued by her affectionately fearless behaviour, I ventured to know more about her life, and for her need to slog in her sunset years. This is what I learnt, in her broken Hindi and my broken Marathi: Tulsi had been widowed at a young age. Her two older daughters had married off and were gone. Her only son had dumped her. And the child she lived with, her youngest daughter, suffered from a serious case of both, physical and mental deformity. Tulsi had no option but to work, and work hard, not only to run her meager slum hutment, but to also pay for her child’s medical bills (which, as you can imagine, were always hurtful). And added to that, she was battling her own fears for her daughter’s future after she was gone.

What shook me to the core was this: here was this woman, living the worse life imaginable at this old age, and yet so full of life and joy and affection. It’s quite eye-popping when you imagine that we, the more privileged, get hassled and rattled at the most trivial things. Tulsi taught me the greatest lesson of my life, one that no teacher ever did: Keep your chin up, man, no matter what shit life throws at you. Because that’s the only way to live, to really live.

Some years later I said good-bye to Powai, and to Tulsi. My saddest memory is of her weeping uncontrollably as I wished her the final adieu. And my bitterest memory is of rebuking the almighty for bringing pain and suffering to the good people in this world.

But I swore to myself that this little bond we shared will not go away. That, every year, at least once, I would establish contact with Tulsi and ask her out for a date. And I ear-marked Diwali at that period. So that I must never forget. And that tradition lives on.

So then why am I sharing this story with you? Because here’s the other lesson I learnt: it doesn’t take much to bring a few moments of joy in the lives of people who are less blessed than us. Tulsi’s huge, huge excitement and exhilaration when she meets me, is to die for. She has never expected financial help from me, nor has asked for it. What matters to her is that I still care. I care that she’s a human being with feelings, I care that she exists, I care enough to take the time out to see her. Even if only once a year. The joy that I feel when I meet her is probably many times greater than hers. Because it helps me wash away the sins and follies I commit for the rest of the year. She, without realising it, plays the role of my conscience cleaner. And I thank her for it.

I am sure you do your own little charities, and you must. But often, more than financial help, it’s this little demonstration of affection that counts a lot to the people who the world has left behind. The children of the lesser god, so to speak. Tulsi makes me feel better as a human being, and I make her believe in humanity. I ensure she does not get overtly cynical about the world that clearly has no interest whatsoever in her. What can be a greater bond and exchange than that?

And yup, as long as both of us are alive, our Diwali date will go on. I would not miss that for anything.

Happy Diwali to all of you.

Sorry, sorry, sorry!

We saw what happened to Tharoor over a remark undoubtedly made in jest. He had to walk all the power corridors of Dilli to hold on to his job. Apart from the dirty politics at play, it was yet another reminder that we Indians sorely lack the ability to laugh at ourselves, we take ourselves much too seriously and self-importantly.

I have gotten into trouble umpteenth number of times too, even though I am far removed from the world of politics. I am aware it would be immodest to state that I have a wickedly funny streak in me, but I just did it. I mean, truth is that I have many problems with my decaying mind, but I do take myself a lot less seriously.

However, this makes my life in this not-so-smiley nation of ours fraught with peril. I find myself apologising for the most silly deeds/utterances. Half my life has gone saying sorry, I kid you not.

Let me give you only a few quick examples, that come to mind immediately.

At a party in Delhi, where I was working in an ad agency, I threatened to drop some beer over the head of a trade press journo who was always reporting unsavoury things about my agency. Instead of laughing it off, she went and lodged an official complaint with her big bosses in Mumbai. Accusing me of violent intimidation! Only a quick ‘sorry’ snipped out what was threatening to spiral into a corporate battle.

During my visit to the tsunami ravaged Nagapattinum, as I was chatting up with some survivors, standing by the sea, a chopper flew extremely low overhead. Someone screamed, “Jayalalitha! Jayalalitha!” And I could not help with ‘Duck for cover, guys… she’s crashing into us!’ A light remark made to bring some unexpected cheer to the sad survivors, who in fact had a good laugh. But I was quickly surrounded by the local cops and babus, who almost got me exported out of Tamil Nadu.

I once wrote in a newspaper column that an Ekta Kapoor serial, featuring a reclusive bachelor tycoon with a fetish for pets, was inspired from Ratan Tata’s life. It had the corporate cell of Tatasons call me for explanations and a ‘clear and unambiguous’ apology.

At an organisation I was an employee with, the lady HR head asked me to suggest one key improvement in the company that would help my team’s productivity rise. Since my guys had no real issues (except leaky toilets), I joked: ‘The HR girls need to have coffee with my boys.’ Promptly, I was summoned to the MD’s office to explain the remark.

Another time I wondered how the desi chauffeurs would pronounce the car’s name, when Skoda’s ‘Laura’ was launching in the market. And my computer crashed with the load of irate reader e-mails.

I could go on, this is endless, really. I have always believed the evolution of a nation cannot be measured by its GDP or nukes or medical science or architecture or its quality of life. It has gotta be by the ability of its citizens to laugh at themselves.

Sorry, if I have offended any reader!

Diary of a school re-union

I recently met up with my mates from school, about twenty of them, almost all of them after a staggering period of thirty years. The experience was both, exhilarating and disappointing at the same time.

Let me explain: quite obviously, it’s extremely gratifying to re-connect with lost childhood pals and colleagues. Not just for the emotions and memories at play, but also because we knew each other long before we met our respective partners, adulthood friends and work colleagues. School buddies are a part of one’s formative years, and the bonds and experiences we shared are singularly precious: unadulterated, uncorrupted, innocent and naïve. In other words, we knew each other long before the reality of the big bad world invaded our lives. Before we stepped into a sordid life of career ambitions, raising families, battling all the yorkers life throws at us… even survival (terror attacks have become more common in modern times than Rakhee Sawant’s appearances on TV).

I, like many of you, have been invited to college re-unions, management institute re-unions, office re-unions, family re-unions… and I have either ducked them, or have taken part in them as a ‘time-pass’ exercise. Have some pegs, indulge in some silly shoo-sha, discuss the weather, and then head for home. But a school re-meet is uniquely alluring. It’s a rarest of rare chance to catch up with purity and innocence again.

However, I was left a tad empty and disillusioned. The general feeling I got at our little gathering, is that people have irreversibly moved on in life, have been so hugely influenced by adulthood, that they no longer cherish the innocence of childhood. I was searching for lads and lasses at the re-union, I instead ran into very serious men and women. And some old fogies too. In parts, I felt I was participating in a corporate meet, a seminar, a heavy-duty conclave (gosh!). Had we sat an hour longer, we would have been discussing environmental pollution, Mumbai’s crumbling infrastructure and the stock market fluctuations. The guys were so damn formal, solemn and matter-of-fact. These weren’t folks I grew up with, they were complete strangers.

Some people feel I am being ‘childish’. That I am stuck in the past. Maybe they are right. But that’s pretty ironical, when you consider my chosen profession: my job is bloody serious. Serious as hell. As a journo, I constantly have to stare at, analyse and report on the dark underbelly of this nation. This 24X7 life rolling in dirt and grime can often be very depressing, it catapults you into adulthood in like nano-seconds.

Which is why, to be honest, I am a little rattled. Maybe the problem lies with me. Maybe I am too emotional of the past. Maybe I don’t move on easily. Maybe I value innocence more than the others do. Maybe I don’t live my life in water-tight compartments. I must be deranged! Dunno. No easy answers, I guess.

Grow up, SRK!

It was cringe-making, watching SRK whine endlessly on the TV channels all of Independence Day (he even managed to get the Red Fort and swine flu off the headlines), cribbing and carping about the extended security interrogation.
What’s the big deal, yaar? Every nation has the right to protect itself, to introduce processes and procedures that reduce chances of terror attack on its soil. If we don’t approve of its ways, there’s always that easy option: don’t go there!

SRK enjoys cult status in India, and within the NRI community abroad. They love, adore and revere the star, and clearly, all this insane adulation has gone to his head. He now expects every earthling to go down on him, and naturally, that’s not gonna happen. For an American security officer, the name Shah Rukh Khan means zilch. To him or her, all that matters is effective execution of the security protocol laid down in the book. And I admire them for this, I respect them for doing their jobs. If Muslims get peeved at being racially profiled at American ports, they must accept that it was Islamic fundamentalists who brought the twin towers down (and badly damaged America’s pride), so naturally people with Muslim names would be scanned a bit more than the rest. This is the way things are, and cannot be changed in the short run. Sadly, all the good Muslims of the world have to suffer because of the crimes committed by a few, but that’s the harsh reality. I mean, if it was a bunch of Parsis who flew aircraft into buildings, names like Mistry, Contractor and Karkaria would be scanned more carefully.

Star-loving Indians would argue that SRK is a global icon, and all that the ‘offending’ officer had to do was consult his/her ‘more informed’ Jet Airways colleagues. That’s true. But he/she won’t do that. One, because that’s not the option listed in the rule book. And American security officers are supposed to follow the rules (perhaps that’s a concept we desis just don’t understand). And two, even if the star gets recognised, how can one be 100% sure it really is SRK??? It could be a look-alike chappie from the by-lanes of Murdike, travelling on a false passport, courtesy Bin Laden! Remember, terror agents think ten steps ahead of security agencies. They innovate big, they are the guys with big ideas. (9/11 was the single biggest idea of the century.)

Net, net: SRK, like the rest of the adult world, should simply have taken the harsh questioning in the right spirit, and moved on. And if he gets pissed with these procedures, he must simply quit doing that nation. Two, I personally am very pleased by the news. If a demi-god can be scanned so hard, it makes me really feel safe travelling in that country. Good for you, America!

I entirely blame the media

By now, it is abundantly clear to every Indian that when shit hits the ceiling in this country, it’s each man or woman for his/her own. And if you still believe that the great Indian State will bail you out of the mess, then you must be a chap who still believes in Rakhi Sawant.

Whether it’s a terror attack or a flu virus, you will have to save your own arse. The government reps will only gas inside TV studios, the crooks will clean you out of your money, selling masks and meds in black, and the government run hospitals will ensure even if you didn’t contract swine flu, you got other deadly diseases, thanks to the utter lack of hygiene and discipline in their premises.

Which is why there’s chaos on the streets; people are running around like headless chicken, ignorant of what to do and who to run to when that dreaded sneeze arrives. So all we have is panic and more panic.

To my mind, the biggest villain of the story is the media. In a desperation to outdo one another on the blistering flu coverage, all they have done is to alarm the public, leading to mass hysteria in the hospitals and medical shops. Just imagine if this was 1984. The flu would have come and gone, possibly a few hundred people would have died (a thousand time more die of malaria, TB, car crashes, AIDS, common cold, dowry deaths, terror attacks and cancer), and life would have moved on as usual. For the affected, and the docs, the masks would have been easily available at the market price, and Tamiflu makers would not have made a needless killing.

All the media had to do was run basic safety precautions in a box on Page 10. Or a little section on a news bulletin, and that’s about it.

But try telling that to editors and content heads who would invent a problem to raise their TRPS and readership figures, if none existed. The virus exists!

‘VIPs’ MUST be frisked

While Kalaam hasn’t really expressed an offence at being frisked by Conti, he hasn’t yet come out and said, ‘Bugger off guys, that was no big deal.” And the lack of that rejoinder disappoints me about the nuke man.

Here’s what I think: EVERY single one of the so-called VIPs, especially the netas, MUST be frisked at airports, just as the rest of us aam janta. They are one of us, a part of us, and there’s no reason they should get special treatment.

In fact, this totally reprehensible VIP cult really gets me hopping mad, we forget that these netas aren’t our rulers and kings (last heard, we are a democratic nation, right), they are public servants, they are supposed to serve us, we, the people. And to a large extent, the crowning of the politicians is our fault, we have treated them like masters, we have spoilt them, we have encouraged them to behave like lords. (Is it any wonder then that one of them is busy building her own statues??) In many demo nations, leaders mingle freely with the janta, and expect no exclusive treatment. When I was in London, during the tube strikes, the city’s mayor grabbed his laptop and went to work along with the other passengers on a boat. Of course, he has a BMW, he simply used the moment to bond with the people, and to make a statement. I hope in our lifetime we make an effort to bring these godly figurines down to earth.

In any case, what’s the big deal about frisking? It just takes a few seconds, and if you are gay, it’s a joyful ride too. I feel sad for the airline. FIRs, show cause notices and threats to cancel the license for doing its job!!! Wow!

London diary in Outlook

http://outlookindia.com/diary.asp?fodname=20090720


(The images I shot at Lord's)

Too early to be gay and merry

Joke No 377 had to be modified, no two ways on that. If unnatural sex is criminal, most straights would be behind bars for indulging in ‘unnatural’ oral and anal sex.

However, what my gay friends need to come to terms with is this: the legal clause was never the problem, it remained only in them books. Just about no one was prosecuted for gay life, and I keep hearing these rubbish stories about blackmail by the cops… you can never catch people in the act, it happens behind closed doors. So if gay couples did give in to blackmail, it was probably because of fear of being ‘exposed’ before parents, pals, etc… which has nothing to do with the law.

Which then straight (unintended) brings me to the point I am making: The stigma and prejudice against homosexuality is not a legal problem, it’s not something a judge can order away with the stroke of a gavel. It’s a social problem, most people in this country haven’t accepted same-sex partners, and gays are almost always frowned upon or mocked at (watch Madhur Bhandarkar’s flicks for a demo). Gays are considered nature’s freaks, and it’s gonna take a very long time for these prejudices to go away. The law cannot change our beliefs, if that was so, untouchability has been declared illegal years ago, yet caste discrimination rages on across the country.

To me, this problem cannot be solved till we as a nation accept homosexuality as a trait of nature, a genetic issue, and accept it as a ground reality. And that is gonna take many, many years, maybe even decades.

So while my gay friends are celebrating on the streets, they must accept that this is a very small beginning in their long struggle to be accepted. A lot of work needs to be done, starting with public campaigns to reposition gay life in the ill-informed junta’s minds and hearts. It was never a legal problem, it’s a perception problem. Gays need communication experts and corporate honchos (to sponsor these efforts). And not lawyers and judges.

PS: One silver lining: For once, the sadhus and the mullahs and the priests have come together as one, in their protest against the modification of the clause. If nothing else, at least our homo pals made them agree on something! Gay ho!

What icon????

As expected, both, the Indian TV and print media is bustling with people paying weepy tributes to Jacko, as if they knew him as intimately as Bal Thackeray’s loo. Hiyuk, hiyuk. And the most appalling tribute: “The man was a great icon!!” Haha.

Here’s the problem with us: In our blind adulation (and desperation to be seen/read/heard in the media), we have become incapable of separating an individual from his/her body of work. Once we do that, the word icon will get forever banished from our vocab.

Here’s the deal: Though personally I never did dig his stuff (I found the dances and lyrics pretty juvenile), I have to admit Jacko was a great entertainer, a cool singer and a fab performer for his zillion fans. Some of his songs will live on, and when we hear them at some point in our lives, we will miss a heartbeat, recollecting our growing up years. It is also a fact that his talent had eroded in the last decade, but in any creative field burn-out is inevitable, so that part can be overlooked. So let’s pay tribute to his rare talent, and close the chapter.

But to call him an icon for the world is a travesty, a cruel joke. The man was a disaster, no less. How can a man who’s ashamed of his colour of skin, who admits to sleeping with kids, who dangles babies from a high-rise (and this list is long, so I won’t bore you further) be a role model by any stretch of imagination? The truth is, Jacko was indeed a whacko, a deranged, delusional individual (his ex wife Presley said that), a poor example for both, children and adults of this world. That is an indisputable truth.

Tomorrow, god forbid, but if something happens to people like Britney Spears, Salman Khan and Paris Hilton, even they will be called icons! Haha.

By the way, forget these air-headed sods, I don’t even refer to our greatest hero of all times, Bapu Gandhi, as a role model. I applaud his political ideologies (his work), but I deffy don’t show the other cheek to offenders, I detest khadi, and nope, celibacy is a strict no-no. :}

All the PM’s family men

So, the cabinet has been sworn in. Great. Let’s hope they can get some real work done now. (And in Mumbai we should be happy Vilasrao will now exercise his famed inertia in Dilli). My only grouse is this: a vast number of sods who will rule us for the next five years are some or the other mantri’s beta or beti. Or nephew or niece. Which means despite Congress’s massive win, despite all the promises, merit has once again gone to the dogs. Dynasty continues to rule, and outsiders can keep waiting exactly there: outside.
Guess some things never change. Wish my dad was a neta. I would have been made for generations to come, instead of blogging for free. Humph!

Check my new blog

Hi, for the next few weeks I am posting at:

http://www.myspace.com/anilthakraney

See you there!

Cheers

No country for old men

With a vast majority of our population under 30, it’s absolutely crazy that we continue to be ruled by geriatrics. People like Advani should be playing toy games with their great grand kiddies in the lawns of their retirement villas.

The problem is not just the age itself, but these old folks’ complete disengagement with the rapidly changing world, its attitude and its beliefs.

Which is why while what the populace really wants is security, infrastructure and opportunities to fulfill their career ambitions, what we are promised is temples and masjids in moffusil towns. And hatred against communities.

Which is the big reason why so many of us don’t vote. Put in younger candidates with proven credentials, people we connect with, then see what happens at the voting booths.

Also, I just don’t understand one thing: if there is retirement age fixed in all other professions (including the public sector), why must it be any different for politics? In fact, when it comes to running such a complicated nation, we badly need people out there who are fit in mind and body. Surely the time has come for the Supreme Court to take a look at this issue.

A rider: when I say younger people, I don’t necessarily mean dynastic politics. (Look at the joker Sanjay Gandhi has begetted.) We need fresh blood into the system, and that ain’t gonna happen until the hot seats are vacated by the dinosaurs.

So it’s all very well to run campaigns asking youngsters to vote, but what’s the point if in the end we land up having the same old fogies decide our destiny?

mutalik interview

http://www.mid-day.com/news/2009/mar/070309-Pramod-Mutalik-Shri-Ram-Sene-Oscar-awards-A-R-Rahman-pubs-dating-Gandhiji-western-nations.htm

Lock your homes!

I keep getting castigated for refusing to cast my vote. And no one buys my theory that there’s no one out there worthy enough of my vote, and the advice is to, at the very least, go for the least of all the evils on display.

Okay, so even if I buy that argument, and forget about my beers and stand in line at some municipal school to exercise my so-called democratic right, there’s still one unresolved problem.

Even after a government gets elected into power, we the citizenry are left to be governed by alternative self-appointment governments, who not just dictate our lives, but call the shots in terms of politics and policies. So then why bother with the election process at all?

The Shiv Sena and its offshoot have already been doing their number on us in Maharashtra. Now some org called Ram Sene has sprung up in Karnataka. The VHP and their sisters have been telling us what to do and what to believe in for years now. They are deciding how we live, what we wear, what we do, etc. And the most sensational issue is the elected governments cannot protect us from these parallel sarkars, either because they can’t or they don’t want to. Which makes me think in the world’s largest democracy, the people actually running the show are those not elected, or not even in the fray! So much for all the moral education on the importance of casting the ballot.

Now, here’s my greater fear: So far these illegal sarkars have been tormenting us on the streets. They have now reached the pubs, multiplexes and offices will surely be next up. And soon, they will want to enter our bedrooms to ensure we live as per their predecided norms. Don’t laugh, this could easily happen. A few years ago people would have laughed at the idea of girls being beaten for hanging out at a pub.

So what’s to be done, since the ‘official’ governments won’t help us? It’s each man and woman for his own. We will need to spend and invest in our own security. Double locks, burglar alarms, etc. I am looking out for firearms these days. They may not be of much help against Mr Kasab, but will help when Mr Mutalik knocks on my door at midnight.

And am deffy not voting as usual. Cos it doesn’t count.

Er, aren’t we going OTT?

I really don’t wish to be a party pooper for the swinging actors and support staff of Slumdog, it’s not often your work gets noticed on a global scale, and that too at the Oscar soiree. And therefore I quite understand some degree of excitement. It’s another matter, of course, that till the goras don’t recognise our work, we haven’t achieved real glory, and I wonder when that medieval mindset will evolve. I mean, we don’t need some faceless Oscar jurors to tell us Rahman is a genius, we knew that a decade or so ago.

Fact of the matter is, SM is a Brit film, produced, directed, shot and written by Brits. Purely for the international audiences. That the setting happens to be India is really our only role to play in this western production. The setting could easily have been Congo or Chile or Bangladesh, and the story of rags to riches and triumph of love would have worked equally well. And once the setting becomes India, obviously the producers would need the locals to provide the local touch. Clearly, for a movie set in Mumbai, Robert De Niro could not have played the police inspector and Tom Cruise could not have played the game show host and Pearl Jam would not be chosen to score the music track.

Also, Bollywood stars like Anil Kapoor and Irfan Khan play minor, support roles, so I just don’t get the balle balle they have been noisily doing all over TV studios. Looking at the way Kapoor has been going all out to milk the film, one would imagine he has been nominated for Best Actor at the Academy awards for Roop Ki Raani, Choron Ka Raja or something like that. If at all, the two Indian gents who should be doing these OTT gigs are Rahman (who did a great job as always) and the writer of the book on which SM is based. And the last two appear the most dignified in what is clearly Danny Boyle’s moment, a Brit moment.

The other reason it’s laughable to even suggest this is an Indian film, is the treatment. The absolutely high-octane, super-fast back and forths, and the highly mobile camera work is the sort of treatment that works in the west. In India, we prefer linear stories, shot with ease and labour to let the emotional quotient flow smoothly. I stick my neck out and forecast that in India, this film will only do well only in the metro multiplexes and that too mainly because of the hype. It’s NOT meant for desi consumption, our masses will neither comprehend nor appreciate this sort of jagged cinema.

Which is also why I get amused when I hear protests about Boyle exploiting our slums. There’s no question of that happening in SM simply because the film runs at a nuclear pace, and the camera angles are so wild and angly, no frame stays with you for more than a second. So that argument is rubbish. I have seen more poverty and destitution in zillions of Bollywood films. And you know why Boyle treated the film thus? Because it’s meant for western consumption, their audiences would hate a film that lingers depressingly on the lives of our slumworld. And it’s not because Boyle is sensitive to the subject. He never made the film for us.

Bottomline: Guys, do party by all means. Just keep a lid on things out here. It’s not very classy to feed on someone else’s work and ideas.

Ramalinga Raju did no wrong

The reason why the Satyam dude did what he did, is cos he must have felt he’ll get away with it. And he probably will, once all the dust settles and the media focus shifts to the next terror attack.

It’s the same reason violent men rape women with impunity. Netas and babus fatten their Swiss accounts. RTOs dish out driving licenses like dog biscuits. Cops turn into paid encounter killers. Rioters burn and loot at free will. Intelligence officers watch T20 cricket matches ignoring warnings. Striking oily men hold the entire nation to ransom. And this list is endless. It’s the same reason… we’ll get away with it.

We either don’t have the laws, or we don’t have the will to implement them, or lack the machinery required to enforce them. Which encourages people to turn into rogues.
Unless we instill the fear of punishment into our collective psyche, unless we believe we WON’T get away with it, we will continue to make a joke out of this nation.

So there’s no point in fishing out the knives for Ramalinga Raju. He is one of us, he only behaved in a way the rest of us Indians do.

The only way forward is to totally re-invent the law in this land. Where justice is done swiftly and proportionately to the crime, and is SEEN to be done.
The question is: the people who should be doing the above are the ones that will get the most hit, so why would they bother?

So let’s quit castigating chors like Raju. We are all Rajus in one form or another.

Thot for the day

Received this as a text msg. Sad, but true:
"Politicians divide us, terrorists unite us."