Where did Keenan go wrong?

There’s this guy called Keenan Sentos who was killed when he and his pals objected to some drunken mawalis teasing their lady friends. This happened in Mumbai, and crime happens every hour in the city, so this is nothing really sensational.

However, the incident set me thinking, because this sort of a thing can happen to any one of us in public places. No one knows for sure what really transpired at that paan shop in Andheri, but we know this much: The group was waiting for their paans to be prepared. A couple of drunkards teased the girls in the group. The men objected, and either abused or slapped the drunkards. The drunkards returned with a large gang which attacked and killed Keenan, apart from injuring his male friend. Thankfully, the girls got away unharmed.

Question is: What is the learning from this tragedy for the rest of us? What exactly went wrong? Should we not protect and stand up for women with us? Of course, we must. That’s a given. A chap may wimp out, out of fear, but it will torment his conscience forever. At least that’s the traditional view point. So where did Keenan & gang go wrong? Frankly, I have no answers. And hindsight is always smart, but to live in the moment is another story altogether.

Still, here’s what’s buzzing in my head: When a drunken man teases your female partner/pal, there’s really no point in attacking him. The man is not in his senses, and is capable of any sort of reaction. The idea should be to move away from the scene as quickly as possible. Is moving away a sign of cowardice, should not a man take some direct action against the offender? Not really. I think for a man, the first responsibility is to get the woman with him into a safe zone. Her safety is paramount. If this is tantamount to escaping a volatile situation, so be it. Make no mistake about this: Any man who takes panga with sozzled mawalis is compromising the safety of women with him. And there’s nothing macho about that.

Two, after having fobbed off the drunkards, Keenan and his pals continued to wait for their paans. Now, however out of the world the paan might be, doesn’t it make sense to quickly leave the area? To get away from a place of potential conflict? Isn’t continuing to hang around there a sign of recklessness?

Like I said, I don’t know the answers. If you do, you are welcome to share. I am only thinking aloud. Because while Keenan’s death is irreversible, it must serve as an example for all of us so that we don’t repeat the same mistakes.

There’s something about Anna

So then how did this obscure, unknown old man manage to capture the nation’s collective imagination? Why is the junta, cutting across social, caste, religious and regional divide, whole-heartedly supporting him? What has gone into the making of the mighty Brand Anna?

Here are three possible explanations:

1. There has been a crisis of leadership in this nation for a long time now. People of India sorely miss a leader they can respect and trust. The last formidable leader we had was Mrs Indira Gandhi (despite her short comings) and there has been none of note after her death. Rajiv Gandhi flattered to deceive. Atalji could have been that leader but he owed his allegiance to a highly communal parent, and the Gujarat riots happened under his watch. Apart of these two, our leaders have been either inefficient or corrupted or both.

In this scenario, out of the blue, trots in a man endearingly called Anna. And using the forgotten methods of Bapu, he promises to clean up the nation. He has no shady past, he seemingly has no affiliation to a political party, he stands for non-violence, and tells us things we want to hear. It’s simple, really. Anna Hazare has quietly occupied a vacant slot in this nation. That of a leader we were all looking for. And I daresay if a referendum was to be held in this nation tomorrow on who should be our PM, 99.99% of the people will choose Anna. And the rest would opt for Dr Manmohan Singh. Such is the crisis of leadership in the nation.

It must also be noted that a vast majority of the populace has no idea what the Lok Pal bill stands for and how it will cure the scourge of corruption. People aren’t rooting for the bill, that’s just a symbolic tool…. they are rooting for Anna, the leader of the masses.

2. In politics, perception is more important than reality. No one knows if Anna Hazare has a hidden agenda behind his Lok Pal crusade, no one knows if there are secret forces propelling his march, no one knows if what he really wants is a grand entry into politics. And frankly, no one cares. All this nation is clamouring for is a clean leader who can get things done. All we are looking for is an honest, decent, go-getter messiah. And Anna fits into that perception very nicely. The Congress leaders tried very hard to kill that perception, they tried to fling crap at Hazare by calling him corrupt, but it didn’t work. Because no one cares, really. So what if he blew up two lakh rupees on his birthday, we asked. That’s a bloody paltry sum compared to the looting and plundering the Congress has done on this nation for decades. It’s the perception that’s the most important thing. Anna can do no wrong, we have already decided that in our minds.

3. What also seems to be working for Anna is his immensely charming persona. He LOOKS like a man we can trust. And when it comes to leadership, don’t underestimate this factor. He is 70+, a senior citizen, and still wants to bring about change in a nation in which he realistically speaking has no personal stake. This makes him a crowd favourite. Indians are emotional people, and we can’t sit back and do nothing when an old gent is out there fighting for our rights. In addition, Anna LOOKS like a really sweet grandpa, Santa Clause if you will. He is the father figure we never had. He is the affable Dadaji we want in the house. He is that cute teddy bear we all adore. We all want to reach out to him, protect him, hold him. Once again, don’t underestimate the importance of his personality, it is playing a huge role in his success. Just imagine for a second, even with all his noble intentions, if he looked like Om Prakash Chautala or HD Deve Gowda. The crowds would have vanished a long time ago.

CAUTION: FOR ADULTS ONLY!

This post is meant for those who enjoyed the filthy language of Delhi Belly. Those who made this absolutely (and literally) crappy film a huge box office success. Those who believe obscene cinema is equal to great cinema. Those who believe hurling and hearing gutter words in public places is a hip and cool thing to do. And those who are happy that the bar has been lowered really low in Hindi films.

I was thinking if Mr Delhi Belly Aamir Khan were to re-write classic Hindi film dialogues, how will they read? Here’s a golden collection. You can add your own.

Now, some of you will enjoy these. The rest will get repulsed. I am hoping, really hoping, you belong to the latter group. In any case, alas, you are probably reading the future of dialogues in Bollywood films.

“Sara shahar mujhe Bose DK ke naam se jaanta hai.”

“Bh.. wa Mogambo khush hua!”

“Ch… ye, kitne aadmi the?”

“You b……d, main tumhaare b…..d bachche ki maa banne waali hoon!”

“Kanoon ki g….d bahut badi hoti hai!”

“Ruk ja! Kanoon ko apne haath mein mat le! Apne l… d ko apne haath mein le le!”

“Yeh dhai kilo ki g… d jab phat ti hai, aadmi unth ta nahin, ch…d jaata hai.”

“F…… g taareekh pe F…… g taareekh pe F…… g taareekh pe F…… g taareekh!”

“Aapke t.. ts bahut khubsoorat hain. Inhe choli ke peeche rakhna, nahin to maile ho jaayenge!”

“Ek m…… d machchar aadmi ko hijra bana deta hai.”

“Senorita, bade bade shaharon mein aisi f… k all baatein hoti rahti hain.”

“Pushpa, you b… ch. I hate tears.”

“What’s your f… king name, Basanti?”

And the culpability of the parents?

Very recently, there have been a few cases of suicides reported in Mumbai, by young married women who were allegedly tormented by the in-laws. In at least two cases, the unfortunate, desperate ladies also took the lives of their little children, and I can’t think of a sadder tragedy. Remember, such incidents that happen in urban India get a wide media coverage. One can only imagine the number of similar suicides in India’s heartland, most of which don’t get reported. Or even noticed.

And quite rightly, criminal cases are filed against the in-laws. Most of them don’t reach their logical conclusion, as abetment to suicide is almost always oral, therefore difficult to prove in a court. And the accused often don’t leave footprints behind. So the cases inevitably collapse, and the alleged culprits walk free. But that’s another story.

What disturbs me is the role (or the lack of it) of the girl’s parents in these gruesome incidents. That never gets discussed, never gets investigated, and perhaps if it was, the rate of such suicides may actually reduce. Let’s never forget that when a dependent woman gets harassed by her in-laws, her only recourse for help, emotionally and otherwise, is her parents, brothers and sisters. And if that doesn’t happen, if her folks are unable to provide support and understand her predicament, the poor woman has nowhere to turn to. And this helplessness could be a key catalyst for killing oneself.

Questions that need to be asked: Did her parents agree to give dowry during the marriage? If so, they have already participated in the sad outcome. Most in-laws who crave dowry will never be satiated with a one-off payment, and much like blackmailers, will keep returning for more. Did the parents insist that the tormented woman ‘somehow’ make the bad marriage work, to ‘compromise’ and live with her wicked in-laws? Did they fling the stigma of ‘social badnaami’ of a broken marriage in her face? Did they offer to support her financially when she expressed the desire to move back with her family? Did they take her frantic phone calls seriously? Were they there for her??? Questions, questions, questions. And they never get answered.

Point is: Sure, put the errant in-laws under serious pressure. But parents must also do some hard soul searching on how they contributed to their daughter’s death. Directly or indirectly.

Hum sab chor hain

I am quite certain a vast majority of the Hazare fans have little idea of what exactly the Lok Pal bill is all about. And no, they don’t even care. Basically, the citizens were waiting for an opportunity to vent their frustrations out on the corrupt netas, and Hazare sahib provided that platform. In fact, I think the real turning point of the movement was when a group of feisty volunteers kicked some politicians out of Jantar Mantar. That gesture made many fence sitters jump to the side of Hazare. We are all Annas now. And we want the dirty, slimy, creepy chor netas punished. Big time.

Fair enough. I think the angst is more than justified. The politicians of India have been sucking the nation dry since independence, and it was high time the usually apathetic nation revolted. So far so good. And surely the Lok Pal bill will be passed under Anna’s watchful eye, and corrupt practices amongst the political class will get a little controlled.

However, simply fixing the dirty netas isn’t the solution. Because corruption runs in our arteries, we have all contributed to it, we are all corrupt, we are all chors. Because in our raging anger, we seem to have overlooked one key factor in the equation: It’s just not possible for our leaders to be corrupt unless we, the people, are corrupting them. So the source of bhrashtachaar is actually us. Not the netas. We give them votes in exchange for television sets. Industrialists ‘donate’ them funds in exchange for licenses, permits and other favours. We fall at their feet when they ‘grace’ our lives with their whirlwind visits (thus acknowledging them to be our monarchs and mai baaps). We are happy to bribe them to get our kids into good schools, secure government jobs, get plum transfers, get water connections, get jhopadpattis legalized, get out of legal troubles… the list is endless. And worse, we also ensure the babus, the police force, the custom officers, the municipality clerks, the lower court judges, the RTO dudes, the IT officers, etc, etc, also get bribed so we can benefit out of turn in every walk of life.

In short, we have made the nation corrupt. We are the real chors out here.

So yes, by all means support Anna. More power to him! By all means stand up for the nation. By all means diss the greedy netas. By all means wear the ribbons and the topis and the badges.

But do also take a moment off and stare at the mirror. Long and hard. The root of the problem is staring you in the face.

6 reasons why India will not win the Cup

No, this post isn’t a knee jerk reaction to last night’s incredible loss to South Africa. Have been meaning to write this for some time, but was stuck with more pressing matters.

1. Crowds: Historian Ramachandra Guha said this to me, and I totally agree with him. The intense crowd pressure and the explosive media hype gets into the heads of our cricketers. And they succumb to it. Only Sachin and Veeru are immune to it… the former because he’s mentally strong, and the latter because, a la Salman Khan, he lives on another planet. India will always find it difficult to win a big cricket tournament in India. Their best bet is the foreign soil. History will bear this out. And those crazy ads like ‘Jeetana padta hai’ egg on the crowds to go madder and more unreal than they already are.

2. Sachin: The entire attitude has been all wrong. And the Aussie players, who we chronically accuse of indulging in ‘mental degradation tactics’, were actually right about it. The players want to win the Cup for Tendlya. That is both, stupid and morale deflating. You play for your country and not an individual. However godly his status. It is always about the team. This impetuous on Sachin may be de-motivating the others in what is very clearly a team sport. The 1983 Cup and the 2007 T20 Cup were won because there was no god in the team. Everyone was equal, everyone pitched in equally. That is the reason the Aussies consistently win. They have no gods. Incidentally, this attitude also puts needless additional pressure on Tendulkar.

3. Dhoni: India’s ‘lucky mascot’ is slowly losing his lucky charm. All the talk about India’s best ever captain has affected his mind set. And the cool, earthy approach of the past has given away to an egoistic temperament. His seems to be indulging in nepotism (sub standard players are being selected over meritorious ones). And the impression going around is you have to suck up to the captain if you want to retain your place. That is a disaster. Not just for a sports team, for any organization. Also, the bad ego. If the media says Piyush Chawla is bad news, Dhoni MUST select him to prove them wrong. Another disaster. One more thing: Dhoni has forgotten the art of solid batting. Big loss, that.

4. IPL: The IPL has diluted the hunger to succeed for some of our boys. This is perhaps also why they are all busy sprouting beer bellies. Consider this: Gautam Gambhir has just been credited with 11 crore rupees in a single year by Shah Rukh’s team. That’s serious money in the kitty already. Ditto with Yusuf Pathan. How much does it matter to them then if we win or lose the World Cup? Their life is already sorted out, man. And I am not even going down the endorsements road.

5. Pathetic bowlers.

6. Even more pathetic fielders.


Yes, despite all the above, we could win. Because all it takes in a limited overs match is for a rival team to have a bad hair day. However, we need to get real about our expectations. And we need to keep the emotions in check. A tough ask with Indians, for sure.

What to do about these uglies?

Mumbai Mirror has been running a terrific campaign against those illegal, sick and ugly posters that politicians and their chamchas put up all over the city. If the traffic doesn’t boil your blood, these slimy ‘art works’ certainly do.

Now while the Mirror’s effort is laudable, sadly, nothing will change. After some hurried pull downs, these eye sores will be back with a bang once the dust has settled. And the newspaper has moved on to another compelling issue. This is because chamchagiri is at the heart of Indian politics (even Sonia Gandhi richly rewards sycophants), so the sucker posters will go on.

So then what’s the long term solution? I can think of only one way. There are these sadistic youngsters who, because of not much life of their own, go around town in the nights spray painting on cars and walls. This is a criminal deed for sure, but we need to find a way to channelise their excess energies into something positive. Something for which we can thank them rather than curse them.

I really wish these dolts would do their number in the middle of the night on these sad posters. Deface them with spray paint. Carve out moustaches, devil horns, and other unprintable lovelies. So that when the netas drive out in the mornings to enjoy the chamchagiri, they squirm and panic and order immediate removal of these rocking posters. And with time, the frightened chamchas will quit this practice and stick to sucking up in other ways.

Anyone reading in know these ‘spray artists’, please spray the word!

Post card from a hospi

Between Christmas and New Year, the best imaginable thing happened to me. I found myself admitted into a hospital. For the very first time in my life, so it’s a lovely memory that shall remain with me. Although I was sedated, dazed and confused all along (as is the case with most patients), a couple of observations need to be recorded.

I checked myself into a ‘twin sharing’ room (a fatal mistake in hindsight). While this helps keep the bills in check, it’s also the correct thing to do given the paucity of hospi beds in this country. Additionally, the idea of a single room with a television set doesn’t appeal to me. There’s something not right about watching a cricket match while in the next room a poor cancer stricken bugger chokes over his own blood and passes away, followed by loud wails from his near and dear ones. This actually happened one evening. I heard two sounds at one go. Sobs of a newly turned widow, and crowds going ballistic at the fall of a wicket. And this dual audio play is nerve wrecking to say the least.

Yet, the ‘twin sharing’ room concept doesn’t work in India. I was hoping that just as it happens in the film ‘The Bucket List’, I would, as Jack Nicholson did, find my Morgan Freeman and together we’d take off on a road trip and do all the things we always wanted to do before death comes calling. What I encountered instead was a nightmare. Because that repugnant Indian habit of giving a damn for the other guy extended itself into the hospital: Loud cell phone conversations that go on and on well into the night. Relatives of the patient conducting their private businesses while pretending to show support for the patient. People arriving in hordes (by deceiving the hospital guards) to check on a single patient. Exactly as they do at airports to see off a relative flying to Pune for the weekend. I kid you not, at one point, there were 11 sods who’d come together to meet the chap on the next bed. And that’s when I lost my cool and had them all bodily ejected. And of course, these hordes use the patients’ toilet. So if sickness doesn’t make you retch, the foul odours from the washroom will.

To all those reading in, one humble request: Okay, give a shit about my space and rights at all public places, but can you not show a modicum of empathy in a hospital? Is that too much to ask for?

Net result: I am checking into a single room the next time (and I do hope that time never comes!). Even if my budget and my conscience doesn’t permit it.

The doctors were fantastic, but a special word for those souls who work their hearts out but get basic pay and little recognition: The nurses. Although I was not in my senses at most times, I recall three sisters vividly, though all of them were very caring and helpful. There was Ranjita in the ICU, who took all my pain away one evening by chatting with me on Maharashtrian cuisine and politics. And we spoke in Marathi on how to prepare delicious misal, on how the Shiv Sena operates and where it’s going wrong. The only time she blushed was when I asked details about her boyfriend. I later realised she did all this to keep my mind away from the deep discomfort I was in.

Then there was Anitha in the ICU again. Who treated me a like a family member. She didn’t balk for a second while swabbing my body, including the shameful parts. And she removed all the tubes from my body without using pain killers, and I didn’t feel the slightest pain. Because all along she smiled widely and in her Mallu accent, kept regaling me with fun episodes from her long lost village in Kerala. With Anitha around, you don’t need pain killers. She is the pain killer.

And then there was Jeenamol who took great care of me on the last two days. And made sure she rounded off my exit on a happy, delightful note. We became buddies by the time I caught the elevator to leave. And we did a little high five to ring in the New Year, much to the scandal of the on-looking CCTV cameras.

Why am I telling you all this? These sisters are angels in disguise. Khuda ke bande hain yeh log. They earn a pittance and have a near zero personal life. Make them smile while they take care for you, in case you land up in a hospital. Address them by their names. Thank them. That’s all they need from you. That’s all they need to feel a bit happy in their otherwise totally dreary lives.