My driver’s lunch dabba

A chance conversation with a friend got me curious about my driver’s lunch box. So yesterday I went across to the parking lot at lunch hour, to suss exactly what he eats for lunch. And I was left stunned and depressed at what I saw: Three thin chapattis and one small katori of chutney. That’s it! No sight of any basic veggies, forget richer stuff.

So I asked him the reason for this boring lunch. And what he told me is exactly what one feared was happening: His family has quit buying sabzis for a long time, they can’t afford them anymore. It’s only on a Sunday that they ‘celebrate’ with daal or a veggie. And yes, this deadly diet is also what his little school going kids consume.

One can safely extrapolate from this example, and we would not be wrong to assume millions of lower middle class Indians aren’t eating properly anymore. The ridiculously high prices of veggies has knocked them out of the food chain. Now, poverty and malnutrition isn’t new to India, it has been on since Indra Gandhi’s stupendously failed ‘Garibi Hatao’ joke. Except now, even the lower middle class isn’t able to purchase basic food items, they seem to have been pushed further down into the lowest spectrum of India’s populace.

So then what are we doing? We are busy spawning a whole new malnourished, weak generation in this nation. Kids, who when they grow up, would perhaps be physically and mentally ill-equipped to deal with life. Because even the most basic nutrition is not available to them in their formative years. Because their parents can no longer afford to prepare a decent meal at home.

And while all of this is happening, as the prices of pulses and veggies go beyond the reach of the Congress’s beloved aam aadmi, we are hearing words like The Nuclear Deal. World’s Next Super Power. Economic Giant. Global Leader. World’s Human Resource Capital. Fortune 500 Industry Leaders. And we are blowing up multi-billion dollars on a travesty called the Common Wealth Games, which will regale a few, and has already lined the pockets of the already rich. And while a whole lot of grain lies dead, for rats and other rodents to feed on.

I don’t think Sonia Gandhi and her geriatric boys are aware of what my driver eats for lunch these days. I don’t think they care. But then they must not be surprised when things like Naxalism happen. When crime levels rise. When people resort to violence to be heard. They must not be surprised when one day the mal-nourished Indian junta decides to hit back. With whatever little strength their bodies can conjure up.

Post card from the sky

So this happened on the emergency exit seat of the Kingfisher flight from Bom to Del. Two seats, and another one near the aisle, a fold-back for the airhostess to sit during landing and take off.

I am at the window seat, pretending to be asleep. On my left, a high-flying suit. During take-off, the air-hostess occupies her seat. The conversation between the two went on like this:

He: Hi, I am (can’t mention his name, unfair!). Do you often fly this sector?

She: Yes, sir. I am from Delhi, so this route is good for me.

He: So you are from Delhi! I like Delhi girls, they are all very sweet.

(She faintly smiles.)

He: I am based in Calcutta. But I was at work in Bombay, and am flying to Delhi for a very important high level meet.

She: All the best for that, sir.

He: Oh, that’s okay. No big deal. I am the Vice President of (can’t mention the name of the company, unethical!), so these are routine meetings.

(She smiles. Someone’s mobile goes off, she rushes to check on that, since it’s take-off time, and then returns to the seat, frowning.)

He: Some people never learn! So I was saying, I went to sleep at four in the morning, had a very late night. So I missed the Jet flight in the morning, and had to book this one. I usually fly business class, but my secretary booked me economy on this one due to last minute pressure.

She: That’s very nice, sir.

He: Which hotel do you stay in Delhi? Or will you go home?

She: I will have to stay in the company guest house, since I fly back tomorrow early morning.

He: No hotel? Poor you! Must be because of the recession!

(The flight is airborne now, the seat belt sign is off. She gets up and leaves. All through the flight the suit tries his best to chat me up as well, when I am not ‘sleeping’. I do what I am best at in these situations: give out a bad vibe.)

Next conversation: At landing time. The air hostess is back.

He: Oh, hello again! I was saying I was at this party last night. I ran into some very interesting people. Anurag Basu, Subhash Ghai, Karan Johar… Have you seen Udaan?

She: No, sir. But I hear it’s a nice film.

(At this stage the suit whips out his Blackberry, and quickly opens the images folder. And shows the pics to her. Not realising his phone is supposed to be in the off-mode.)

He: See, here I am drinking wine with Karan. And there, that’s Malaika Arora in the comer…

She: (Glancing at the pics.) That’s nice, sir. You must have had a great time. But you need to switch off your phone, sir…

He: Oh yes yes, just wanted to show you some pics.

(Goes silent for a few seconds.)

He: I was thinking, maybe we can catch up in Delhi…

She: (Smiles.) Yes, we could, Sir.

He: Maybe we can check out that superb new restaurant at Hauz Khas. Manish Tiwari, a great pal of mine, recommended it. I am in a BMW taxi all day… I can pick you up…

(She smiles. She glances in my direction, out of worry perhaps, but I am ‘asleep’.)

She: Sir, let’s see…

He: I was thinking, if you give me your number, I can call you…

She: (Only smiles.)

He: Come on, lady! One drink! Will be fun!

She doesn’t respond. The flight has come to a halt, and she flees from her seat.

Defeated, the suit looks in my direction. I am ‘wide awake’ now. He gives me a sheepish smile. “Hi. You live in Delhi, Sir?’

Why, Viveka, why?

Here’s what I wrote when Nafisa killed herself. While we still don’t know why Viveka did ditto, it’s a good time to visit it again. No, we effers still aren’t worth it.
(Click on the images to enlarge.)

Why must we care about these people?

Here’s what surprises me about the Mukesh/Anil saga: wonder why their story hasn’t been turned into a TV soap as yet. It’s got all the ingredients that can keep the nation hooked for weeks, months, even years together. Business rivalries, stock manipulations, political machinations, raw ambitions and naked greed, family fall-out, court cases, serious bad blood and most importantly… kitchen politics.

Ah, kitchen politics. I have always believed (and I recall writing about this five years ago in Sunday Mid Day), the seed of the break-up was actually planted in the Sea Wind rasoi ghar. Abominable though it may sound, I deeply suspect the chain was triggered by a clash between Nitaben and Tinaben. Hard to prove, but quite plausible. We mustn’t forget the massive egos at play out here… Anil is only two years younger to his bro, and just for that reason alone, he would be loathe to playing second fiddle all this life. Something no man, or more significantly, a wife would digest.

But here’s the important question: Why must we care about the Ambani feud? How does a private family break-up affect us? (The Ambanis are, after all, self-serving businessmen, like all businessmen are, and couldn’t care if the rest of us lived or died.) Well, unless you are a shareholder in their companies, you shouldn’t care. 99% of the nation has nothing to do with the brothers directly. And yet, we seem very interested in their lives. Why so? The obvious answer is because they are very rich and very famous, and therefore evoke interest among the masses. Sure, that’s a good enough reason. But I think it’s deeper than that.

I think it’s gotta do with the fact that we Indians are deeply emotional people. We believe in family, or at least want to believe, and we don’t like the idea of brothers fighting. Which is why the conflict between Arjun and Karan of Mahabharata saddens our collective hearts. Which is why countless hit Hindi films have been made about brothers itching to die for one another. We want families to stay together and be happy. We want happy endings. Period.

I think more than anything else, the recent thawing of the Ambani’s icy-cold relationship makes us happy on that level. We are the Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Ghum people. Irrational, but so be it. Not financial, it’s emotional, and that’s what defines us.

Anyway, to go back to the kitchen, I suspect the best bet for the brothers to totally resolve their issues and even operate together is for the two bahus to kiss and make up. That’s where it all began. And no, nothing will please us more than a phull phamily photograph.

Total desi soap opera.

BJP’s downfall is our downfall.

A few points to consider as the UPA Part 2 completes one year in power. They actually did not win last year. The BJP and its allies lost. Make no mistake about that. Had the opposition party been strong and in some degree of good health, am quite certain Sonia’s government would have been shown the door by the voters. This was the situation last year: Terror on the rise, Naxal activities on the rise, prices on the rise, corruption on the rise, and rank bad governance by the Congress-led state governments (particularly in Maharashtra, which has been the most shoddily ruled state of all times). And things continue to be in limbo.

Sadly, the BJP was in tatters. Horrible leadership. Juvenile election tricks. Divisive agendas. Rabid infighting. Confused ideology. Uncharismatic netas. Whatever the Indian voter might be, one thing she is not: stupid. No one in their right minds would vote for such a messed-up party. To compound matters for the BJP, even its allies were either busy defecting or were in shambles themselves. (The Shiv Sena, for example, has been on the path of self-destruction for some time now. And is on its last leg.)

Ergo, we voted the UPA back in only because of the curse of TINA (no, not the Ambani bahu). There Was No Alternative. And what’s worse is that a year down the line the BJP is still confused about its ideology, there is no clear leadership, and their new portly leader, Shri Gadkari, is going from one goof up to another. From one perplexing statement to another. Already, there’s news of power struggle amongst the younger BJP leaders.

And the Congress leaders know all this. Damn well. They know they have no competition. They know their best bet is to do nothing. That itself will ensure they keep getting re-elected. Anyone who watched the PM’s presser (and managed to stay awake) can figure Dr Singh is basically chilling, warming the kursi for the Gandhi scion.

Which brings me to the point: I feel sad that the BJP is on life-support. Mind you, I have no love lost for that party, and I singularly hold Advani responsible for all the riots and terror of the last two decades… that man has been a shraap on this nation. But equally, it’s critical that this nation has a powerful opposition, so that the Congress and its allies don’t take a billion Indians for granted. Only a threatening opposition will force the government to take risky decisions, to do SOME work. To cut corruption, and come out with fresh solutions to the many problems we face. And just for that, I wish the BJP well. I wish they get their act together. Else, we can be sure of another decade of non-action and mis-rule.

Think of those days when there was only one phone supplier. Only one scooter maker. Only one car maker. Only one airline. We consumers used to be treated like dirt, spoken to rudely, and taken for granted. While the nation has moved on from there in leaps and bounds, as for politics, we find ourselves in the same monopolistic situation. Sad.

Get well soon, BJP. You owe it to the nation.

Introducing, BOW Awards 2009

(This article was originally carried in IMPACT mag.)

By Anil Thakraney

It’s that time of the year. When the best of best (hopefully!) ads will get honoured in sunny Goa. So this time, we decided some of the lemons must also find their rightful place in the sun. After all, they too worked really hard. To create the most banal, the most irritating, the most sadela pieces of work.

Take a BOW, people. For the winners of the ‘Best Of Worst’ Indian advertising, 2009.

PS: There were a million other silly ads not even worth considering. So that should make the winners just a wee bit proud. At least they got noticed!)


1. The ‘Rubber Duck’ Award of the Year: rediff.com

The commercial features a man in his bathtub, as his rubber duck comes alive and gets crooning. Mr Bath Tub tries to capture this great spectacle on his handy cam, when his newspaper turns into a paper dog, while his handy cam starts singing as well. This is followed by even more bizarre stuff. 'Just your stuff', announces the super. Dull, dull, dull. And very painful to watch. Surely the most ducked commercial of the year.


2. The ‘Zero Chemistry’ Award of the Year: Reebok Hexride

The most thoughtless casting of the year. Reebok Hexride roped in brand ambassadors Dhoni and Bipasha Basu. Maahi looked lost and Bips looked hot.

The commercial features a long sequence of the two racing across the streets, attempting to outwit each other. Because Dhoni isn’t able to emote at all, the interaction between the two goes for a toss. Poor Bips. She can’t pull off a movie on her own steam, how could she do that with an advert. Suddenly John Abraham felt like an Oscar winner.


3. The ‘Navel Gazer’ Award of the Year: Tata DOCOMO

Tata DOCOMO’s ‘Friendship Express’ commercial was downright infuriating in its narcissism. The TV commercial features people from different nationalities on a train, complete strangers joining in to recite Tata DOCOMO’s totally rubbish, ear-ache inducing jingle. Wish the Naxals had hi-jacked that damned train.


4. The ‘High Flatulence’ Award of the Year: IDEA

IDEA unleashed ‘Walk & Talk’ as a part of its social causes based campaign. Basically the idea was to encourage people to walk for fitness. An April Fool’s joke. Especially so when you consider that people anyway tend to walk around while using their cell phones, the signal being eternally weak. Thank god no one took the idea seriously, else many fatalities would have occurred as folks yapped away while walking the bustling city roads.


5. The ‘Twisted Creative’ Award of the Year: Bajaj XCD 135

This one features two crazy sisters involved in a deadly karate fight, in an attempt to finish each other, as we later discovered they were trying to decide who would sit on the ‘one billion’ pillion seat. The twisted sisters made sure this was one of the most juvenile and disjointed ads of last year.


6. The ‘Untimely Death’ Award of the Year: Onida

The killing of the devil made national news, and the subject was heatedly debated on prime time television. And the new campaign for the assorted Onida durables featured a couple called Siddharth and Ritu, and it had the duo exchanging some maha silly banter with each other. No idea, no memory hook, no nothing. Resulting in what can easily be called the most horrendous advertising of last year. The devil must be guffawing in hell.


7. The ‘Dark Ages’ Award of the Year: EBay

EBay released a series of black and white commercials, and the appalling creative strategy was to revive the dark old days of Doordarshan. And so the anchors hired were Messers Fossils, Dr Narrotam Puri and Komal GB Singh, both from DD’s rotting archives. Completely ludicrous advertising, completely irrelevant, and worse, it was not even funny. DD must be happy, though.


8. The ‘Tapori Award’ of the Year: Montblanc


Montblanc positioned the pen as a proud legacy that gets passed down from gen to gen. Fair enough. But they needed a sophisticated actor like Bachchan to pull the story off. Instead, they settled for the ‘poor man’s Bachchan’. Didn’t work. Slumdog Anil Kapoor essayed tapori character roles pretty much all his acting life. He’s as far removed from literature, class and pedigree as are Shakti Kapoor and Rakhi Sawant. Ekdum dhaasu pen ka vaat lagaa dala!


9. The ‘Titanic Disaster’ Award of the Year: Nirma

Desperate makers of Nirma dived underwater for some inspiration. And they floated in mermaids into our lives. As they frolicked underwater, to the beat of lilting operatic music. Good show. But too much of a creative leap for a down-market brand. Only a day earlier, desi chicks called Rekha, Jaya and Sushma were promising us ‘dhoodh si safedi’. Predictably, the mermaids drowned before the year was out.


10. The ‘Get Chicks Free’ Award of the Year: Xylo

More thakela suits and equally more thakeli pretty women. The Mahindra Xylo boasts of some cool plusses. Foldable flight trays, walk-through aisles, flatbed seats, individual reading lamps, digital drive assist system, etc. And what did the commercial highlight? Hard partying duds and tight close ups of tits, legs and arses of bimbettes. All grooving to the eighties track, ‘Have the time of your life!’ Either the Mahindra Xylo managers were utterly confused about their target audience. Or had a very poor opinion of India’s corporate honchos.


11. The ‘Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde’ Award of the Year: Maruti SX4

Makers of the so-called ‘man’s car’, Maruti SX4. decided to tell us who the asli mard was in their judgment. A pucca gentleman otherwise, but the moment he lays his hands on the car’s steering wheel, the fellow morphs into a raging beast. The TVC features a suit behaving pretty decently in public places. But once he gets inside the SX4, the dude lets loose all hell on the road. They should have cast Mr Alistair Pereira in the advert. Neighbours said the chap is basically a nice guy.


12. The ‘Eoooooooow!’ Award of the Year: Nerolac Excel Total

An interesting metaphor was used by Nerolac Excel Total to communicate durability of its paint. They used make-up peeling off a woman’s face to make the point. The TVC stars a boisterous behenji named ‘Papdi Priya’. Overtly decked-up with layers of make-up, she is seen frightening the hell out of everyone on the streets, as her make-up gradually peels off. A totally creepy commercial. Papdi Priya looked like a victim in a B-grade Hollywood horror flick. Almost like Freddy Krueger did his number on her face. Brrrr…

Hold the party yet!

So people are happy that come May, we’ll see a closure on young Qasab. The honourable judge will first convict him, then pass a death sentence (he has no choice!) and that’s that.

Well, things aren’t that hunky dory. After the sentencing, young Qasab has the option to appeal against the judgment in higher courts. That will take a few more months to sort out. Sure, the honourable judges will eventually uphold the sentencing (they have no choice!), but even that will not ensure closure.

Then, young Qasab has the option to file a mercy plea application with the President of India. Mrs Pratibha Patil will immediately do what ALL Indian Rashtrapatis do: Sit on the application, and get busy cutting ribbons at assorted shindigs across the nation. And hold High Tea Parties for the celebrities. And that file of Ms Patil is full-up already. There is a long list of mercy petitions collecting dust within. So young Qasab will be in a long queue. And in India, that’s the ONLY queue that people don’t jump.

Of course, due to the media pressure she could fast-track young Qasab to the gallows, but that will be an entirely controversial thing to do. Other sentenced terrorists, who are already in queue, will have every reason to feel short-changed. Their crimes weren’t any lesser.

So it may take a loooong time before the hangman is called in. (Meanwhile the dude can switch on his Havells CFL bulb to pre-atone for his impending sin.)

And yup, even after all this, after young Qasab hangs by his neck, will that be closure at all? For the victims? Not really. His masters, the brains behind 26/11, are busy having a blast (intended) in Pakistan. So what joy in killing a brainwashed, penury-driven, uneducated foot soldier?

Yeah, hold the party yet.