The daily commute in Mumbai’s local trains is also a great way of sensing the pulse of the masses. When it gets overcrowded and all you have is the train’s footboard to rest your feet on, all that talk about unity in diversity seems to become obsolete.
Deep rooted prejudices come to the surface and we turn into people with tempers similar to a volcano waiting to erupt. Some taunts I’ve received in the recent past prove this…
Like this man sitting next to me who got disgusted because he heard me speaking English on the phone. In chaste Marathi he asked me, “Beta, you're wearing a YouTube t-shirt, your bag has a Warner Bros. logo, and you're reading The Wall Street Journal (sic). Why are you traveling by second class? Go to the US, you’ll have a comfortable journey there.”
Like a Raj Thackeray look-alike from Dombivli, who was reading Saamna and borrowed my copy of HT Café only to tell me 20 minutes later, that he has thrown it off the train. “You should not be reading such stuff. How dare they publish articles on live-in relationships? It’s against our culture.”
Like this pan-chewing, pot-bellied man from Karjat who slept till Thane arrived and even though he saw me standing next to him, he refused to offer me his seat, because I did not appear Maharashtrian. “Thaamb re, baba. Pahile aaplya lokaanna basu dya!” (Implying, "Keep standing, let the Marathi manoos have a seat first.)
Like this Neral-bound smarty pants who threatened a sleepy-eyed Muslim gentleman to vacate his seat half an hour before the latter’s station arrived or else, “We'll do something serious about this! You've sat enough. You work in our city, use our resources and then you turn lazy when it comes to offering a seat to the sons of the soil?!”
Or like this group of overtly loud, talkative men from Badlapur who asked me to shoo off to Kolkata because I asked them to turn off the loudspeakers of their mobile phones, blaring loud Marathi folk music. (By the way, some of them own two mobile phones - one with the cheapest call tariffs, and the other one with the loudest speakers.)
I think deep down, we’re a deeply frustrated city. Our insecurities pop out occasionally in instances like these and that’s when you hear people mumbling: “Pata nahin kahaan kahaan se chale aate hain”.
Some lucky ones get to vent it out in a column like this, while the rest go blah reading it with a cuppa on a Saturday morning.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Ghosh who talks (Ghai next door)
I'm late for a family get-together.
An old family friend has just relocated into our neighbourhood and by the time I join my uncle, Mr Ghosh for dinner, I realise we both are the last men standing. The rest of the gathering of about 20-odd people have already had drinks, dinner and left - my mom and dad included.
I'm embarassed for arriving so late, but aunty (Mrs Ghosh) convinces me otherwise and asks me to settle down so that she can serve us dinner quickly. A lavish spread of Bengali food has been prepared - bhaat, dal, maachher jhol, kosha maangsho (chicken curry), papad, salad, puris...the usual fare.
Ghosh uncle has just finished drowning a few pegs. He asks me to quickly "wash your hands and asses, wipe them clean and park them on the seat next to me". He is conversing with me in English and I follow his instructions religiously.
He's a bit nasty, I notice, but after a lifetime of bringing up a rascal like Jojo (he's a DJ today, but had bowled me out on a duck, 11 years ago when the pretty girls in the colony were standing by waiting for me to hit a six) - I can't expect him to be a Father Teresa. Jojo's in the US now, and uncle-aunty decided to migrate to Ambarnath, where life is much peaceful and serene compared to hustle-bustle of Andheri, where they brought up the rascal.
"I've been wanting to meet you," he says, as I sit on a chair, next to him. Aunty lays out two plates. "Your mom and me spoke briefly today and she says you're a very busy boy, eh? What are you studying?"
"I'm not studying. I'm a journalist with DNA," I reply, calmly. My skinny physique and lanky features have surprised many, when my profession is taken into context. Many believe its a profession for bearded saints. Uncle's reaction which followed, was predictable.
"You're a journalist? Full-time?" he asks. I nodded, smiling, mixing some dal and rice which aunty poured into our plates. A bowlful of chicken was also placed, and aunty asked us to tuck in.
"Hmmm, journalism is a challenging profession, eh? A journalist is supposed to know everything," he says, absorbing my response. He chews over what he has just heard. A 22-year old boy, whom he had seen only as a little kid several years ago, was now chomping on a chicken leg, while he was nibbling on mid-sized pieces. At 22, he would have spent most of his time jobless, sitting at Coffee House in Kolkata over tea and cigarettes, discussing Marx or Lenin with jobless pseudo-intellectuals.
So when I told him I'm a journalist, he didn't believe me. He asks aunty for puris and the way he tears into them, I think the food's getting massacred in his mouth.
"Who is your editor?" he asks, after a while. "I read your paper everyday, but I don't know who's in charge after Gautam Adhikari."
"R Jagannathan," I say, crunching on a papad.
"I remember Gautam Adhikari. He used to show up on the front page every now and then," he says, chomping. "So you report directly to this new man? You're what... an apprentice over there?"
"No," I reply, gnawing at the chicken leg. "I'm with DNA Money. Raj Nambisan heads DNA Money. I report to him."
"Nambisan?" he asks puzzled for a moment. "He's your editor? How come I haven't seen his name in the DNA Money, anytime? I do read the business pages most of the times..."
I tell him that he's the editor, so he supervises his team of reporters. "He writes occasionally," I emphasize. But I ask him whether he has seen my name ever in the paper. "I write more often than Mr Nambisan does," I point out.
He pours himself some gravy, trying to think. "No, I don't there is any Shonti Chaudhuri ever in DNA Money." I'm about to interrupt him, as I gulp, but he continues. "Lot of Bengali names I find though...Mukherji, Bhattacharya, Roy, Robin Ghosh.."
"Uncle, my good name is Arcopol. Arcopol Chaudhuri, you must have seen this name?" (Bengalis have two names for their kids. One is the good name. And the other is the nick-name - daak naam.)
Uncle looks up suddenly, moving himself away from his plate and gulps. His expression is of somebody who's prophecy has come true. "Ohh, so you are that Arcopol. You did some masturbation interview once, no?"
I shudder suddenly, at the mention of the "forbidden word" (atleast at a social dinner) and at the nodal connection point with my name. "Yes," I reply, smiling and a little embarassed, considering aunty is around. Uncle doesn't probe further. He seems to be in some grave thought. "But tell me," he continues, helping himself to some salad, "why doesn't this Nambisan write more often?"
I try to hunt for an answer. A spoonful of salad, helps me arrive at an analogy. Smiling at him, I say: "Now, Yash Chopra doesn't act in his own films, does he?" I hope that he will like my answer, but I'm wrong. He replies: "But Subhash Ghai does, doesn't he?"
I'm not pleased with the way this dinner is proceeding. "He writes sometimes, as I said. He's Subhash Ghai, then." I smile, hoping that this will end the director-editor comparisons.
"Raj Nambisan," he says once again as if its become some gayatri mantra for him. I'm a bit irritated. My stomach is nearly full and as aunty serves me two juicy rasgullas, I'm relieved. "Editors must be making nice money. I had a friend in The Telegraph and he would write under a pseudonym for many magazines. Mind you, he would rarely write for the The Telegraph. I'm sure your editor must also be doing the same, who knows!" he said, pointing the spoon at me, for emphasis.
Bengalis, I tell you. They'd be nightmares in chemistry labs, arriving at the conclusion even before the experiments begin.
But frankly, then I didn't like the thought of Mr Nambisan doing shady writing contracts. I don't think he does anything like that.
I suddenly pictured him running through the mountains, in a scene straight out of Jurassic Park. Hundreds of dinosaurs ran after him chasing him asking for his articles through pseudonym. They had weird names - some were called The Economist, The Wall Street Journal, Mint, Fortune, Forbes, Financial Times! There was a desperate dino as well, old and tired, and it had the letters BS written on it. But Mr Nambisan dodged them all.
He ran in the direction of a calm dinosaur standing in the distance. This one appeared to be vegetarian and with more brains than the rest. He wasn't eating shrubs or grass, but from the looks of it, this salt-n-pepper haired dino was simply crunching numbers. Mr Nambisan continued running towards him, panting. My eyesight is always blurry whenever I'm day-dreaming, but I think that dino's name started with the letters J, A, G, G, A, N or something.
Another rasgulla poured into my plate by aunty, shakes me out of my reverie. Uncle Ghosh is licking the ras (juice) off his fingers, still stuck with the Nambisan-Subhash Ghai issue. "I think I'll check out this Nambisan tomorrow. DNA old issues aachhe, na?" he asks aunty. She nods, with a look, that says, 'There goes my plan of selling off the raddi tomorrow.'
"By the way," Uncle says, drawing me back into a conversation. "Your father used to share a drink or two with me, when you were a little boy. He refused to join me today. Why has he stopped drinking?"
"He has?" I ask, surprised to know this. Finally, this dinner has come to an end with some good news to go to bed with.
"Bah! You don't know? And you call yourself a journalist." He shakes his head, cleaning up his plate a bit, licking his fingers.
As an afterthought, he adds, "I told you journalism is a challenging job. Journalists are supposed to know everything."
I decide never to be late for a family get-together again.
An old family friend has just relocated into our neighbourhood and by the time I join my uncle, Mr Ghosh for dinner, I realise we both are the last men standing. The rest of the gathering of about 20-odd people have already had drinks, dinner and left - my mom and dad included.
I'm embarassed for arriving so late, but aunty (Mrs Ghosh) convinces me otherwise and asks me to settle down so that she can serve us dinner quickly. A lavish spread of Bengali food has been prepared - bhaat, dal, maachher jhol, kosha maangsho (chicken curry), papad, salad, puris...the usual fare.
Ghosh uncle has just finished drowning a few pegs. He asks me to quickly "wash your hands and asses, wipe them clean and park them on the seat next to me". He is conversing with me in English and I follow his instructions religiously.
He's a bit nasty, I notice, but after a lifetime of bringing up a rascal like Jojo (he's a DJ today, but had bowled me out on a duck, 11 years ago when the pretty girls in the colony were standing by waiting for me to hit a six) - I can't expect him to be a Father Teresa. Jojo's in the US now, and uncle-aunty decided to migrate to Ambarnath, where life is much peaceful and serene compared to hustle-bustle of Andheri, where they brought up the rascal.
"I've been wanting to meet you," he says, as I sit on a chair, next to him. Aunty lays out two plates. "Your mom and me spoke briefly today and she says you're a very busy boy, eh? What are you studying?"
"I'm not studying. I'm a journalist with DNA," I reply, calmly. My skinny physique and lanky features have surprised many, when my profession is taken into context. Many believe its a profession for bearded saints. Uncle's reaction which followed, was predictable.
"You're a journalist? Full-time?" he asks. I nodded, smiling, mixing some dal and rice which aunty poured into our plates. A bowlful of chicken was also placed, and aunty asked us to tuck in.
"Hmmm, journalism is a challenging profession, eh? A journalist is supposed to know everything," he says, absorbing my response. He chews over what he has just heard. A 22-year old boy, whom he had seen only as a little kid several years ago, was now chomping on a chicken leg, while he was nibbling on mid-sized pieces. At 22, he would have spent most of his time jobless, sitting at Coffee House in Kolkata over tea and cigarettes, discussing Marx or Lenin with jobless pseudo-intellectuals.
So when I told him I'm a journalist, he didn't believe me. He asks aunty for puris and the way he tears into them, I think the food's getting massacred in his mouth.
"Who is your editor?" he asks, after a while. "I read your paper everyday, but I don't know who's in charge after Gautam Adhikari."
"R Jagannathan," I say, crunching on a papad.
"I remember Gautam Adhikari. He used to show up on the front page every now and then," he says, chomping. "So you report directly to this new man? You're what... an apprentice over there?"
"No," I reply, gnawing at the chicken leg. "I'm with DNA Money. Raj Nambisan heads DNA Money. I report to him."
"Nambisan?" he asks puzzled for a moment. "He's your editor? How come I haven't seen his name in the DNA Money, anytime? I do read the business pages most of the times..."
I tell him that he's the editor, so he supervises his team of reporters. "He writes occasionally," I emphasize. But I ask him whether he has seen my name ever in the paper. "I write more often than Mr Nambisan does," I point out.
He pours himself some gravy, trying to think. "No, I don't there is any Shonti Chaudhuri ever in DNA Money." I'm about to interrupt him, as I gulp, but he continues. "Lot of Bengali names I find though...Mukherji, Bhattacharya, Roy, Robin Ghosh.."
"Uncle, my good name is Arcopol. Arcopol Chaudhuri, you must have seen this name?" (Bengalis have two names for their kids. One is the good name. And the other is the nick-name - daak naam.)
Uncle looks up suddenly, moving himself away from his plate and gulps. His expression is of somebody who's prophecy has come true. "Ohh, so you are that Arcopol. You did some masturbation interview once, no?"
I shudder suddenly, at the mention of the "forbidden word" (atleast at a social dinner) and at the nodal connection point with my name. "Yes," I reply, smiling and a little embarassed, considering aunty is around. Uncle doesn't probe further. He seems to be in some grave thought. "But tell me," he continues, helping himself to some salad, "why doesn't this Nambisan write more often?"
I try to hunt for an answer. A spoonful of salad, helps me arrive at an analogy. Smiling at him, I say: "Now, Yash Chopra doesn't act in his own films, does he?" I hope that he will like my answer, but I'm wrong. He replies: "But Subhash Ghai does, doesn't he?"
I'm not pleased with the way this dinner is proceeding. "He writes sometimes, as I said. He's Subhash Ghai, then." I smile, hoping that this will end the director-editor comparisons.
"Raj Nambisan," he says once again as if its become some gayatri mantra for him. I'm a bit irritated. My stomach is nearly full and as aunty serves me two juicy rasgullas, I'm relieved. "Editors must be making nice money. I had a friend in The Telegraph and he would write under a pseudonym for many magazines. Mind you, he would rarely write for the The Telegraph. I'm sure your editor must also be doing the same, who knows!" he said, pointing the spoon at me, for emphasis.
Bengalis, I tell you. They'd be nightmares in chemistry labs, arriving at the conclusion even before the experiments begin.
But frankly, then I didn't like the thought of Mr Nambisan doing shady writing contracts. I don't think he does anything like that.
I suddenly pictured him running through the mountains, in a scene straight out of Jurassic Park. Hundreds of dinosaurs ran after him chasing him asking for his articles through pseudonym. They had weird names - some were called The Economist, The Wall Street Journal, Mint, Fortune, Forbes, Financial Times! There was a desperate dino as well, old and tired, and it had the letters BS written on it. But Mr Nambisan dodged them all.
He ran in the direction of a calm dinosaur standing in the distance. This one appeared to be vegetarian and with more brains than the rest. He wasn't eating shrubs or grass, but from the looks of it, this salt-n-pepper haired dino was simply crunching numbers. Mr Nambisan continued running towards him, panting. My eyesight is always blurry whenever I'm day-dreaming, but I think that dino's name started with the letters J, A, G, G, A, N or something.
Another rasgulla poured into my plate by aunty, shakes me out of my reverie. Uncle Ghosh is licking the ras (juice) off his fingers, still stuck with the Nambisan-Subhash Ghai issue. "I think I'll check out this Nambisan tomorrow. DNA old issues aachhe, na?" he asks aunty. She nods, with a look, that says, 'There goes my plan of selling off the raddi tomorrow.'
"By the way," Uncle says, drawing me back into a conversation. "Your father used to share a drink or two with me, when you were a little boy. He refused to join me today. Why has he stopped drinking?"
"He has?" I ask, surprised to know this. Finally, this dinner has come to an end with some good news to go to bed with.
"Bah! You don't know? And you call yourself a journalist." He shakes his head, cleaning up his plate a bit, licking his fingers.
As an afterthought, he adds, "I told you journalism is a challenging job. Journalists are supposed to know everything."
I decide never to be late for a family get-together again.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Washroom is a great leveller
A stand-up comedian once famously remarked that Hindi film screenplays never show heroes and heroines visiting the loo. My parents used to tell me “Beta, celebrities are also humans. Just like us, they also wake up, go to toilet, brush their teeth, have bath, eat breakfast and go to work,” but I wasn’t convinced.
I’ve seen films, so many of them, some even three-four hours long and never noticed any member of the cast taking a leak even once. I would have expected at least the hero to make a quick visit to relieve himself before the all-famous climax, but no. The script-writers have chosen not to allow toilet-breaks to our film-stars.
Last month, however, the tide turned, as it were. Tinsel-town decided to convince me that’s its denizens were human too; and this happened not on the screen, but in person!
Picture this: I’m about to go into the ballroom of a five-star hotel for a press conference and before I go in, I enter the washroom for a quick hair-check. The place is unusually crowded, with tall, burly and decidedly unfriendly muscle-men looking down upon me at my unwelcome entry.
I proceed to the wash-basin dodging three men whose expressions convince me that I’m not invited. It’s not until I’ve washed my face and casually glanced into the adjacent mirror that I notice the treasure that these men are protecting.
A few feet away from me is the reigning star of the day — cigarette in one hand, blazer on the other — combing his hair, ready to dive into another promotional event. The reigning King of Bollywood quickly stubs out his cigarette, does his business, and is then whisked away by his bodyguards. I feel like a storm has passed over me.
I stand rooted on the spot and look at my reflection in the mirror. My jaws drop and I let out a muffled scream, thumping the air, as I realise the momentousness of the occasion.
Since then, by some odd coincidence, I have run into several filmy, celebrity types in that most hallowed of institutions, the men’s room. Once I even struck up a conversation in the stall next door. I’ve realised that the atmosphere in a loo creates a strange level playing field where the celebrity has no option but to surrender to nature’s demands. It’s a beautiful way of bridging the huge divide between a celebrity and a commoner. They say that death is a great leveler. But I think the loo is even better.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
I couldn't sleep that night
10pm. I trot my way home through the rain-soaked street.
A crowd has gathered near the neighboring building and an ambulance is parked next to it. The men in the crowd stand grim, talking in whispers. The soft cacophony of television sets from this cozy neighbourhood, is missing.
Someone has died, I presume.
. . .
Midnight. Dinner's over, I've curled into bed after a tiring day at work. The weather's pleasant, I don't need the creaking fan over me. I'm twisting and turning in bed - the recent illness has made breathing difficult.
I can hear faint rumble from the crowd standing in the neighbouring building's compound. I lie straight in bed and hear another ambulance entering the street, followed by a few cars, who park themselves, their sirens blaring through the midnight calm.
And then, the mourning begins.
Cries. Hundreds of them. Women. Maybe beating their chests, tearing their head apart in grief. Pained over the loss.
The howling gets louder and I shiver as I imagine the scene unfolding at a distance of 20-odd metres from my bedroom. I still don't know who has died. I still don't know how many have died.
I get up and walk into my balcony. About 100-150 people are on the road standing there, in a sea of white. A clay-pot containing the holy fire is being circulated. The corpse lies at the center as the priests finish the rituals. The atmosphere is swathed in grief. The women cry their hearts out.
But something's different here.
I've seen people sob at funerals. Weep. And hug each other at the inevitability or maybe the natural circumstances of the death. Old age, maybe. Or an illness. But I notice a certain violent aggression. Bahut bura hua, a cheesy script-writer would have said here.
And then, as if on cue, the street-dogs begin howling too. The melee goes on till 1:30am or so, and as the crowd swells, the women's mourning reaches a new pitch, sending a chill down my spine.
I've seen only one funeral in my family, yet. My grandma, who passed away due to Alzheimers. While we all miss her, death is a state that is welcome, in diseases like Alzheimers, which today are incurable. At her funeral therefore, the crying and howling, was nothing, compared to the scene unfolding in front of my eyes.
By 3:00am, the body is taken to the cremation grounds a few kms away, the crowd eases out, the mourning continues, albeit softer this time. It becomes clear that there's been one death. Its a family which we never ever interacted with, but I remembered that it marriage, about 2-3 years ago.
I head off to sleep.
The next day, the following story emerges.
The mourning was over a 24 yr old middle class Maharashtrian married woman, whose body arrived in my neighbourhood after post-mortem.
The cause of her death - Thrown off the terrace of the high-rise building by her in-laws, after she refused to respond to their demands for dowry. The in-laws are now being tried in court.
. . . . . . .
A crowd has gathered near the neighboring building and an ambulance is parked next to it. The men in the crowd stand grim, talking in whispers. The soft cacophony of television sets from this cozy neighbourhood, is missing.
Someone has died, I presume.
. . .
Midnight. Dinner's over, I've curled into bed after a tiring day at work. The weather's pleasant, I don't need the creaking fan over me. I'm twisting and turning in bed - the recent illness has made breathing difficult.
I can hear faint rumble from the crowd standing in the neighbouring building's compound. I lie straight in bed and hear another ambulance entering the street, followed by a few cars, who park themselves, their sirens blaring through the midnight calm.
And then, the mourning begins.
Cries. Hundreds of them. Women. Maybe beating their chests, tearing their head apart in grief. Pained over the loss.
The howling gets louder and I shiver as I imagine the scene unfolding at a distance of 20-odd metres from my bedroom. I still don't know who has died. I still don't know how many have died.
I get up and walk into my balcony. About 100-150 people are on the road standing there, in a sea of white. A clay-pot containing the holy fire is being circulated. The corpse lies at the center as the priests finish the rituals. The atmosphere is swathed in grief. The women cry their hearts out.
But something's different here.
I've seen people sob at funerals. Weep. And hug each other at the inevitability or maybe the natural circumstances of the death. Old age, maybe. Or an illness. But I notice a certain violent aggression. Bahut bura hua, a cheesy script-writer would have said here.
And then, as if on cue, the street-dogs begin howling too. The melee goes on till 1:30am or so, and as the crowd swells, the women's mourning reaches a new pitch, sending a chill down my spine.
I've seen only one funeral in my family, yet. My grandma, who passed away due to Alzheimers. While we all miss her, death is a state that is welcome, in diseases like Alzheimers, which today are incurable. At her funeral therefore, the crying and howling, was nothing, compared to the scene unfolding in front of my eyes.
By 3:00am, the body is taken to the cremation grounds a few kms away, the crowd eases out, the mourning continues, albeit softer this time. It becomes clear that there's been one death. Its a family which we never ever interacted with, but I remembered that it marriage, about 2-3 years ago.
I head off to sleep.
The next day, the following story emerges.
The mourning was over a 24 yr old middle class Maharashtrian married woman, whose body arrived in my neighbourhood after post-mortem.
The cause of her death - Thrown off the terrace of the high-rise building by her in-laws, after she refused to respond to their demands for dowry. The in-laws are now being tried in court.
. . . . . . .
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Motoyuva, chhotoyuva
She cares about me. And my cellphone.
"Don't put it like that into your pocket. In all the rush and jostling within the train, someone will flick it off your pockets!"
Moms, I tell you. I'm getting ready for work. Tying my shoelaces. And then this.
"While stepping into the train, would't it be a good idea to put your cellphone in your bag?"
Dad and mum, both decided to gift me this phone - Nokia N70 - much to my delight and surprise, when all I was expecting was a Motoyuva or something. Watching mom handing out the brand new N70 from the cupboard, wrapped in its box, was a treat to the senses. It bowled me over.
"Your dad has already lost an expensive watch in the train. Somebody just flicked it off his wrist as he landed at Kalyan station!"
The N70 was a gift from them. I'd topped my college in BMM (Journalism) in my final year and also earned a place in the top 5 Journalism students in Mumbai University. The marksheet made them hold their heads high, especially after my extremely disappointing show at the HSC exams in the Science stream.
"It's an expensive phone. And I think you have all your contacts and phone numbers in it. If you lose it, you'll be in trouble."
I've already come close to losing it and damaging it badly, on a couple of occasions. But then, some objects are made for their owners. Like me. And my N70.
"It's not too difficult to flick it off your pants, I tell you!"
True. As if she's been a professional pick-pocket once.
"Your dad always keeps his phone hidden deep in his bag. That's a little extreme, I admit, but you must be careful. Keep your hand on your pockets protectively."
As if protecting a tumor inside my trousers. Good heavens!
"Go safely. Don't have anything cold outside. Have your lunch on time. Don't delay. And call me from office, sometime.You toh don't call only."
I kiss her softly on the cheeks. And give her a hug. And then touch her feet, as I step out of the house ready to embrace another brand new day. I love my mom.
Now, back to my N70.
"Don't put it like that into your pocket. In all the rush and jostling within the train, someone will flick it off your pockets!"
Moms, I tell you. I'm getting ready for work. Tying my shoelaces. And then this.
"While stepping into the train, would't it be a good idea to put your cellphone in your bag?"
Dad and mum, both decided to gift me this phone - Nokia N70 - much to my delight and surprise, when all I was expecting was a Motoyuva or something. Watching mom handing out the brand new N70 from the cupboard, wrapped in its box, was a treat to the senses. It bowled me over.
"Your dad has already lost an expensive watch in the train. Somebody just flicked it off his wrist as he landed at Kalyan station!"
The N70 was a gift from them. I'd topped my college in BMM (Journalism) in my final year and also earned a place in the top 5 Journalism students in Mumbai University. The marksheet made them hold their heads high, especially after my extremely disappointing show at the HSC exams in the Science stream.
"It's an expensive phone. And I think you have all your contacts and phone numbers in it. If you lose it, you'll be in trouble."
I've already come close to losing it and damaging it badly, on a couple of occasions. But then, some objects are made for their owners. Like me. And my N70.
"It's not too difficult to flick it off your pants, I tell you!"
True. As if she's been a professional pick-pocket once.
"Your dad always keeps his phone hidden deep in his bag. That's a little extreme, I admit, but you must be careful. Keep your hand on your pockets protectively."
As if protecting a tumor inside my trousers. Good heavens!
"Go safely. Don't have anything cold outside. Have your lunch on time. Don't delay. And call me from office, sometime.You toh don't call only."
I kiss her softly on the cheeks. And give her a hug. And then touch her feet, as I step out of the house ready to embrace another brand new day. I love my mom.
Now, back to my N70.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
How will India's media boom survive the talent crunch?
In what seems like a dream-run for the next generation of journalists - the so called beholders of India's democratic information ecosystem - finding a job is not going to the first problem he/ she will have to worry about, when they pass out of grad school.
Which one to choose, is the million-dollar question.
There are so many jobs on the platter and entry level salaries are surprisingly high, for people who are still not equipped the required skill-sets. Training courses for once, specially like BMM (Bachelors of Mass Media) in Mumbai, are light-years away from an industry standard.
And with the University doing away with the Entrance Test for First Year BMM, filtering the best talent just got difficult. By rough estimates, this year's BMM-batch alone, which comprises nearly 500 journalism students from Mumbai, will see confirmed placements of atleast 200 of them. What happens to the rest of them?
Some of them, of course, will pursue post-graduation studies, thanks to unsatisfactory feeling BMM, as a course gives you. At the end of 3-yr course, a student's knowledge becomes extremely theoretical and focus gets blurred. Even post-graduation or diploma degrees in journalism, I'm told, give you the same feeling that undigested good generates.
For example, in the final year of journalism, Public Relations as a subject is something that syllabus makers have criminally given a miss. News-gathering on a variety of beats, working in B2B publications, networking, source building and news-sense are some of the major loop-holes in this myopic course.
Moreover, for an industry which in the next one year is going to witness a slew of business channel launches - they desperately need skilled talent - the BMM course is doing almost nothing to ensure that graduates pass out with atleast a fair knowledge of operating beta cameras, collecting sound bytes, reading off-the prompter and editing video on consoles. The syllabus is crammed with too many things at the same time and timings allotted to lectures are too short.
Which is why, retaining skilled talent is going to be difficult. While there is too much training on how to write a good report and edit, et all., there is absolutely no training on surviving in the profession...on sticking it though. Almost when the journalist begins to get into the groove of his beat, he gets noticed. And getting noticed, it seems is the worst thing that could happen to his organisation. What will it do? Stop giving him bylines? Lol...
Wage hikes alone are not going to work, today. I work in an organisation - DNA - which started the wage hike in the first place. Three years ago, thanks to the launch of this newspaper - and a couple of others - wages across the board for journalists, sales staff, editors were hiked by 100%. Ironically, it is the same organisation, that today, is facing a terrible talent crunch, especially in beats like business where atleast a substantial backgrounder about business news is important at entry level.
And this has got nothing t
o do with the paper's credentials. Take DNA, for example. According to industry readership surveys, DNA is the fastest growing newspaper in India. Its readership in Mumbai is second only to The Times of India and it has left competitors HT, Indian Express, Mid-day, Mumbai Mirror, Mint and others far behind.
This gives rise to a simple fact, that department heads, HR managers and editors must accept. Wage hikes are no longer a criteria for retaining talent. The person is simply going to wait for the hike, take it and paste the numbers on his next resume as 'current CTC' and expect atleast 25-30% higher CTC in return from his next employer. All of this, within months of getting the raise.
Its the nature of talent companies are dealing with. Young employees are fickle consumers. Dangle a fatter wallet in front of him and they'll fall for it. Of course, perks like a 5-day week work routine and cordial workplace are a huge attraction.
Which makes me come to the question - what are some effective ways to retain talent, that is settling into your media organisation? Better pay-packages? 5-day week? Regular meetings? Get-togethers? Going out for dinner sometimes? Note: A journalist-driven workplace is different than any other organisation. Doing all of the above may not be possible always. Especially, for a newspaper that is growing and expanding into newer markets, input costs are very high, margins are low and salary hikes across the board are not the first thing the CEO likes to think about when it comes to retaining talent.
Share your thoughts.
Which one to choose, is the million-dollar question.
There are so many jobs on the platter and entry level salaries are surprisingly high, for people who are still not equipped the required skill-sets. Training courses for once, specially like BMM (Bachelors of Mass Media) in Mumbai, are light-years away from an industry standard.
And with the University doing away with the Entrance Test for First Year BMM, filtering the best talent just got difficult. By rough estimates, this year's BMM-batch alone, which comprises nearly 500 journalism students from Mumbai, will see confirmed placements of atleast 200 of them. What happens to the rest of them?
Some of them, of course, will pursue post-graduation studies, thanks to unsatisfactory feeling BMM, as a course gives you. At the end of 3-yr course, a student's knowledge becomes extremely theoretical and focus gets blurred. Even post-graduation or diploma degrees in journalism, I'm told, give you the same feeling that undigested good generates.
For example, in the final year of journalism, Public Relations as a subject is something that syllabus makers have criminally given a miss. News-gathering on a variety of beats, working in B2B publications, networking, source building and news-sense are some of the major loop-holes in this myopic course.
Moreover, for an industry which in the next one year is going to witness a slew of business channel launches - they desperately need skilled talent - the BMM course is doing almost nothing to ensure that graduates pass out with atleast a fair knowledge of operating beta cameras, collecting sound bytes, reading off-the prompter and editing video on consoles. The syllabus is crammed with too many things at the same time and timings allotted to lectures are too short.
Which is why, retaining skilled talent is going to be difficult. While there is too much training on how to write a good report and edit, et all., there is absolutely no training on surviving in the profession...on sticking it though. Almost when the journalist begins to get into the groove of his beat, he gets noticed. And getting noticed, it seems is the worst thing that could happen to his organisation. What will it do? Stop giving him bylines? Lol...
Wage hikes alone are not going to work, today. I work in an organisation - DNA - which started the wage hike in the first place. Three years ago, thanks to the launch of this newspaper - and a couple of others - wages across the board for journalists, sales staff, editors were hiked by 100%. Ironically, it is the same organisation, that today, is facing a terrible talent crunch, especially in beats like business where atleast a substantial backgrounder about business news is important at entry level.
And this has got nothing t
o do with the paper's credentials. Take DNA, for example. According to industry readership surveys, DNA is the fastest growing newspaper in India. Its readership in Mumbai is second only to The Times of India and it has left competitors HT, Indian Express, Mid-day, Mumbai Mirror, Mint and others far behind.This gives rise to a simple fact, that department heads, HR managers and editors must accept. Wage hikes are no longer a criteria for retaining talent. The person is simply going to wait for the hike, take it and paste the numbers on his next resume as 'current CTC' and expect atleast 25-30% higher CTC in return from his next employer. All of this, within months of getting the raise.
Its the nature of talent companies are dealing with. Young employees are fickle consumers. Dangle a fatter wallet in front of him and they'll fall for it. Of course, perks like a 5-day week work routine and cordial workplace are a huge attraction.
Which makes me come to the question - what are some effective ways to retain talent, that is settling into your media organisation? Better pay-packages? 5-day week? Regular meetings? Get-togethers? Going out for dinner sometimes? Note: A journalist-driven workplace is different than any other organisation. Doing all of the above may not be possible always. Especially, for a newspaper that is growing and expanding into newer markets, input costs are very high, margins are low and salary hikes across the board are not the first thing the CEO likes to think about when it comes to retaining talent.
Share your thoughts.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Sunny Deo, Bobby Deo, P L S Apply Deo
Looks like I'll need a first class season ticket.
No matter how cheap deodarants are sold outside railway stations (Haan..bolo..eksau bees rupaiya mein do..!), Mumbai's Indians (lol!) will still remain stinky poos. Whatever happened to the good old deo? Rexona deserves to tear its hair apart. So does Set Wet Zatakk!
Coz, neither does the Marathi manoos apply any deo, nor the paan chewing Bihari. The Gujju uncle who boards the local train at Ghatkopar has applied powder before he leaves for work in the morning. But on his way pack, Jignesh-bhai smells like dhokla soaked in cat urine.
Mornings are bearable. Everyone's bathed clean, with oily hair. A tall guy like me can almost smell each one's hair and guess which hair-oil it must be. Ditto for shampoos, but that's only for Sundays.
The heat, however, takes its toll on the way back home. As you enter the compartment, into a semi-crowded human jungle, you can almost feel the blast of hot air - a mix of perspiration, carbon dioxide coming throu
gh flaring nostrils and the natural warmth of their bodies. But what hits you more is their body language. In literal terms, they simply don't want you there. That's second class for you.
Except that people won't spit outside at the drop of a hat, it won't be far too different in the first class compartment. Passenger numbers have increased way beyond capacity in the first class. People's disposable incomes have gone up, and with most companies paying for employee's regular conveyance, more and more people travel by first class these days.
Still, those red and yellow stripes on the body of the compartment are a dependable filter if you want to avoid spitty-arm, chest scratching men. And in the first class, the smell of the sweat is different. Can't say its bearable, though. Stale deo is still better than no deo.
No matter how cheap deodarants are sold outside railway stations (Haan..bolo..eksau bees rupaiya mein do..!), Mumbai's Indians (lol!) will still remain stinky poos. Whatever happened to the good old deo? Rexona deserves to tear its hair apart. So does Set Wet Zatakk!
Coz, neither does the Marathi manoos apply any deo, nor the paan chewing Bihari. The Gujju uncle who boards the local train at Ghatkopar has applied powder before he leaves for work in the morning. But on his way pack, Jignesh-bhai smells like dhokla soaked in cat urine.
Mornings are bearable. Everyone's bathed clean, with oily hair. A tall guy like me can almost smell each one's hair and guess which hair-oil it must be. Ditto for shampoos, but that's only for Sundays.
The heat, however, takes its toll on the way back home. As you enter the compartment, into a semi-crowded human jungle, you can almost feel the blast of hot air - a mix of perspiration, carbon dioxide coming throu
gh flaring nostrils and the natural warmth of their bodies. But what hits you more is their body language. In literal terms, they simply don't want you there. That's second class for you.Except that people won't spit outside at the drop of a hat, it won't be far too different in the first class compartment. Passenger numbers have increased way beyond capacity in the first class. People's disposable incomes have gone up, and with most companies paying for employee's regular conveyance, more and more people travel by first class these days.
Still, those red and yellow stripes on the body of the compartment are a dependable filter if you want to avoid spitty-arm, chest scratching men. And in the first class, the smell of the sweat is different. Can't say its bearable, though. Stale deo is still better than no deo.
Come to think of it, if you had to suggest a good deodarant to Mumbaikars, what would you recommend?
Friday, April 18, 2008
Some learnings
Its been almost four months working at DNA Money. I've learnt several things - pros and cons of working in a big organisation, evils of procrastination, perils of laying your life bare in front of the office hypocrite and some more...
Some of these learnings have been from other sources - senior correspondents, friends and family. Some of it, I've learnt myself. Listed below are some thoughts which have somehow struck a balance with I've been taught and what my conscience told me.
1. Love your parents. They're God's greatest gift.
2. Work, like there's no tomorrow. Some people will tell you, "Man, you need to relax...Man why don't you take an off...Man, why do you work seven days a week?" Fuck them.
3. Trust your gut feeling. That feeling, when you smell a story. That feeling when you know your analysis of the story is going to be better than anybody else. That feeling, when you know you can do this story better than anybody else.
4. You don't choose a story. A story chooses you. Its spiritual. Some stories are meant just for you. Within your limitations, you can do the best justice to it.
5. Nothing feels better than seeing your boss happy with your work. Don't try too hard to impress him. Impress yourself and your peers. They're the best judge of my work. Every time they see my story, it should remind them what they have missed. Don't work too hard on PR pitches, unless they're exclusive. Your peers have been pitched the same story as well.
6. Don't make close friends in office. A workplace is a workplace. Keep relations cordial. The ones who make you uncomfortable, stay away from them.
7. Associate with people whom you can learn from. Associate with people who tell you something new every time you talk to them.
8. Ask the office bitch to fuck-off. She's been taking sadistic pleasure foul-mouthing about me. Time for a reverse sweep. Stop reacting whenever she comes around.
9. I must not try hard to make too many friends. Some will be best friends. Some will be close friends. Some will remain colleagues. Others will remain mere acquaintances. Friends will come and go.
10. Just keep working. Be high on work and knowledge.
Dealing with PR professionals
Be polite. If you do not see a possibility of a story, tell them so. If the boss has trashed the story even after you've filed, tell them so, too.
Lets face it. You get at least 10-15 calls a day in the form of invites, pitches, press releases. One can't carry all of it. And what's worse, sometimes it is coming to you after travelling through ET, Exchange4media, HT and others...
The next time a PR professional says this - Send me a list of questions that I will get answered from the client and then I shall arrange an interaction - hang up. In journalism schools, we weren't taught it would happen like this. I don't know how many journalism schools actually teach what role PR plays. Guess its the old school thought - PRs are publicists - they just make the communication longer.
Sending a list of questions is almost like leaking the question paper before the exams. And why, may I know, would the client need a set of questions about his own business? He's the best informed person and should have stats, history at the tip of his tongue. If he doesn't, then he isn't good at what he is doing and doesn't deserve to be written about.
On second thoughts, maybe the client really wants to interact openly with the media. Maybe he has stats at the tip of his tongue. Maybe the inside story is that it is the PR professional that is the snob and not the client - "Call up the journo, ask him to send a list of questions and get 'the client' to answer them one by one.." if this is the brief PR industry is giving to young PR consultants, God help them. I mean, is the PR acting as a dalaal here? A real intermediary?
It is at times like these that I feel PR has ruined that sacrosanct journo-industry relationship. The common perception is that, suddenly industry felt they need to communicate with the media in an orderly manner and they employed PR professionals. The real truth, though, seems like the industry wanted to show-off "how busy we are and you need to fix an appointment telecon". All in a manner of snobbish-ness.
All's not bad though. I've come across experienced PR professionals who have such a sound knowledge of the industry, that they know how to pitch right. Their insights are invaluable for my stories.
My heart went out to a PR lady recently who gave me her client's number - her client is a big-shot mind you - and asked me to call him up 'straight-away'. "No, you just call him up. He's not picking my calls either. Just call him. What's the point if I make it lengthier for you?" she said. I hope her breed increase.
Lets face it. You get at least 10-15 calls a day in the form of invites, pitches, press releases. One can't carry all of it. And what's worse, sometimes it is coming to you after travelling through ET, Exchange4media, HT and others...
The next time a PR professional says this - Send me a list of questions that I will get answered from the client and then I shall arrange an interaction - hang up. In journalism schools, we weren't taught it would happen like this. I don't know how many journalism schools actually teach what role PR plays. Guess its the old school thought - PRs are publicists - they just make the communication longer.
Sending a list of questions is almost like leaking the question paper before the exams. And why, may I know, would the client need a set of questions about his own business? He's the best informed person and should have stats, history at the tip of his tongue. If he doesn't, then he isn't good at what he is doing and doesn't deserve to be written about.
On second thoughts, maybe the client really wants to interact openly with the media. Maybe he has stats at the tip of his tongue. Maybe the inside story is that it is the PR professional that is the snob and not the client - "Call up the journo, ask him to send a list of questions and get 'the client' to answer them one by one.." if this is the brief PR industry is giving to young PR consultants, God help them. I mean, is the PR acting as a dalaal here? A real intermediary?
It is at times like these that I feel PR has ruined that sacrosanct journo-industry relationship. The common perception is that, suddenly industry felt they need to communicate with the media in an orderly manner and they employed PR professionals. The real truth, though, seems like the industry wanted to show-off "how busy we are and you need to fix an appointment telecon". All in a manner of snobbish-ness.
All's not bad though. I've come across experienced PR professionals who have such a sound knowledge of the industry, that they know how to pitch right. Their insights are invaluable for my stories.
My heart went out to a PR lady recently who gave me her client's number - her client is a big-shot mind you - and asked me to call him up 'straight-away'. "No, you just call him up. He's not picking my calls either. Just call him. What's the point if I make it lengthier for you?" she said. I hope her breed increase.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
There's hope for Indian television
After several years of suhaags, sindoors, saas and bahus, 2007 may well end up as the year that steered the wheel around for Indian television viewers. Yes, there's hope for Indian television.
If you thought programming on Hindi entertainment channels was all about soaps, think again. The slew of new channel launches brings an interesting mix of experimental shows and fresh comedies.
And why not? Considering Hindi news channels are serving up enough drama in the garb of news, its time the mass entertainment channels pulled up their socks to offer something different.
It is a challenging premise. Indian viewers are not best of samplers since they are thoroughly loyal, even though they (mature female audiences, especially) in retrospect, might bitch about regressive Tulsis and Parvatis. Some new channels have braced up to this challenge upfront. Some have targeted new age urban audiences. And some are bringing top-notch international content from across the world.
Who needs a remote when Remote Control is on?
First up, a worthy mention about Remote Control on INX Media's newly launched 9X. Truly, its time to crown the serial's producer - Hats Off Productions - as the king of television comedy. J D Majethia's characters spin hilarious situations in this Monday prime-time half-hour show. The show's concept brings back memories of Waghle Ki Duniya, since the setting is similar. A simple, well written comedy about the common man. And the Golden Eye Channel. (Hyuk hyuk hyuk!)
Also on 9X, JamegiJodi.com is worth a watch. The comedy, which marks Endemol's first inroads into television fiction is a commendable effort. The serial offers a healthy dose of situational humour bordering on the slapstick, but crisply edited.
Sony - SAB's new mantra: Non-saas bahu shows
Observe the themes of the Sony-SAB's new list of shows and it's easy to figure out that the channels have decided to give the saas-bahu serials a miss. Will it work or not? Perhaps only time (and TAM) will tell. In the meantime, there's relief in the form of Kucch Is Tarah, Amber Dhara, Viruddh, Jersey No.10 amongst others.
Quite a contrast to Zee's weekday prime time programming - totally saturated with lathery, frothy soaps. You know what I mean. Pick your keywords - dulhann, betiyaan, saat and phere. And if that was not enough, it has introduced a Naginn for weekends. Eeks! But the snake-fest is doing very well in the interiors, I hear.
Good Times are here
NDTV's lifestyle channel 'NDTV Good Times' has a must-watch roster of shows for the tech-savvy new age young urban Indian. T3, What's the Next Big Thing hosted by the suave Rajeev Makhani are informative, with high-end production values. Lounge hosted by Rajat Kapoor has improved considerably after the initial hiccups. The channel does have its share of dampeners though, prime amongst them being the Great Indian Love Challenge. The show is old wine in a new bottle, with similar concepts explored earlier by Channel [V] Crush and MTV Love Ke Liye.
Times Now's Total Recall
I came across this gem today afternoon. Total Recall on Times Now explores the bygone era of Indian television, the characters, genres and defining moments that have scripted the television revolution that we see today. Malgudi Days fans, don't miss next week's episode - an interview with the grown up Swamy (yes, the same one from Swamy and friends) is on the cards.
Lagegi to drop title?
There's buzz that UTV Bindass' driver show Lagegi is likely to go for a name change. The stand-up comedy show hosted by the likeable Mantra and Aniruddh could well land up calling itself Hass de India. Sad, but true. The show's comic lines were doing quite well for itself, at least within its target audience. Looks like Roshan Abbas wants to encompass a larger audience base into a laughing spree. So now truly, sabki lagegi.
Rant of the week: Rama rama kya hai drama? Sahara One's Jjhoom India is witnessing too much of mudslinging within the judges and contestants. Shekhar Suman deserves to be rapped on the knuckles for his rude remarks to host Rahul Vaidya. But who cares? The uproars seem too scripted to be true. And whats with the jordaar taaliyaan after every outburst? Tch tch.
Chant of the week: Weekdays 10:30 pm on SAB - watch America's Funniest Videos (AFV). God bless Sony and God bless the handy cam. Had it not been for the candid video clips recordings, we'd never have sampled American humor at its best. The videos are bound to leave you in splits.
If you thought programming on Hindi entertainment channels was all about soaps, think again. The slew of new channel launches brings an interesting mix of experimental shows and fresh comedies.
And why not? Considering Hindi news channels are serving up enough drama in the garb of news, its time the mass entertainment channels pulled up their socks to offer something different.
It is a challenging premise. Indian viewers are not best of samplers since they are thoroughly loyal, even though they (mature female audiences, especially) in retrospect, might bitch about regressive Tulsis and Parvatis. Some new channels have braced up to this challenge upfront. Some have targeted new age urban audiences. And some are bringing top-notch international content from across the world.
Who needs a remote when Remote Control is on?
First up, a worthy mention about Remote Control on INX Media's newly launched 9X. Truly, its time to crown the serial's producer - Hats Off Productions - as the king of television comedy. J D Majethia's characters spin hilarious situations in this Monday prime-time half-hour show. The show's concept brings back memories of Waghle Ki Duniya, since the setting is similar. A simple, well written comedy about the common man. And the Golden Eye Channel. (Hyuk hyuk hyuk!)
Also on 9X, JamegiJodi.com is worth a watch. The comedy, which marks Endemol's first inroads into television fiction is a commendable effort. The serial offers a healthy dose of situational humour bordering on the slapstick, but crisply edited.
Sony - SAB's new mantra: Non-saas bahu shows
Observe the themes of the Sony-SAB's new list of shows and it's easy to figure out that the channels have decided to give the saas-bahu serials a miss. Will it work or not? Perhaps only time (and TAM) will tell. In the meantime, there's relief in the form of Kucch Is Tarah, Amber Dhara, Viruddh, Jersey No.10 amongst others.
Quite a contrast to Zee's weekday prime time programming - totally saturated with lathery, frothy soaps. You know what I mean. Pick your keywords - dulhann, betiyaan, saat and phere. And if that was not enough, it has introduced a Naginn for weekends. Eeks! But the snake-fest is doing very well in the interiors, I hear.
Good Times are here
NDTV's lifestyle channel 'NDTV Good Times' has a must-watch roster of shows for the tech-savvy new age young urban Indian. T3, What's the Next Big Thing hosted by the suave Rajeev Makhani are informative, with high-end production values. Lounge hosted by Rajat Kapoor has improved considerably after the initial hiccups. The channel does have its share of dampeners though, prime amongst them being the Great Indian Love Challenge. The show is old wine in a new bottle, with similar concepts explored earlier by Channel [V] Crush and MTV Love Ke Liye.
Times Now's Total Recall
I came across this gem today afternoon. Total Recall on Times Now explores the bygone era of Indian television, the characters, genres and defining moments that have scripted the television revolution that we see today. Malgudi Days fans, don't miss next week's episode - an interview with the grown up Swamy (yes, the same one from Swamy and friends) is on the cards.
Lagegi to drop title?
There's buzz that UTV Bindass' driver show Lagegi is likely to go for a name change. The stand-up comedy show hosted by the likeable Mantra and Aniruddh could well land up calling itself Hass de India. Sad, but true. The show's comic lines were doing quite well for itself, at least within its target audience. Looks like Roshan Abbas wants to encompass a larger audience base into a laughing spree. So now truly, sabki lagegi.
Rant of the week: Rama rama kya hai drama? Sahara One's Jjhoom India is witnessing too much of mudslinging within the judges and contestants. Shekhar Suman deserves to be rapped on the knuckles for his rude remarks to host Rahul Vaidya. But who cares? The uproars seem too scripted to be true. And whats with the jordaar taaliyaan after every outburst? Tch tch.
Chant of the week: Weekdays 10:30 pm on SAB - watch America's Funniest Videos (AFV). God bless Sony and God bless the handy cam. Had it not been for the candid video clips recordings, we'd never have sampled American humor at its best. The videos are bound to leave you in splits.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
The Great Indian Procastrinator
Festivals are great procastrinators.
And they are used with good effect in India. A box of sweets, a hug or a handshake and a few sweet mumblings is all it takes to wipe the slate clean. A Makar Sankranti is a good occasion to forget all past issues and begin a relationship afresh. Not only for Sankranti, the thought largely applies to all festivals.
However, is a festive wipe of the slate necessarily a good thing? How many of us can withstand the guilty come clean so easily?
We are a nation which sleeps in guilt over ghosts we may have never seen. We are subconsciously troubled over the fact that, as much as we celebrate our diversity, it is still the root cause of all dissatisfaction among masses.
We are still unsettled by the fact that while we may exchange material posessions over Diwali, a part of this world may never see a festival that offers so much visual delight. And yet, it is the festivals which we hope will act as the leveller to all our follies, ghosts and greviences, every time.
My strong opinion is, that a festival only partially manages to succeed in the mission it sets out for. The purpose can be only fully served if every time, we vow to neutralise the negatives our follies, ghosts and guilts. And this, I believe, can be done only through constructive resolutions.
My question therefore is - shouldn't festivals be an occasion for new resolutions?
What do you think? Share your thoughts.
And they are used with good effect in India. A box of sweets, a hug or a handshake and a few sweet mumblings is all it takes to wipe the slate clean. A Makar Sankranti is a good occasion to forget all past issues and begin a relationship afresh. Not only for Sankranti, the thought largely applies to all festivals.
However, is a festive wipe of the slate necessarily a good thing? How many of us can withstand the guilty come clean so easily?
We are a nation which sleeps in guilt over ghosts we may have never seen. We are subconsciously troubled over the fact that, as much as we celebrate our diversity, it is still the root cause of all dissatisfaction among masses.
We are still unsettled by the fact that while we may exchange material posessions over Diwali, a part of this world may never see a festival that offers so much visual delight. And yet, it is the festivals which we hope will act as the leveller to all our follies, ghosts and greviences, every time.
My strong opinion is, that a festival only partially manages to succeed in the mission it sets out for. The purpose can be only fully served if every time, we vow to neutralise the negatives our follies, ghosts and guilts. And this, I believe, can be done only through constructive resolutions.
My question therefore is - shouldn't festivals be an occasion for new resolutions?
What do you think? Share your thoughts.
Caffeine injected love
A lot can happen over a cup of coffee.
Hands can be held. Lips can be locked. Deals can be signed. Bonds can be made. Memories can be revived. Hearts can be broken. Abuses can be hurled. Presentations can be planned. Wallets can be exposed. A lot can happen over a simple cup of coffee.
So much so, that today the Cafe Coffee Days, Baristas and McDonalds are playing a major role in the steering the course of human relationships. What is it, about these locations that is driving people to it? What really happens at these hangouts thats propelling a whole generation of caffeine injected love stories?
Or is something about coffee that works the magic? Your guess is as good as mine. Share it here.
Hands can be held. Lips can be locked. Deals can be signed. Bonds can be made. Memories can be revived. Hearts can be broken. Abuses can be hurled. Presentations can be planned. Wallets can be exposed. A lot can happen over a simple cup of coffee.
So much so, that today the Cafe Coffee Days, Baristas and McDonalds are playing a major role in the steering the course of human relationships. What is it, about these locations that is driving people to it? What really happens at these hangouts thats propelling a whole generation of caffeine injected love stories?
Or is something about coffee that works the magic? Your guess is as good as mine. Share it here.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Cabbie cabbie mere dil mein khayal aata hai
The Readers' Digest survey which labelled Mumbai as rude could be partly true, if one has had an experience with the city's cabbies. Most of them are downright arrogant, refusing to ply you to your desired destination.
However, the reason why I say the survey is 'partly true' is that for every 10 rude cabbies, you'll have atleast one cabbie who is polite and responsible. And in Mumbai, that's a lot of good cabbies. A recent experience in boarding a cab from Colaba reaffirmed this opinion.
I'd tried about 7 cabs whether they would ply me to Churchgate station. A curt 'No' was the reply from all of them.
"What's wrong about Churchgate?" I asked one of them, dejected.
"Arey... there are so many, why don't you ask them?" replied one.
Frustrated (and determined to write a blog on this), I moved ahead, still searching, when from a far distance, I saw this cabbie with a 'Chalo...tum ko lekar... chale' smile , burgeoning me to come in. From the looks of its, it seemed he'd take me anywhere I ordered him to. He waved at me. I waved back asking him to halt.
The conversation that followed, was a pleasant surprise. Here we go..one, two three.. zatak!
Cabbie: Saar..ek taraf se aage aa jaiye, please saar...baithiye..! Saamne aa jaiye!
Me: Churchgate station?
Cabbie: Kyun nahin, saar? Bas baith hi jaiye, uss meter ko zara down kijiye..haan bas!
Me: Hmm.. (relieved, shutting the door, sighs)
Cabbie: Saar, kya badhiya perphume lagaya hai. Kaunsa hai?
Me: Yeh? (giggles with surprise) Zatak.
Cabbie: Deo hai kya spray?
Me: Erm.. Deospray.
Cabbie: Same wohi hai kya, jisme sab girls idhar udhar se uss aadmi ke paas aati hain?
Me: Kaun sa? (wonders) Oh.. nahin. Woh toh Axe hai. This is Zatak.
Cabbie: Accha, lekin khushboo badhiya hai. Iska naam zatak nahin, zhakaas hona chahiye, nahin?
Me: (smiles)
Cabbie: Memsaab se milne aaye the?
Me: Kya? (surprised)
Cabbie: Aap apni memsaab se milne aaye the?
Me: (smiling) Nahin.. ek meeting ke liye aaye the.
Cabbie: Wohi, memsaab se meeting tha?
Me: (giggles) Nahin.. office ka meeting tha. (smiles again)
Cabbie: Aap naukri karte hain?
Me: Haan. Andheri mein. Tum kahaan ke ho, bhai?
Cabbie: Hum to saar hai Kalyan se.
Me: Arrey waah..hum aap ke wahan Ambarnath ke rehne waale hain.
Cabbie: Roz up down karte hain kya?
Me: Nahin nahin, Andheri mein rehna padta hai. PG ke taur par. Vahin mera office hai.
Cabbie: Har meeting ke pehle deospray lagana padta hai? Yeh Zatak?
Me: (laughs, thinking about it) Kabhi kabhi. (spots a babe crossing the road) Bambai mein hasina ko dekhkar pasina aa jaata hai na.
Cabbie: Woh toh hai (smiles). Accha bataiye saar, aapko Eros ke paas chhod doon toh chalega na?
Me: Chalega, no problem.
Cabbie: Zatak kitne ka aata hai? 130?
Me: Haan.. aisa hu kuch. 140 shaayad.
Cabbie: Toh aap kya Zatak leke ghoomte hain?
Me: Haan.
Cabbie: Don't mind saar, hum par bhi zara spray kar denge. Acchi khushbu aa jayegi.
Me: Haan, haan, kyun nahin.. (opens the bag, sprays some on him)
Cabbie: Thank you saar, abhi accha lag raha hai. (pause) Kaunsa flavour hai saar?
Me: Pata nahin. Orange hai shaayad. Accha hai na?
Cabbie: Haan woh toh hai. Lo, aa gaya aapka Eros. Woh saamne isstation.
Me: (peering into the meter) Kitna hua?
Cabbie: Total hua pandhrah rupaye, lekin aapne humein spray lagaye, isliye hum saar aapse sirf phorteen rupees lenge.
Me: Waah bhai, kamaal karte ho. Yeh lo (hands out the change.)
Cabbie: Thank you saar. Happy journey saar.
Me: (gets out of the cab) Thank you. Aapko bhi. Jidhar bhi aap jayeein. (smiles, waves)
Cabbie: Take care saar.
However, the reason why I say the survey is 'partly true' is that for every 10 rude cabbies, you'll have atleast one cabbie who is polite and responsible. And in Mumbai, that's a lot of good cabbies. A recent experience in boarding a cab from Colaba reaffirmed this opinion.
I'd tried about 7 cabs whether they would ply me to Churchgate station. A curt 'No' was the reply from all of them.
"What's wrong about Churchgate?" I asked one of them, dejected.
"Arey... there are so many, why don't you ask them?" replied one.
Frustrated (and determined to write a blog on this), I moved ahead, still searching, when from a far distance, I saw this cabbie with a 'Chalo...tum ko lekar... chale' smile , burgeoning me to come in. From the looks of its, it seemed he'd take me anywhere I ordered him to. He waved at me. I waved back asking him to halt.
The conversation that followed, was a pleasant surprise. Here we go..one, two three.. zatak!
Cabbie: Saar..ek taraf se aage aa jaiye, please saar...baithiye..! Saamne aa jaiye!
Me: Churchgate station?
Cabbie: Kyun nahin, saar? Bas baith hi jaiye, uss meter ko zara down kijiye..haan bas!
Me: Hmm.. (relieved, shutting the door, sighs)
Cabbie: Saar, kya badhiya perphume lagaya hai. Kaunsa hai?
Me: Yeh? (giggles with surprise) Zatak.
Cabbie: Deo hai kya spray?
Me: Erm.. Deospray.
Cabbie: Same wohi hai kya, jisme sab girls idhar udhar se uss aadmi ke paas aati hain?
Me: Kaun sa? (wonders) Oh.. nahin. Woh toh Axe hai. This is Zatak.
Cabbie: Accha, lekin khushboo badhiya hai. Iska naam zatak nahin, zhakaas hona chahiye, nahin?
Me: (smiles)
Cabbie: Memsaab se milne aaye the?
Me: Kya? (surprised)
Cabbie: Aap apni memsaab se milne aaye the?
Me: (smiling) Nahin.. ek meeting ke liye aaye the.
Cabbie: Wohi, memsaab se meeting tha?
Me: (giggles) Nahin.. office ka meeting tha. (smiles again)
Cabbie: Aap naukri karte hain?
Me: Haan. Andheri mein. Tum kahaan ke ho, bhai?
Cabbie: Hum to saar hai Kalyan se.
Me: Arrey waah..hum aap ke wahan Ambarnath ke rehne waale hain.
Cabbie: Roz up down karte hain kya?
Me: Nahin nahin, Andheri mein rehna padta hai. PG ke taur par. Vahin mera office hai.
Cabbie: Har meeting ke pehle deospray lagana padta hai? Yeh Zatak?
Me: (laughs, thinking about it) Kabhi kabhi. (spots a babe crossing the road) Bambai mein hasina ko dekhkar pasina aa jaata hai na.
Cabbie: Woh toh hai (smiles). Accha bataiye saar, aapko Eros ke paas chhod doon toh chalega na?
Me: Chalega, no problem.
Cabbie: Zatak kitne ka aata hai? 130?
Me: Haan.. aisa hu kuch. 140 shaayad.
Cabbie: Toh aap kya Zatak leke ghoomte hain?
Me: Haan.
Cabbie: Don't mind saar, hum par bhi zara spray kar denge. Acchi khushbu aa jayegi.
Me: Haan, haan, kyun nahin.. (opens the bag, sprays some on him)
Cabbie: Thank you saar, abhi accha lag raha hai. (pause) Kaunsa flavour hai saar?
Me: Pata nahin. Orange hai shaayad. Accha hai na?
Cabbie: Haan woh toh hai. Lo, aa gaya aapka Eros. Woh saamne isstation.
Me: (peering into the meter) Kitna hua?
Cabbie: Total hua pandhrah rupaye, lekin aapne humein spray lagaye, isliye hum saar aapse sirf phorteen rupees lenge.
Me: Waah bhai, kamaal karte ho. Yeh lo (hands out the change.)
Cabbie: Thank you saar. Happy journey saar.
Me: (gets out of the cab) Thank you. Aapko bhi. Jidhar bhi aap jayeein. (smiles, waves)
Cabbie: Take care saar.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
There's something about Ramu
Okay, so everybody's derived sadistic pleasure out of Ram Gopal Varma Ki Aag and its subsequent collapse. My editorial director Thomas Abraham particularly likes to chestbeat about the how Varma is a "twit" to make a remake of Sholay. All he can suggest is that RGV se bhaag.
I object to this issue on two fronts that people fail to realize - One, is that people somewhere knew down the line that the film would in NO WAY be as good as the original. So, the moment the critics panned it, audiences also went into the "I told you so," mode.
Two, nobody for that matter admired RGV's enthusiasm for the film, least of all realise that here was a man making a film centred around a villain, rather than a conventional hero.
So with RGV Ki Aag, here is a film whose villian was pegged as its USP, and for many viewers it must have been the prime reason for watching it in the first place. Some "gurus" believe
that the original Sholay itself was an erroneous script, since Gabbar as the villain shot to fame quicker than the 'positive' characters. RGV exploited the same sentiment and pegged a film around him, titling him 'Babban'.
RGV, however screwed it up in the adaptation to the current milieu. Mumbai's underworld has been quiet since a long time. Varma's earlier gems on the subject have made audiences acclimatised to this setting and it comes across as repetitive today.
RGV should learn a thing or two from Vishal Bharadwaj, who skilfully adapted Macbeth and Othello into gems like Maqbool and Omkara respectively.
---
But the saddest story came only after Aag released. Pritish Nandy has announced plans to make a prequel, a remake, a sequel and an animated version of the same old Sholay. Talk about obsession with old ideas and a vacuum of new concepts. If only that bald head of Nandy's struck a eureka spark, he'd do it. Otherwise he's quite a bum.
PNC's plans are only being echoed by some more remakes which by the way are actually coloured versions of good old Guide by Ketan Anand. Goldstone Technologies has acquired the rights to digitally colour the film and re-release it.
The trend will give a lot of veterans a chance for their aakhri khwaish to see old movies in colour. Also, it might possibly lure the current Gen X to experience golden days of yore.
What worries me though, is the direction in which the industry is heading. A man like Pritish Nandy can do wonders. He almost did so with a brave Chameli and a tongue-in-cheek Pyar Ke Side Effects. If only he had those grey hairs to differentiate the right from the wrong...
This reminds me of Lagaan, the making of which I recently saw on VCD, in the form of Chale Chalo. The film attracted all the attention from its cast, crew, media, foreign press only because of its unique screenplay and storyline. If only, we could create that celluloid magic again.
Another round of gems please, oh you industrywallas...!
I object to this issue on two fronts that people fail to realize - One, is that people somewhere knew down the line that the film would in NO WAY be as good as the original. So, the moment the critics panned it, audiences also went into the "I told you so," mode.
Two, nobody for that matter admired RGV's enthusiasm for the film, least of all realise that here was a man making a film centred around a villain, rather than a conventional hero.
So with RGV Ki Aag, here is a film whose villian was pegged as its USP, and for many viewers it must have been the prime reason for watching it in the first place. Some "gurus" believe
that the original Sholay itself was an erroneous script, since Gabbar as the villain shot to fame quicker than the 'positive' characters. RGV exploited the same sentiment and pegged a film around him, titling him 'Babban'.RGV, however screwed it up in the adaptation to the current milieu. Mumbai's underworld has been quiet since a long time. Varma's earlier gems on the subject have made audiences acclimatised to this setting and it comes across as repetitive today.
RGV should learn a thing or two from Vishal Bharadwaj, who skilfully adapted Macbeth and Othello into gems like Maqbool and Omkara respectively.
---
But the saddest story came only after Aag released. Pritish Nandy has announced plans to make a prequel, a remake, a sequel and an animated version of the same old Sholay. Talk about obsession with old ideas and a vacuum of new concepts. If only that bald head of Nandy's struck a eureka spark, he'd do it. Otherwise he's quite a bum.
PNC's plans are only being echoed by some more remakes which by the way are actually coloured versions of good old Guide by Ketan Anand. Goldstone Technologies has acquired the rights to digitally colour the film and re-release it.
The trend will give a lot of veterans a chance for their aakhri khwaish to see old movies in colour. Also, it might possibly lure the current Gen X to experience golden days of yore.
What worries me though, is the direction in which the industry is heading. A man like Pritish Nandy can do wonders. He almost did so with a brave Chameli and a tongue-in-cheek Pyar Ke Side Effects. If only he had those grey hairs to differentiate the right from the wrong...
This reminds me of Lagaan, the making of which I recently saw on VCD, in the form of Chale Chalo. The film attracted all the attention from its cast, crew, media, foreign press only because of its unique screenplay and storyline. If only, we could create that celluloid magic again.
Another round of gems please, oh you industrywallas...!
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Bollywood talking BIG
Bollywood is the big adda
Bollywood is talking BIG in sheer numbers. The corporatization of the Hindi film industry is suddenly taking giant strides on the global frontier and testimony to this is UTV's Ronnie Screwvala, who's now on the cover of Newsweek. The media conglomerate is going places not just in terms of his Bollywood and television plans (8-10 TV channels), but also for his Hollywood projects. Hats off to this bawa gentlemen who's minting money in return for good, solid entertainment.
Welcome the titans
The Bollywood success story is seeing some biggies emerge in the entire scenario. Yashraj is huge, alright but new players emerging are Eros, Reliance and UTV. Eros recently received funding from Citibank group to the tune of $400 million, especially for its film production business and this I think, speaks volumes for the industry as a whole which is seeing investments from non-film players. Citibank is a banking company, after all.
SUB ka bheja fry
About me, things have reached a crucial juncture at work. I've discovered a firm footing on desk, and I'm learning it quick and enjoying it. I've discovered that reporting is not my forte, nor is pestering people to give me a story. I'm enjoying subbing and of late, rarely being pulled up by my managing editor for subbing goof-ups. It's a good sign and moreover he's acknowledged it, that I'm potential subbie in the making. An industry senior says that the print medium has a dearth of good sub-editors and I could offer my services to Print, in the coming days. Let's see. The desk is not a bad place to be. And I can do features alongside. Makes it more relaxed and focused.
Chak de Indiantelevision!
Team Indiantelevision.com will watch Chak De India today at Fun Republic. That's about 40 of us. It's a part of a corporate team-building exercise. We can draw inspiration from this film to function much better as a team, by pushing harder towards better quality work. It's a different story though, that most of us have already seen the film. It's also another different story that the film is 'tax-free' now that the office has arranged for a trip. :-)
There she goes
Our editorial team faced a blow this week when our 'centre-forward' Renelle put in her papers. She'll join Vir Sanghvi-headed INX News in October. She's been with us for over a year, rising from a trainee journalist to staff reporter to sub-editor to senior reporter. She's an asset to the team apart from being a friend and a wonderful colleague to me. I've learnt a lot from her and I wish her all the best, although it makes me nervous how we'll cope up without her.
The buzz, though is that we're poaching senior journos from DNA Money and HT Cafe. This is good news. The value of the brand will go higher if journalists from print publications turn to the web. It helps us garner much more respect not only as a brand, but also as a web-based B2B medium.
Bollywood is talking BIG in sheer numbers. The corporatization of the Hindi film industry is suddenly taking giant strides on the global frontier and testimony to this is UTV's Ronnie Screwvala, who's now on the cover of Newsweek. The media conglomerate is going places not just in terms of his Bollywood and television plans (8-10 TV channels), but also for his Hollywood projects. Hats off to this bawa gentlemen who's minting money in return for good, solid entertainment.
Welcome the titans
The Bollywood success story is seeing some biggies emerge in the entire scenario. Yashraj is huge, alright but new players emerging are Eros, Reliance and UTV. Eros recently received funding from Citibank group to the tune of $400 million, especially for its film production business and this I think, speaks volumes for the industry as a whole which is seeing investments from non-film players. Citibank is a banking company, after all.
SUB ka bheja fry
About me, things have reached a crucial juncture at work. I've discovered a firm footing on desk, and I'm learning it quick and enjoying it. I've discovered that reporting is not my forte, nor is pestering people to give me a story. I'm enjoying subbing and of late, rarely being pulled up by my managing editor for subbing goof-ups. It's a good sign and moreover he's acknowledged it, that I'm potential subbie in the making. An industry senior says that the print medium has a dearth of good sub-editors and I could offer my services to Print, in the coming days. Let's see. The desk is not a bad place to be. And I can do features alongside. Makes it more relaxed and focused.
Chak de Indiantelevision!
Team Indiantelevision.com will watch Chak De India today at Fun Republic. That's about 40 of us. It's a part of a corporate team-building exercise. We can draw inspiration from this film to function much better as a team, by pushing harder towards better quality work. It's a different story though, that most of us have already seen the film. It's also another different story that the film is 'tax-free' now that the office has arranged for a trip. :-)
There she goes
Our editorial team faced a blow this week when our 'centre-forward' Renelle put in her papers. She'll join Vir Sanghvi-headed INX News in October. She's been with us for over a year, rising from a trainee journalist to staff reporter to sub-editor to senior reporter. She's an asset to the team apart from being a friend and a wonderful colleague to me. I've learnt a lot from her and I wish her all the best, although it makes me nervous how we'll cope up without her.
The buzz, though is that we're poaching senior journos from DNA Money and HT Cafe. This is good news. The value of the brand will go higher if journalists from print publications turn to the web. It helps us garner much more respect not only as a brand, but also as a web-based B2B medium.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Muse paper
Its late evening.
I'm at busy at work, uploading stories on another website. The atmosphere in the editorial room is relaxed - we've finished our work for the day, my managing editor and colleagues have signed out.
My editorial director Thomas Abraham is sitting a few desks away in his cubicle. He resembles Voldemort (more on that, later) and is playing some of the most melodious English classics. I've not been much of a rock music aficionado all my life, but I must admit, this music is inspiring. What lyrics!
----
Saw Transformers today. The movie makes for great pop-corn entertainment, but its half-baked characters were a total turn-off. The plot has several loopholes since it never really makes it clear and elaborate on the motive and purpose of the attack and defence at various stages.
Yes, the Special Effects were eye-popping alright, but then even Spiderman and Superman have great SFX. But they score in their finely etched characters.
The auditorium was half-packed even though it was the morning show at the neighbouring Fame Adlabs multiplex and all the patrons were college going youngsters. From the look of it, all had a good time watching it and the movie is likely to achieve cult status, thanks to its SFX, similar on the lines of 300.
I give the movie a three-star rating.
----
Food!
Discovered the most fabulous Chicken Pulav at the neighbouring Cafe Safar restaurant. And that too, by chance. Whatever happens, is for the good of everyone.
My editor and myself were supposed to attend a press conference at Land's End. The occasion - Vijay Mallya would grace the launch of the tennis stars for the Kingfisher open. I thought we'd go, for sure and hence cancelled my dabba. We didn't make it though. It took us a while to get the stories ready on the site. The Delhi bureau has been active off late with both Sujit and Bhushan sending in stories on a timely basis. But damn, the Vijay Mallya party was a glamorous evening I hear! :-)
----
Adversity introduces a man to himself. That's one quote, that has kept me going all this week. Stories are difficult to come by and I'm finding the desk more and more addictive. I guess, I enjoy the clean-up act (sub-editing, proof-reading) more, rather than pestering people for stories.
I've realized over a period of time that there are two kinds of journalists - one, who is the curious, pestering types, loves chasing stories and two, the observant one. The latter is good at spotting trends providing more analysis and thus representing the larger picture. I think I fit into the latter.
I'm at busy at work, uploading stories on another website. The atmosphere in the editorial room is relaxed - we've finished our work for the day, my managing editor and colleagues have signed out.
My editorial director Thomas Abraham is sitting a few desks away in his cubicle. He resembles Voldemort (more on that, later) and is playing some of the most melodious English classics. I've not been much of a rock music aficionado all my life, but I must admit, this music is inspiring. What lyrics!
----
Saw Transformers today. The movie makes for great pop-corn entertainment, but its half-baked characters were a total turn-off. The plot has several loopholes since it never really makes it clear and elaborate on the motive and purpose of the attack and defence at various stages.
Yes, the Special Effects were eye-popping alright, but then even Spiderman and Superman have great SFX. But they score in their finely etched characters.
The auditorium was half-packed even though it was the morning show at the neighbouring Fame Adlabs multiplex and all the patrons were college going youngsters. From the look of it, all had a good time watching it and the movie is likely to achieve cult status, thanks to its SFX, similar on the lines of 300.
I give the movie a three-star rating.
----
Food!
Discovered the most fabulous Chicken Pulav at the neighbouring Cafe Safar restaurant. And that too, by chance. Whatever happens, is for the good of everyone.
My editor and myself were supposed to attend a press conference at Land's End. The occasion - Vijay Mallya would grace the launch of the tennis stars for the Kingfisher open. I thought we'd go, for sure and hence cancelled my dabba. We didn't make it though. It took us a while to get the stories ready on the site. The Delhi bureau has been active off late with both Sujit and Bhushan sending in stories on a timely basis. But damn, the Vijay Mallya party was a glamorous evening I hear! :-)
----
Adversity introduces a man to himself. That's one quote, that has kept me going all this week. Stories are difficult to come by and I'm finding the desk more and more addictive. I guess, I enjoy the clean-up act (sub-editing, proof-reading) more, rather than pestering people for stories.
I've realized over a period of time that there are two kinds of journalists - one, who is the curious, pestering types, loves chasing stories and two, the observant one. The latter is good at spotting trends providing more analysis and thus representing the larger picture. I think I fit into the latter.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Channel pe channel pe channel
Black current wonders how our gharwaalis will stick on to existing TV channels.
By the end of this year, we're expecting about 4 new General entertainment channels - all modelled on Sony and Star Plus and then there are the youth based channels as well.
You have INX Media's new channel, then there's one from BAG films and media, then the Viacom-18 thingy, ZeeNext, SaharaTwo, UTV Bindass...
And not to be missed the Sameer Nair helmed NDTV Imagine! Just imagine..
Phew! I need more eyes.
By the end of this year, we're expecting about 4 new General entertainment channels - all modelled on Sony and Star Plus and then there are the youth based channels as well.
You have INX Media's new channel, then there's one from BAG films and media, then the Viacom-18 thingy, ZeeNext, SaharaTwo, UTV Bindass...
And not to be missed the Sameer Nair helmed NDTV Imagine! Just imagine..
Phew! I need more eyes.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Mornings at Fame
Morning shows at Fame Adlabs rock. Period.
Do not mistake that as a plugged story, they did not pay me to write this. I recently saw Harry Potter and Order of the Phoenix (order, order!!) in the 9:30am show at Fame Andheri, bang opposite my workplace. Its a steal at Rs.40 a ticket, that too at a plush multiplex with those couch seats. Note: It's located in one of the most expensive real estate properties in the suburbs - Lokhandwala - and a stone's throw away is competition in the form of Cinemax and Fun Republic. Surprisingly, the auditorium was almost half full - most of them were couples who wanted to start their day off with some heavy duty love-making in the midst of spells, charms and Expecto Patronum. Just goes to show that no matter how weird the show timing be, pricing is a big factor that can pull in the crowds.
-
Our managing editor Godson Adam threw a free lunch for us recently. The food rocked and so did the dessert that followed. What impressed me most about him and always does is the fact that he's so humble and down to earth in nature. I wish him a wonderful life ahead and pray that he gets married soon. He's around 40 years old and with a witty brain like that, I wonder how he's still single. Ladies! Go for him!
-
Another mention about Godson Adam.
In journalism, every word counts. There is a lot of thought that must be put behind every single word that goes into a copy. A recent session of copy-editing by Adam impressed me thoroughly and I have tried to borrow a lot from him.
The story was about the Subhash Chandra promoted Essel Group's Digital Media Convergence Limited's foray into mobile television, through a tie-up with Government owned BSNL. I'd filed the story and Adam was restructuring it. Or so it seemed.
Initially he began what I'd describe as 'butchering of copy'. But as I stood there and observed him edit, I almost could read his mind and feel the amount of thought and conviction that was being put behind every sentence. It was a learning experience. And it is a collection of such experiences that I'm picking up everyday here on the job.
Do not mistake that as a plugged story, they did not pay me to write this. I recently saw Harry Potter and Order of the Phoenix (order, order!!) in the 9:30am show at Fame Andheri, bang opposite my workplace. Its a steal at Rs.40 a ticket, that too at a plush multiplex with those couch seats. Note: It's located in one of the most expensive real estate properties in the suburbs - Lokhandwala - and a stone's throw away is competition in the form of Cinemax and Fun Republic. Surprisingly, the auditorium was almost half full - most of them were couples who wanted to start their day off with some heavy duty love-making in the midst of spells, charms and Expecto Patronum. Just goes to show that no matter how weird the show timing be, pricing is a big factor that can pull in the crowds.
-
Our managing editor Godson Adam threw a free lunch for us recently. The food rocked and so did the dessert that followed. What impressed me most about him and always does is the fact that he's so humble and down to earth in nature. I wish him a wonderful life ahead and pray that he gets married soon. He's around 40 years old and with a witty brain like that, I wonder how he's still single. Ladies! Go for him!
-
Another mention about Godson Adam.
In journalism, every word counts. There is a lot of thought that must be put behind every single word that goes into a copy. A recent session of copy-editing by Adam impressed me thoroughly and I have tried to borrow a lot from him.
The story was about the Subhash Chandra promoted Essel Group's Digital Media Convergence Limited's foray into mobile television, through a tie-up with Government owned BSNL. I'd filed the story and Adam was restructuring it. Or so it seemed.
Initially he began what I'd describe as 'butchering of copy'. But as I stood there and observed him edit, I almost could read his mind and feel the amount of thought and conviction that was being put behind every sentence. It was a learning experience. And it is a collection of such experiences that I'm picking up everyday here on the job.
Monday, July 23, 2007
From pitching to billing
In a multi-restaurant pitch, Arcopol Chaudhuri has awarded the culinary duties of his stomach to Welcome Dabba. The account size is estimated to be small but filling enough for the already malnourished and underweight skinny Bong.
Other contenders in the pitch were Rasoi the people's favourite, Laxmi Chhaya (didn't it collapse, a few days back?), Cafe New Link and Cafe Safar. According to highly placed sources, Welcome's name took the cake. Rasoi was a tough competitor but misplacements in the order and a dumb albeit cute looking Nepali chhokra made a nuisance of the orders.
Also, sources near the reception desk say, that Rasoi was obsessed with Aloo Jeera and Chana masala as main culinary items on a platter every damn day of the week. The author of this post, has found out from reliable sources that the name Aloo Jeera has been derived from the international news channel Al- Jaljeera. The channel repeatedly shows a funny looking man with a long and a funny name (what was it..Oh-mama or something) making lewd gestures. His staple diet was Aloo Jeera.
Muggle news
Indiantelevision.com recently announced Hogwarts night within its premises. Nominations have been coming in from all quarters about who should be donning whose cap from the famous Harry Potter series. Some of the interesting characters we could place are:
1.Anil Wanwari as Albus Dumbledore. The pony works. A flick of the wand, hair on a strand... do you understand?
2.Devyani as Professor McGonagall. She doesn't meos, nor does she have the bun. But she fits into her shoes easily. Rats, beware!
3. Thomas Abraham as Lord Voldemort. This one got the maximum votes. That devilish chuckle and stature. Harry peed in his pants during the interview itself.
4. Anand Gurnani as Hagrid. He's friendly and very approachable. Isn't he, guys? He gets the spells right most of the times.
More nominations coming in. Watch this space.
A muggle is peeking into my computer right now.
And yes, Cho Chang's calling me.
Other contenders in the pitch were Rasoi the people's favourite, Laxmi Chhaya (didn't it collapse, a few days back?), Cafe New Link and Cafe Safar. According to highly placed sources, Welcome's name took the cake. Rasoi was a tough competitor but misplacements in the order and a dumb albeit cute looking Nepali chhokra made a nuisance of the orders.
Also, sources near the reception desk say, that Rasoi was obsessed with Aloo Jeera and Chana masala as main culinary items on a platter every damn day of the week. The author of this post, has found out from reliable sources that the name Aloo Jeera has been derived from the international news channel Al- Jaljeera. The channel repeatedly shows a funny looking man with a long and a funny name (what was it..Oh-mama or something) making lewd gestures. His staple diet was Aloo Jeera.
Muggle news
Indiantelevision.com recently announced Hogwarts night within its premises. Nominations have been coming in from all quarters about who should be donning whose cap from the famous Harry Potter series. Some of the interesting characters we could place are:
1.Anil Wanwari as Albus Dumbledore. The pony works. A flick of the wand, hair on a strand... do you understand?
2.Devyani as Professor McGonagall. She doesn't meos, nor does she have the bun. But she fits into her shoes easily. Rats, beware!
3. Thomas Abraham as Lord Voldemort. This one got the maximum votes. That devilish chuckle and stature. Harry peed in his pants during the interview itself.
4. Anand Gurnani as Hagrid. He's friendly and very approachable. Isn't he, guys? He gets the spells right most of the times.
More nominations coming in. Watch this space.
A muggle is peeking into my computer right now.
And yes, Cho Chang's calling me.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Passing the baton
It was dinnertime. I was home. Dad was seated next to me, sunk in his seat servicing his morsels religiously as usual. He was quiet. I was indulged in separating the fish from the bones on my plate.
Mom was standing next to me, looking over the two of us. She's always quiet these days, ever since I've been living away from them as a paying guest, close to my office. That's about two hours away from home.
Dad and me don't talk much during dinner. I'm not the talkative types and although he is, over a period of time, he's realized that I'm not the best audience for him. He's a thorough intellectual, well-read and very knowledgeable. He's 58, a month away from retirement. And he's worried. After 38 years of service, he would no longer be a contributor to the family's income. Mom had told me this over lunch. Dad's been mum about it. He's serving a notice period at work already. In 30 days, it'll all be over.
Maybe he's wondering what life's got for him, after this. He's passionate about script-writing and theatre, especially Bengali theatre. I'd like to believe that he'll follow his passions wholeheartedly once he gets done with work. Presently he's a mechanical engineer. He still wants to work, it seems.
Although we weren't talking over our meal, I could feel a deep message emanating from him. I could feel his eyes on me. I didn't make eye contact and it seemed he had finished eating. But I could feel eyes on me. Both mom and dad. Its not everyday that they get to see their son eating in front of them and so they were making the best of it. Or so it seemed. It lasted for about 3 minutes.
Within those three minutes, I felt a world turning around. A father hanging up his boots with caution. A wife acknowledging his effort. A mother hopeful over her son's future. And a father emotionally passing over the baton to his son.
Its been a long journey. 21 years of bringing up a son. A naughty son - who broke car windows amidst games of lagori, who stole tomatoes from the fridge, who hid his mother's shoes so that she wouldn't take him to school. A geeky son - who demanded a new story book every week. A truant son - who ran away from home at the age of 13, only to be found by cops and handed over. A failed son - who found his calling in conceptualizing film stories by bunking classes for the cinema halls.
The tide turned slowly, though. They were proud when I salvaged some pride after I almost topped school in my boards. Bad luck struck, though after the high school boards. I found my calling in a new course they had no clue about. Three nervous years passed, wherein the son was indulging in activities they generally were not informed about.
But I knew the future looked bright, atleast on the career front. I made new friends, lost many on the way. Mom and dad have been protective, but not interfering. Always cautious and full of advise. "Don't repeat the mistakes which I did," said Dad.
I did have some issues though - I wasn't given pocket money and I had to constantly ask for it. I was not allowed for trips and participation in inter-school sports. But if its the end which defines the means, then I'd say, they were right. They always are. They had a sense of achievement when I graduated with distinction, topping my college in the journalism. Today, an eventful upbringing process has reached a level of maturity today. When I look at them, it shows in their eyes. I want to thank them and congratulate them.
They always say, "When you'll become a parent, you'll know how difficult it is."
Its so goddamn true. I'm 21 today, working for a news-portal and at a very delicate stage of my career. This is the period which will define the course of my future growth and destiny.
And this is the period, where I'll become more responsible than I ever was. Its because the baton has been handed over.
Mom was standing next to me, looking over the two of us. She's always quiet these days, ever since I've been living away from them as a paying guest, close to my office. That's about two hours away from home.
Dad and me don't talk much during dinner. I'm not the talkative types and although he is, over a period of time, he's realized that I'm not the best audience for him. He's a thorough intellectual, well-read and very knowledgeable. He's 58, a month away from retirement. And he's worried. After 38 years of service, he would no longer be a contributor to the family's income. Mom had told me this over lunch. Dad's been mum about it. He's serving a notice period at work already. In 30 days, it'll all be over.
Maybe he's wondering what life's got for him, after this. He's passionate about script-writing and theatre, especially Bengali theatre. I'd like to believe that he'll follow his passions wholeheartedly once he gets done with work. Presently he's a mechanical engineer. He still wants to work, it seems.
Although we weren't talking over our meal, I could feel a deep message emanating from him. I could feel his eyes on me. I didn't make eye contact and it seemed he had finished eating. But I could feel eyes on me. Both mom and dad. Its not everyday that they get to see their son eating in front of them and so they were making the best of it. Or so it seemed. It lasted for about 3 minutes.
Within those three minutes, I felt a world turning around. A father hanging up his boots with caution. A wife acknowledging his effort. A mother hopeful over her son's future. And a father emotionally passing over the baton to his son.
Its been a long journey. 21 years of bringing up a son. A naughty son - who broke car windows amidst games of lagori, who stole tomatoes from the fridge, who hid his mother's shoes so that she wouldn't take him to school. A geeky son - who demanded a new story book every week. A truant son - who ran away from home at the age of 13, only to be found by cops and handed over. A failed son - who found his calling in conceptualizing film stories by bunking classes for the cinema halls.
The tide turned slowly, though. They were proud when I salvaged some pride after I almost topped school in my boards. Bad luck struck, though after the high school boards. I found my calling in a new course they had no clue about. Three nervous years passed, wherein the son was indulging in activities they generally were not informed about.
But I knew the future looked bright, atleast on the career front. I made new friends, lost many on the way. Mom and dad have been protective, but not interfering. Always cautious and full of advise. "Don't repeat the mistakes which I did," said Dad.
I did have some issues though - I wasn't given pocket money and I had to constantly ask for it. I was not allowed for trips and participation in inter-school sports. But if its the end which defines the means, then I'd say, they were right. They always are. They had a sense of achievement when I graduated with distinction, topping my college in the journalism. Today, an eventful upbringing process has reached a level of maturity today. When I look at them, it shows in their eyes. I want to thank them and congratulate them.
They always say, "When you'll become a parent, you'll know how difficult it is."
Its so goddamn true. I'm 21 today, working for a news-portal and at a very delicate stage of my career. This is the period which will define the course of my future growth and destiny.
And this is the period, where I'll become more responsible than I ever was. Its because the baton has been handed over.
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