We were such fashion disasters

''Kya umar thi, kya samaa tha, kya zamaana tha''

Nostalgia can be a great leveler. For example, when you meet up with friends from school, it is nostalgia that brings you together.

No matter wherever you are now in life, no matter how much you earn, what car you drive and how many credit cards you own, there was a time when you were on par with your peers - at least, you were told to believe so - and the solitary unifier between everybody in class, was the school uniform.

The fucking school uniform.

Its made fortunes for detergent companies, given our mothers sleepless nights over its cleanliness and has proved to be an excellent resting bed for dust, dodgeball stains and scars from our Physical Education class.

Without a doubt, we looked much hotter on Traditional Day, and we took our chances in admiring our classmates. The women suddenly looked prettier, the saree firmly accentuating every sign of hormonal change.

I remember, it was Teachers' Day, I was in Class X and my classmate, who was my first ever crush, walked into the classroom wearing a black saree, necklace, earrings, et al. It's one of the most gorgeous sights I've ever seen and one that I'll probably remember on my death-bed, when life turns into a swift slideshow.

In summary, we really relished every opportunity to wear 'civil dress' when we met the same classmates outside school, even at tuition class.

When I meet the same classmates today and compare what we look like with what we used to be, I realize that we've indeed come a long way. I see this not just in them, but even while browsing random Facebook albums. Try this exercise sometime - compare their latest profile picture with the their oldest picture in their Facebook photos. The human body, you'll see has a strange way of reinventing itself. And this is true, despite a deliberate make-over done at a salon. Sure, external influences play a huge role - straightened hair, Brylcreem are things we wouldn't see in school - although its different with kids these days - but there is no denying that the human body has an in-built salon triggering change.

It is this process of constant change amazes me. Every second, some muscle is making way for the other, some skin is giving way to new, some hair strand is getting bored with the jungle it is in.

The process is similar to the formation of the earth and its continents. Europe and Africa were probably interlocked at some point of time, but now they are separate. After we touch puberty, our hormones are in a constant state of Waka Waka, making us hotter, fatter and if we treat ourselves well, more sexier.

But while the body is working so hard at it, passing through various stages of development, we've covered it up in clothing that has also passed through various levels of 'tolerance'.

I call it tolerance, because when I look back at the photos from my college days, I see what fashion disasters we all were.

''Shit. How could I wear that trouser with that shirt. They just don't go together!''

This is more or less, my reaction everytime I go through my old photo albums.

Part of the reason could be that during those times, we wore what our parents bought us. And now, thanks to our employment, regular pay-cheques and a debit card to boot, we do our own shopping.

If we had a chance to go back in time and change something, I think most of us - the working professionals at least - would completely change our wardrobe.

(I'm talking only about clothing here. Given a chance, we'd like to change many things, wouldn't we?)

Tea and biscuits, anyone?

Whatever happened to the ritual of friends coming over home to an evening of tea, biscuits, farsan and good conversation? Our daddies and mommies do it, but when we become them, we probably won't.

It is a strange time to be me.

After about six-seven months of smooth sailing, I'm suddenly jobless.

Without a doubt, joblessness is a difficult state to be in, especially if you're living in Bombay. Your friends will ask you to explain your situation and say, 'Let's meet over coffee and discuss'.

'Catching up' over a cup of coffee costs you at least Rs 50, an amount which isn't too difficult for you to shell out at this moment, but it could be a coffee that would go down as a regressive one, in a few weeks from now if you don't land a job which pays at least as much as the last one did, if not more.

Friends, dependents in your family, the whole fucking society - they all make joblessness even more uncomfortable. Facebook albums do the most damage. Status updates from friends going on a holiday. Europe. South Africa. Australia. Singapore shopping binge. Photographs uploaded by people you know, probably showing them holding their bottle of beer as a trophy, chilling at the coolest lounge bar in town. Your guy friends posing with semi-naked women (who it turns out, are colleagues, much to your mom's horror, making her comment, ''Draupadi's vastraharan would be so pointless in today's times. You won't be able to spoof it either.'').

Your friends wonder why you won't join them over the weekend spending binge. Rs 250 - daylight robbery at the multiplex to watch a movie. Request denied. Long island Iced Tea at Hard Rock? Rs 300. Request denied. ''Let's go to Blue Frog!'' Entry Rs 500. Assured: A place to stand. Want to sit? Book a table. Enjoy your meal. Estimated expenses per head? Rs 500 at least. Request denied.

You feel that the world has suddenly become rich.

And it is true. There are some things money can't buy. Provided you have the willpower and better sense to tell yourself - this is not worth the price. And in Mumbai, depending on your social circle, you might get the opportunity to tell that often. After a point of time, you're an outcast. Which is exactly the state I'm in.

Does that mean I would have indulged in the above mentioned activities with a regular job? Yes and No. (More on that, later.)

It's at times like these I wonder whatever happened to the simple pleasures of life.

When was the last time you invited someone home for tea? Tea, biscuits, chaat, conversation?

My cousins in Kolkata would be surprised to read this, but I've come to realize that the social circle I've come to mingle with over the last three years in Mumbai, has almost NEVER done a tea/coffee evening get-together at their house. Whatever happened to VISITING friends over the weekend for an evening of simple, good conversation?

I've tried. And unless there's alcohol or a party to go along with it, the request has been more often than not, declined.

''What's the occasion?'' I've been asked. ''Who all are coming?'' ''Why suddenly?''

I'm amused. As a kid, I was witness to frequent visits by family friends who would hop over home - unannounced - and on most occasions, we'd be delighted to host them for the evening. Provided they went back home for dinner ;)

You may argue that on weekdays, one can't pull this off. But its on the weekends I realize, that there's a dramatic difference in the way people behave. On weekend, home is just not where the heart is. And even if it is, you don't want to share it with anyone.

Does this change after marriage? Does this change after you buy a house and you feel okay not only to have impulsive guests, but also planned dinners?

Bombay's greatest asset

It's been almost a week that I'm back to commuting 4 hours daily from Ambarnath to my office in Lower Parel.

The purpose is two pronged - one, I'd like to be the night watchman in my own house, since my parents are in Kolkata for my cousin's wedding. And two, it's not everyday that you get a sense of ownership of a 1BHK+Terrace flat, all to yourself.

The implications have been two pronged too. My meals have become irregular; the other night I drank half a litre of Maaza, before gobbling up three eggs (bad imitations of sunny sides up, they were like a solar eclipse, rather).

But I get more time to read. And peacefully too. Like I'm reading Vikram Chandra's beautifully written debut, Love and Longing in Bombay. The other day, I finished Sidin Vadukut's hilarious first novel Dork.

It's made me realise that for me, independence is perhaps the way forward. I'll work out the meals bit, but nothing beats the feeling of coming home to a house that's just your own and not being shared by another person.

That doesn't mean I'm a loner - I enjoy company and I have a good circle of friends who I hang out with - but coming home is a different thing. There are just certain things I want to do - read some chapters of a book, watch Arnab Goswami on Times Now, observe Telebrands post mid-night and - hold your breath - tune into some of the daily soap operas to find out what the nation is watching. (Don't belch. When you're in a business about consumers, you've gotta be familiar with what's tickling them.)

Still, this same independence can be a happy and non-stressful one when it is close to office. Four hours stolen from my every day in the form of a nightmarish train ride home - that is one compromise I'm unwilling to make for long.

But living alone in Bombay is fucking expensive. Unless, if you're an RJ or a model, or you have a 'white collar' job.

Shit. I must shift to Bangalore. Life's unbelievably cheaper, or so I hear. Some friends there share a bungalow for a monthly rent of Rs 11,000. We pay the same rent for 225 sq ft flat in Lower Parel.

But then, well. Bombay is Bombay.

This has been my chronic dilemma over the last two-three years. Want to shift out of Bombay, but can't think of a life outside Bombay and living with people who are not Mumbai-kars.

So maybe it's true when they say, "It's all about the people. It's all about the people."

Bombay is a city that is all about its people. It's own charms are too diffused and inflated beyond it deserves. I think those charms died in the 1950s, when the Parsis were the face of Bombay. That was some life, some charisma, some style to this city.

Since the 1960s, Bombay conjures up images of partisan politics and saffron armies, the mills and the landowners, considering the real estate El Dorado that it's become. The soul of the city is therefore, only it's people and its they who make the city tick.

There's a reason why Bombay is the commercial capital of India. So much business comes here, purely because this city has the resources to pull it off. Whether these are ill-fed resources or not, is a different question. And by now, you already know that they are ill-fed and do not enjoy a standard of living comparable to that, say, of a Chandigarh or New Delhi.

So then, here's to the people of this city. Bombay's greatest asset.

In defence of the Shiv Sena

You have to give it to the Shiv Sena. All along, when they created all this hoo-haa over My Name is Khan’s release, we thought they were fuming over SRK’s remarks about Pakistani players and IPL.

Not true.

I'm sure there is something called as ‘Won’t-let-you-watch-it-since-its-a-bad-film’ clause in our constitution.

The Shiv Sainiks already knew it’s a terrible film - thanks to the large network of pirated DVD hawkers they help flourish. It is perhaps Karan Johar’s worst film and the Shiv Sena votebank would be cheated of precious ticket money, bringing more gloom over what is not a very rosy picture of household expenses these days.

So the accusation on SRK and Karan Johar was of cheating (Tu gaddaar aahe!) and not what we thought (Tu gaddaar aahe!).

I’m also told Thackeray wanted to wrestle his way into the lead role of the film. He had set up his goons to convince Karan Johar to change an important dialogue of the film.

From ‘My Name is Khan and I’m not a terrorist’, he wanted it changed to ‘My Name is Thackeray and I am a terrorist. (Based on a true story)'. This was when the film was in its scripting stages. But when he saw the first cut of the film, he suddenly turned messiah for all cinegoers. He couldn’t tell Karan Johar straight on his face that his film sucked. Hence, all this gaali-galoch.

I’ve just come back from a late night show of MNIK at the Regal cinema. I generally do not give advice to people on what to watch, what to skip.

But this time, I will. Do not watch this film.

Yes, it has its high points- SRK is very good, as is his chemistry with Kajol (Chemistry text books in school should have their photos on the cover, rather than atoms and molecules), Ravi K Chandran’s photography is a treat, as is Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy’s music (Sajda sent me on cloud nine).

But when the Exit signs in the auditorium start glowing more brightly than the events unfolding on screen, you know that the director has completely lost it. It’s not Karan Johar alone to blame – his intent is sincere and heartwarming, as is his direction in most parts - it’s Shibani Bhatija’s screenplay which is a complete letdown.

(Spoiler alert!)

The plot sounds sweet when you hear it for the first time – a young Muslim man with Asperger’s syndrome travels across the United States to meet the President and tell him that he is not a terrorist – but when you walk out of the theatre, you feel cheated. Meet the President! For what? You told him you’re not terrorist. He already knows it, which is why you’ve been allowed at such close proximity to him. Has it changed the fate of millions of Muslims in the States? I’m not sure.

Why does Kajol do a sudden about-turn accusing him that his surname was responsible for her son's death? And the scene where her son dies, is a clear example of high-school bullies going overboard, rather than a racist attack.

The film's biggest weakness is that it does not generate sympathy for its characters. When Mandira (Kajol) dumps Rizwan (SRK), you do not feel sorry for him. You do not feel ecstatic when help pours in for the Georgia flood victims.

And when Rizwan is stabbed out of the blue and there's a melodramatic hospital sequence, you find yourself groaning. Ditto in the scene where Kajol breaks down with her dead son in her arms. Because you know it, the director has overdone it.

There is buzz about the box-office collections of MNIK overtaking that of 3 Idiots.
I think its complete hogwash. Spin doctors are behind this new trend of tom-tomming Rs 100 crores, 200 crores within weeks of a film’s release.

3 Idiots, like most blockbusters, made its money by repeat viewing. MNIK certainly does not fall in that category. It would be a telling statement of the viewing tastes of the audiences of today, if they supported mediocrity like this.

Highpoint of the film: When Mandira asks Rizwan to marry her. My cheeks started aching, I was blushing so much.

Lowpoint of the film: SRK being stabbed. I wanted to head to the Exit door.

ROFL moment of the film: The scene where Khan walks into the kitchen and finds Mandira there chopping vegetables. Says, "Mandira, can we have sex, please?"

Verdict: **

The perfectly outrageous motion picture

I've had the most fantastic past two hours watching Sidney Lumet's 1976 film Network. I don't intend to write a review of the film here - I'm speechless right now, to be honest - and I've had similar feelings after watching three of my all-time favourite films, Sunset Boulevard, Shawshank Redemption and The Clockwork Orange.

Network inevitably adds to that list.

A common thread between all three films is that after I've seen the film, I've felt richer - in emotion, intellect and wisdom - thanks to powerful screenplay writing. The performances are equally astounding and Network is far more closer to life than I imagined, thanks my own closeness in some manner to the working of the television and media industry.

And would you believe it...when I begun watching the film, I thought it was the original of Ram Gopal Varma's Rann. Thank God, it isn't. It can't be.

I'm pasting below some lines from the film. Each line is self explanatory and can be etched in gold. I do not need to explain the context in which they were told. They're statements by themselves, a quality which timeless screenplays have always had, apart from being able to project and predict a future which we now live in. I think this is why some lines are called classics.

Enjoy.

"I want you to get mad. I don't want you to protest, I don't want you to riot, I don't want you to write to your Congressman, because I wouldn't know what to tell you to write. I don't know what to do about the depression, the inflation, the Russians, or the crime in the streets. All I know is that first... You've got to get mad." - Howard Beale, the lead protagonist in Network (A video of this dialogue will do complete justice to this piece. So here's the link.)

"Am I getting through to you, Mr. Beale? You get up on your little twenty-one inch screen and howl about America and democracy. There is no America. There is no democracy. There is only IBM, and ITT, and AT&T, and DuPont, Dow, Union Carbide, and Exxon. Those *are* the nations of the world today." - Arthur Jansen, promoter of the network, to Howard Beale

"I was married for four years, and pretended to be happy; and I had six years of analysis, and pretended to be sane. My husband ran off with his boyfriend, and I had an affair with my analyst, who told me I was the worst lay he'd ever had. I can't tell you how many men have told me what a lousy lay I am. I apparently have a masculine temperament. I arouse quickly, consummate prematurely, and can't wait to get my clothes back on and get out of that bedroom. I seem to be inept at everything except my work. I'm goddamn good at my work and so I confine myself to that. All I want out of life is a 30 share and a 20 rating." - Diana Christensen, programming head of UBS Television

"It's too late, Diana. There's nothing left in you that I can live with. You're one of Howard's humanoids. If I stay with you, I'll be destroyed. Like Howard Beale was destroyed. Like Laureen Hobbs was destroyed. Like everything you and the institution of television touch is destroyed. You're television incarnate, Diana: Indifferent to suffering; insensitive to joy. All of life is reduced to the common rubble of banality. War, murder, death are all the same to you as bottles of beer. And the daily business of life is a corrupt comedy. You even shatter the sensations of time and space into split seconds and instant replays. You're madness, Diana. Virulent madness. And everything you touch dies with you. But not me. Not as long as I can feel pleasure, and pain... and love." - Max Schumacher, Diana's lover and retrenched newsroom editor of UBS Television
There are many more memorable lines and I suggest you watch the film to get a sense of what I'm talking about.

For starters, here's a link to its official trailer.

Notes from the Strand Book Festival

I’m absolutely delighted with the collection of books I picked up at the Strand Book Festival. I went there on the Festival's second day itself. Can’t say I’d been saving for this – I now buy books on a regular basis, Superfreakonomics, The Book Thief, A Case of Exploding Mangoes are some recent buys – but generally, browsing in a room full of books, with bibliophiles from in and around Bombay, can be quite therapeutic. For example, that’s one reason many of us visit Landmark bookstore on weekends, buy nothing and come out feeling better.

This year, Strand’s done things a bit differently. I’m not sure if this is how it always is, but they have not put up ‘everything’. So for example, you can’t come here looking for Jeffrey Archer, Coetzee, Murakami or JK Rowling. I spotted just one title by Jhumpa Lahiri and Orhan Pamuk's latest, that's all. One can argue that you don’t come to a book sale to pick up an Archer novel, but then, well.

The arrangement of books at the Festival is a blessing. I’m tired of craning my neck at bookstores to read the titles. Why don’t you just arrange the books horizontally? Ten brownie points to Strand for this simple change.

So what interested me the most? I think it's is an excellent opportunity to pick up some great coffee table books at throw-away prices. I also found some interesting titles about Tarantino, Satyajit Ray, but I didn’t give in to temptation, as frankly I found myself overspending by quite a bit. Last year, I spent about Rs 1,500 on about 6-7 books. This year, I’ve bought 10 titles and spent about Rs 2,750.

What made me overspend was the high number of non-fiction titles (see list below). Was also keen to buy more titles here – Inside Steve’s Brain, Inside Rupert’s Brain and Rana Dasgupta's Solo – but convinced myself to postpone the purchase for another time.

My keenness to buy non-fiction was the simple fact that I think learnings from these books can lend much so more to daily conversation. Which is why books like Tipping Point, Freakonomics, The World is Flat, and Superfreakonomics are such absolute must haves on your bookshelf. I cannot imagine discussing The Kite Runner or A Suitable Boy or Milan Kundera for over 15 minutes. I can rave about them, listen to you talking about it and nod, but that's about it.

Coming back to Strand, I was disappointed to see very few youngsters at the Festival. Most of the visitors were in the age group of 35+ and that included a lot of people in the 45+ range. My fears of youngsters – 18 to 30 year olds – not reading enough books are confirmed. Is Facebook and Twitter making us stay away from the fresh smell of paperbacks? I’d like to agree.

Billing done, I came home (Ambarnath, that is) carrying these books in a Khopoli fast local, keen to spend the weekend with my parents. 14th February, Valentine’s Day coincides with their marriage anniversary and my availability over the Valentine’s Day weekend has absolutely convinced them that I do not have a girlfriend. Not that they doubt it, or are opposed to it; they’re just sure of it now – hardly any conversations on the phone, no calls after 10pm, one can easily tell who is dating and who is not.

So paperback diet it will be for the next few months. And I hope that in the near future, when you and I are having a conversation, it will be much richer than it is now.

Here’s a list of books I bought and since it’s sale, I would be charged guilty if I did not mention the prices that I bought it for.

English August - Upamanyu Chatterjee - 225
Love and Longing in Bombay – Vikram Chandra - 150
Smoke and Mirrors, an experience of China – Pallavi Aiyar - 195
Why We Buy – The Science of Shopping – Paco Underhill - 490
The Undercover Economist – Tim Harford - 350
The Ayatollah Begs to Differ – The paradox of Modern Iran – Hooman Majd - 225
Tricky Business – Dave Barry - 200
Family Matters – Rohinton Mistry – (Hardbound) – 275
The Art of Conversation - Catherine Blyth - (Hardbound) - 300

A Thousand Splendid Suns - Khaleid Hosseini - 295 (to be gifted to my cousin, I hope you're not reading this, Debo! :))

Of Chetan Bhagat and unlimited parking in our brain

There’s a scene in Wake Up Sid where the editor of a magazine (Rahul Khanna) smiles mockingly, almost in disbelief when his colleague (Konkona) tells him that she does not enjoy jazz music.

“Mujhe purane Hindi filmon ke gaane pasand hain,” she says. “Unko gaa toh sakte hain.” (I like Hindi film songs...the classics. Atleast one can hum them.)

For me, this scene was one of the high points of the film. The argument was spot on and I wanted to congratulate the film’s scriptwriter for penning this scene. Here's why.

For long, I’ve been amazed at how journalists, especially senior editors, editors, literary critics or Sunday edition reporters have consistently mocked popular choices in entertainment.

If you like jazz, you’re cool. If you like Singh is King, you’re uncool. If you’re a fan of Coetzee, you’ve arrived. If you’re reading Chetan Bhagat, you don’t have any taste in literature. And your sense of humor is down in the dumps if you’ve laughed your ass off in 3 Idiots.

Generalisations like these have often baffled me. Are you trying to suggest that your tastes are superior to mine? I've seen 3 Idiots in two cities - Mumbai and Kolkata - and I've never seen housefull auditoriums laugh their ass off like they did while watching this film. And then I've met some - all in the journalist/media fraternity, who can't seem to make out what's so great about a film. I think I'll send them a DVD of The Blairwitch Project.

In November, I remember, Indian Twitterati, friends in the media drummed up hot air (mostly negative) about how Chetan Bhagat’s books do not deserve to be read, what a terrible author he is, etc. I was hysterical when I heard about this, since I've seen from close quarters how students, first time novel readers have pored over Chetan Bhagat novels in the most crowded trains. I travelled to Kolkata recently by train and in my compartment, out of the roughly 7-8 people reading book during the journey, 5 of them were absorbed in Chetan Bhagat novels. That’s quite an achievement. And then they say that the bugger can’t write.

I was at a day-long conference recently where Bhagat was part of a panel discussion and despite his Delhi-ised English accent, he made absolute sense in every word he said. But to many in the audience, most of whom seemed to be the 'discerning snob' types, he remained the butt of all jokes. Even during the networking lunch, very few walked up to him to greet him. The best-selling Indian author was not hounded, like he is when is amongst his fans.

I’ve come to recognise these people as the ‘new age snobs’. They’ll consume Kurosawa, Wong Kar Wai, Truffaut films and appear like they’ve seen the world and they’ll conveniently skip the biggest blockbusters from the country – Ghajini, 3 Idiots, Om Shanti Om, Singh is King – dismissing them as utter crap / entertainment for the masses. They won’t travel by train – they might as well describe it as cattle class. My best friend is a film critic and I admire him not because he bowled me over with his understanding of world cinema, but also because of his maturity at accepting popular cinema targeted at the masses.

What worries me is that most media houses are run by the 'snobs'. And they always have been. When you’re running a newspaper for an audience that comprises the masses, how can you have such different tastes than them? This is why typically film critics’reviews and audience reactions vary to a great degree.

Does that mean that we must encourage people like Taran Adarsh (who are trade experts and not film-critics per se) to review films for us? I’m not so sure. It’s a very debatable topic, particularly because of his trade background. But I think over time we need art and literature critics who are good at recommending the most deserving choices to their audiences. Rather than those, who aiming to send their CVs to The New Yorker.

I think the ideal consumption of literature is one that includes the good, bad and the ugly. So read all you can gather on a platter. Read the masterpieces, the classics, read the chick lits, read the thrillers. Also read the Mills & Boon and Nicholas Sparks. A Titan commercial quotes Aamir Khan saying, “Be born everyday. Aaj rockstar, kal pilot. Kabhi kisi anjaan station pe utar ke dekho. Kabhi kisi gumnaam sheher ka ticket katao...Be more.”

Ratatouille, the delightful animation movie about the adventures of a rat who wants to cook, also elucidates the same point wherein the food critic, Ego, admits as to how literary critics often forget to appreciate the simple things. Like a plate of ratatouille.

Absolutely true.

If you’re going to confine yourself to only certain kind of authors, certain kinds of films, then you’re a one-way street, with no parking.

Our mind is best conditioned as a two-way street, with unlimited parking.

An interview with Allah

With Eid festivities reaching their peak, I made my first visit to Mohammad Ali Road – the melting pot for majority of Mumbai’s ‘minority’.

While thousands of Muslims genuflected in front of Minara Masjid and felt the polluted exhausts of the evening traffic bless their bums, I had a chance to catch up with Allah. What followed was a candid chat about Islam, the possibilities of Google replacing God, the relevance of hardcore fundamentalism today and the perks of being the only God in the Muslim world.

Whatsup?
Nothing much ya. You tell me.

Whoa! That’s a very Google chat kinda answer. You’ve signed up for a Gmail account?
Can’t say I wasn’t tempted. I’ve got a Wi-fi installed here. With so many Muslims now accessing the internet, makes sense to answer their queries online.

Hmm. My first visit to Mohammed Ali Road. Never seen so many Muslims praying together. Some faith, eh?
Yeah, I guess so. This period of fasting is a sort of cleansing process for the entire body and soul. It helps you start afresh, with a new zeal towards life.

I’m sure. But I kinda find this funny. Why is there such heavy police protection in this area? Since you’re God and all, aren't you enough to protect your devotees?
The cops are to ensure the smooth flow of traffic. And hey, it’s not that I called them here. Not my fault if some politicians spotted an opportunity in protecting their vote-bank. And c’mon, my friend Ganesha who goes for a swim every year to Chowpatty commands a lot more police protection! His procession creates chaos on the streets, disrupting traffic routes and everything!

And the morning after the visarjan, Ganesha gets washed ashore. The beaches are full of broken, distorted idols.
True. I’ve tried explaining this to Ganesha many times. The other day, I told him, “Bro, I know you’re elephant and all…but why do you make an ass of yourself by demanding a visarjan in the sea? Can’t you instill some sense in these millions of Maharashtrians who clog the city (and then our beaches) with this exercise? So much noise they make!” He replied saying that eco-friendly immersions are catching up, but it’ll take time. Sudden shift in behaviour can cause chaos riots, especially with Shiv Sena and MNS around. Swat a Maharashtrian fly and they'll riot!

Point noted. But hey, I noticed you called him ‘my friend Ganesha’. You know the elephant God well?
Of course! Why wouldn’t I? We’re both in the business of faith. I sell my wares differently. He does it in his own way. But yes, we do socialise. The other day, it was the three of us – me, Ganesha and Krishna – who went to the Kurkure Desi Beats Rock on with MTV auditions. Krishna is a great flautist you’d be aware. We also went to Blue Frog to bless Rajeev Raja, another wonderful flautist. Krishna says Raja is his own avatar in the making…

This is interesting. So you guys socialise! But you’re the only Muslim God and there are so many Hindu Gods. Don’t you feel a little left out? Minority issue?
Oh c’mon! I have more followers than the all Hindu Gods combined. Wait till you see me on Twitter. How can I be the minority? In fact, I’m the majority here! So I do command respect.

And you also have the largest market share. There are so many Hindu Gods, I don’t even know who is the market leader.
I’m not sure if market share is the right term, but I think we both agree on one thing. (blushes) Monopoly is exciting.

What do you have to say about the growing mass of people who are choosing to be atheists?
You know, its good you asked that question because honestly, a real man is one who makes it on his own without asking for my blessing every 10 minutes. My cellphone is beeping non-stop with wishes waiting to be fulfilled, ambitions waiting to be realised. It’s the listening part that is painful, not the fulfilling bit. At the end of the day, I help fulfill only those wishes which are sincere and the person has used hard-work, perseverance and honesty as the means to achieve them.

Ever felt like involving more Gods in your eco-system? (laughs) Are you hiring?
I think vocation Gods are the next big thing. Shiv is the God of dance. When Jack Nicholson dies, he’ll be the God of acting. A R Rahman, Lata Mangeshkar…I’ve already started ordering thrones for them.

Attrition amongst Gods is unheard of.
Hahahaha. Very funny.

Do you think its time Muslims came out of the ‘minority status’ image in India?
That should have happened long ago. But think about it - how is it going to help matters anyway? In the public eye, a Muslim continues to be treated as an outsider. How many Hindu-Muslim marriages happen in this country? When was the last time your parents were okay with you marrying a Muslim girl?

True. My mom says she'd hang herself if I married a Muslim.
See? In fact, the other day me and Krishna were at Leopold’s and he was eyeing a pretty lady at the next table. Her name was Salma and Krishna began playing his flute to catch her attention. It was an encouraging sign. Except that she shooed him away calling him a desperado. Turned out, she was Salma Hayek.

You’re kidding me!
Whatever she may be. But the larger point is – here’s a Hindu God who’s also on Facebook, can play the flute, watches YouTube videos daily and has a festival dedicated to him. And he doesn’t mind wooing a Muslim woman. It’s a great sign.

Does the Muslim world need a make-over? How about a marketing campaign?!
Bro, just because you write on advertising, do not assume that branding is the answer to all questions. Change has to come from within. After all, it's about being a good human being.

Millions across the world worship Google. And they believe in its powers more than they believe in you.
Interesting that you asked. Ganesha and me did have a discussion on this. I say, let’s wait and watch. As long as Google provides answers, its fine I guess. At the end of the day, its all about loving your parents.

Huh!? Where did that come from? That's a line from a Karan Johar film. You've seen K3G?
Yes.

How? You got a TV connection up there?
Of course! Since cable doesn't work there, it's DTH. Direct-to-Heaven.

Neat. But tell me, Google is getting people an answer for almost everything. What does this mean for mankind?
Most of my devotees are still not yet familiar with Google. So that’s not such a matter of concern for me. Jesus may need to think harder about it.

What do you have to say about SRK’s detention at a US airport? He was questioned for two hours...
SRK is one of my finest followers. I bless him. And its unfortunate what happened. But a lot of good will come out of it. One of them will be the tremendous advance bookings for ‘My Name Is Khan’.

Okay, now I’m hungry. I'll head straight to the khau-gully here. I can already smell the kebabs and chicken tandooris. It was nice chatting up with you, Sir.
Same here, pal.

Can I add you on Facebook?
I’m not on Facebook. It’s banned in my area.

We're two-timing all the time

Have you ever caught your partner two-timing?

By the time you finish reading this, you'd be pretty certain you have.

For the record, two-timing is defined thus: "When a married person is two-timing his or her partner, the two-timing spouse is considered to be deceptive and sexually unfaithful". It further says that most individuals who find themselves married to a two-timing spouse have feelings of betrayal, hurt, disbelief, anger and sadness.

But don't we all know, two-timing is not something confined to married couples alone.

Socio-demographics will tell you, that atleast in urban India, as much as relationships blossom, cheating could also happen before marriage. College students write letters to Dr Mahendra Watsa about it. When he's too full of them, he forwards them to Dr Kavan Lakdawala. And we read them everyday in the newspapers sipping our morning cuppa.

"Dear doctor, my boyfriend's dick is small and ugly. But my best friend's looks like it grew on a banana tree..."

or

"Dear doctor, my girlfriend sucks. But she won't suck. What's interesting is, that my neighbour will. But then, I don't love her..."

Drivel like this.

But as a generation which has come to understand Pyaar Ke Side Effects and laugh their ass off every time Rahul Bose looked into the camera and gave the 'guy' point of view, perhaps its time to acknowledge the fact that the very definition of two-timing is changing.

The good news is, sex may not be an issue here.

The bad news is, that the person who is being ignored in this melee isn't sure if the partner is two-timing, or three-timing or four...

My friend's girfriend knows that her partner is two-timing. But she can't pin him down on it. Because the 'dubious other' between the three of them, is always changing.

On some evenings, it is work.

"I need to finish an article; I'm still in office for a telecon that is about to happen.."

On some evenings, it is a meeting with a significant other. (This time, she can put a face to it, but lets it pass, because he is a journalist.)

"I'm meeting a potential source. If I get him drunk enough, he will spill the beans. That's all I need.."

On some days, it is his school friends who gang up.

"Baby, my school friends are in town after a long time. X is back from Infosys for a few days, Y will reach in an hour to make it for our meeting. Yes, there'll be beer and alcohol flowing, but you know that I don't drink..."

On weekends, it is some author whose novel he wants to finish. And on Sundays, he simply curls up with the rich spread of Sunday newspapers, full of features. Besides, the usual comment:

"I thought it would be a good idea to spend some time at home, with mum and dad, since they hardly get to see me on weekdays. So honey, not today."

I can understand that, by now, all the sympathies are with the girlfriend, because my friend has been denying her the pleasure of his company (really?), but hey, he's a guy, and as guys we're suckers for our own space.

Bottomline: Perhaps, my friend is committing adultery by loving his job more than his girlfriend. Perhaps, he's being a bewafa by loving his own personal space than his girlfriend. Or perhaps, he's more interested in broadening his horizons by talking about meaningful, bitter somethings rather than whispering sweet nothings.

So, the next time you're in the middle of a cozy dinner with your partner and you see his eyes resting for that nervous extra second on the chick who just perched herself on the opposite table, perhaps it'll be okay to not to read too much into it.

Women coo in pleasure when they see cute kids, pink sandals and tops that match, and earrings that latch. Men do their own 3-second anatomical analysis when a chick passes by. Mostly it ends there.

But what you must worry about, is perhaps the fax that he needs to send out as soon as he gets out of the restaurant, the PPT presentation he needs to work upon till late in the night (ignoring your phone calls along the way), or the passionate discussions that he involves himself in everytime he's talking to you about the new business pitch. These - and not you - are on his mind all the time. (And you thought the guy wanted to take you to bed. Maybe he did, and he'd have sung you a lullaby and put you off to sleep.)

But in case you do worry about his two-timing habits, you can always shoot a mail to Dr Mahendra Watsa in Mumbai Mirror.

My best friend's girlfriend is no film critic

She believes film reviews must be "short and to-the-point", because a reader "does not have so much time to read, ya!".

She's hasn't seen the works of Kurosawa, Ray, Majidi, Truffaut, Coppola, Ghatak, Benegal, Tarantino. Rattle these names in front of her, and she'll probably think you're talking about compounds in a chemistry lab.

She has never been to a film-festival.

She's 24, my best friend's girlfriend and a film critic with a website run by one of India's largest media houses.

Recently, when she reviewed the latest Johnny Depp starrer Public Enemies and described the movie with terms like "a below average film", "direction requires polishing", it seemed like a bullet had pierced through my heart.

A day later, Public Enemies received four stars out of five in atleast two national dailies.

My worst fears were confirmed. This girl was better off doing other things and had absolutely no right to be talking a a commentator about the highs and lows in films. I'm certain that the website she writes for has not gained much following yet. Or else, reader feedback would have fired her already.

I'm also certain that her immediate boss has no sense of film appreciation either, as he/she hasn't yet taken the pains to verify this girl's credentials, knowledge of film-makers, passion about cinema and views about film-making.

Recently I happened to watch Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu's Amores Perros and 13 Tzameti with her. First up, she didn't know there existed films by these names. Secondly, I found herself fidgety and restless, busy texting on her phone while watching the film. Anyone who has seen Amores Perros, and is even remotely close to having a sane opinion about films, will tell you that the film has enough to mesmerize and keep you hooked, blisfully unaware of the world around you.

But seeing her distracted seemed like seeing a callous examiner checking my answer sheet.

What's more, she'd reviewed Imran Khan starrer Luck recently. She seemed totally turned off just when 13 Tzameti was hotting up and gave up as soon as she realised similarities between the two films.

I'm certain she's watched zilch world cinema. And her passion for watching movies is arguable. I've known film critics who've gone all out to acquire DVDs of films they've got recommendations about, film-makers they've read about, only to be enchanted, impressed and sometimes even disappointed by the charms of cinema.

The lady in question here, certainly has very little or none of those traits.

Let me make a confession here. I wanted to be a film-critic once. But soon I realised that it takes a lot of experience of watching not just films, but knowledge about them and the art of making them, to actually make an opinion about them. Since then, I've made a consistent effort to watch as many movies as I can, of as many different kinds - the good, bad, ugly. Not just English, but Hindi, regional and world cinema.

At 21, I'd even applied to the FTII film appreciation course, but was turned down since I was told I'm too young to take the course. How much of Ray or Truffaut would a 21-yr old understand in a 4-week long course?

But its the appointment of amateur film-critics like these which completely pisses me off. My jaws almost dropped the day I learnt that the lady in question here, would be reviewing films.

I don't know how many of you catch a movie at the multiplex going by the reviews they receive in the media. Considering that these days hype about movies is enough to get netizens googling for film reviews by Friday afternoon itself.

Trouble is, Google News throws up the most 'optimised results', or links to film-reviews, not necessarily the most credible reviews. Wonder why Eric Schmidt could never get some sense of literature and opinion into the world's best search engine.

Because going by the results Google will throw up, chances are you may be reading the tripe my best friend's girlfriend is dishing out. Her reviews can best be described as the English version of how film-trade analysts like Komal Nahta and Taran Adarsh talk about movies - "First half was good, aggressive screenplay, but momentum cannot be maintained in the second half, ending was a disappointment, camera work was nice, and songs were situational."

The mere fact that websites like Bollywoodhungama have placed the coveted crown of film-critics on trade analysts like Taran Adarsh is an example of how clueless and shoddy web journalism in India today is. Its proof of the fact that one of the highest online traffic generating entertainment websites in India has completely taken its audience for granted.

Sorry sir! Taran Adarsh can tell me lots about box-office collections, but I do not believe he can talk to me about what was right and what was wrong in a film. That mandate has to rest with, and only with an experienced film critic. (Give me Mayank Shekhar, Rajeev Masand, Udita Jhunjhunwala anyday.)

Which makes me want to ask - what does a reader expect from a film review?

Some may argue that he/she expects only to be told whether he should go watch the movie or no. That'll make film reviews a one-paragraph issue.

But consider this: Time and again, anecdotal and systemic research has shown that film-reviews are the most religiously read portions of a newspaper/website.

When a reader is reading a film review, he's perhaps making a background check similar to what he does before buying a product. So without going to the extent of being boring, a reviewer must supply all possible details - background, relevance - before going on to make an opinion on the film. If its a must watch, why so. And if its not, why not. (An example of an extremely well-written review is here.)

In my view, reviewers (like the person in question here), who simply have no experience of watching films of the masters, are doing a great injustice to film appreciation, by talking to readers as just one amongst them.

Let us be clear. Audience verdict is best given by audience, only when they're in a large mass, and that's best given by a polling agency.

The film critic, in my view, must look at film-appreciation as an art, that it so wonderfully is.

It does not mean that every reviewer today must have seen the works of Kurosawa or Tarantino. Its a simple case of giving readers the right to listen to the voice of experience, someone who's seen enough in life and on-screen, to know the intricacies of cinema to titillate, mesmerize and stir audiences, thus making a balanced opinion about a film.

Let us not forget that a film-maker toils hard to produce a film, and let us not allow their hard work be ridiculed at the hands of inexperienced and highly opinionated 20-somethings posing as film critics.

How WB made a whore out of Harry Potter

I miss Harry Potter.

Not that I was dating him or something, but there was a time not many moons ago - when the I'd been reading the third instalment of the hugely popular franchise - I was contemplating taking a membership in the Harry Potter Fan Club, if ever there was one. But then I saw the movie based on the third book - Prisoner of Azkaban - and I was left completely blah! by the end of it. I wasn't overwhelmed by the end of it, the trademark Harry Potter theme music that I'd come to love in the series' first two instalments had been replaced by something that resembled like a group of kids singing in a church choir.

Well I got no complaints with kids singing in the bathroom, or in the school bus or in the church choir for that matter, they may sing wherever they please, but how could Warner Bros mess with the theme music? One of the most important things that binds us to a super-hero series, or a whiz-kid series for that matter, is the background score. Superman Returns was wildly nostalgic, and much of it had to do with Bryan Singer's judgement in keeping the trademark soundtrack alive.

But that's as far as the music goes. The Harry Potter movies, by the time they reached its fourth instalment - The Goblet of Fire - had begun to resemble a hamburger filled with just too many stuffings, and too little a mouth to feed them. Simply put, as the books grew thicker, their equivalents on celluloid just failed to translate the magic. Shit happened yet again in the Order of the Phoenix - I found the screenplay too restless and hurried, and there were just a handful of moments which conjured up any magic similar to J K Rowling's narrative skills.

Some of you who're reading this may just sit back and say, "Oh, but the movies are rarely as good as the books!"

I'd like to point out that there have been some great adaptations, some which have been even more successful than the books themselves. I found Mira Nair's The Namesake particularly fulfilling and exceptional, as was Peter Jackson's The Lord of The Rings. Ditto for Francis Ford Coppola's The Godfather series, and Sam Mendes' Revolutionary Road.

Looking back, personally, what happened with the Harry Potter series is that I realised that its all a huge money making franchise, a big hoax, and the producers would go to any lengths to compress, devastate and puke out anything that comes out from the Warner Bros. studios that lasts 2 and a half hours long in the name of Harry Potter.

Basically, they've made a whore out of Potter.

Unfortunately for me, these feelings took a toll on my further reading of the series altogether. After I saw Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, I abandoned the series altogether, and today even if I have to make an attempt to read The Half Blood Prince, I give it a pass. It'll seem like an exercise in futility I think.

As readers, we often picture the characters in our heads in a certain way, and believe me, the reason we ended up loving the Harry Potter movies so much initially, was because our visualisation was much in sync with that of Christopher Columbus, the director of the first two movies - The Sorcerer's Stone and The Chamber of Secrets. However, the Prisoner of Azkaban was the ultimate letdown since it was unlike anything I'd pictured - I found it too dark, and missed the candy floss imagery that I still continue to attach to Hogwarts surroundings.

After that sequel, they got a new director to make a film out of Rowling's work - and each of them has added his own style. Now, while that's a good thing, what's bad is that there's a clear disconnect between the first two movies, and the rest of the series. Some may argue that the series itself got darker and very serious - Harry's learning the Dark Arts after all - but that's an excuse for a production design that seems heavily borrowed from the Kate Beckinsale's Underworld movies.

The people at Warner Bros have clearly realised that come what may, its time to make money out of the franchise as soon as possible and close the Harry Potter chapter. While that may bring excitement to Harry Potter fans, it does not bring the promise of satisfaction of seeing a good movie.

A lot of us who'll watch The Half Blood Prince when it releases in theatres this month, will probably watch the movie knowing that they'll be disappointed. But the allure of Harry Potter, created by J K Rowling, cannot be dismissed by the prospects of a 2-hour special effects bonanza steeped in regret.

Macau’s sinfully naughty delights

It’s not everyday that leggy, drop-dead gorgeous beauties dressed in Miss Universe costumes stand in a row, clap, sing, cheer and pose with you, welcoming you at the reception of a 5-star hotel.

And it's not everyday that such beauties turn out to be – as my tour guide Alorino described them – “man in woman’s body”.

Indeed, I thought I had my Bachna Ae Haseeno moment, until they said, “Welcome to Star World Hotel!” in the most masculine voice I’d ever heard.

Such is Macau, and its sinfully naughty delights. The who's who of Bollywood who’re in the city for the just concluded IIFA Awards, might call the city as Las Vegas of the East, but in Hollywood parlance, I'd rather call it the American Pie of tourist destinations. Casinos, massage parlours, night clubs, sky-diving, a Grand Prix to its name - Macau is a playground of indulgence for adult travellers.

Alorino put it succinctly, “You want to make money, you go to Casino. You want to spend money, you go to sex shop. Vice versa!”

I didn't have to go to such lengths. But I'll remember my 5-day tour of Macau for many firsts.

Like, it was the first time I stayed in a 5-star hotel, in a deluxe room all to myself. As soon as I entered it, I spent 20 minutes clicking pictures of the room. And as I relaxed later in the bathtub, I felt like I was John Abraham in No Smoking.

Like, it was the first time I saw a semi-nude women pole dance within 3 feet of my squirming uncomfortable self, and my travel companions - female journalists most of them - called up their husbands back home and screamed in sadistic pleasure, “You know what! I just saw a pole dance! I bet you’ve never seen one! Muhahaha!”

Silly wives, I say.

Like, I realised that gambling in casinos can become addictive. Looking at the plethora of grand casinos all around – they are one of Macau’s highest revenue sources, recession be damned - one is tempted to throw in a few dollars and set the ball rolling in the roulette. Although I didn’t try my luck there, some of my travel-companions became poorer by several dollars in consequent attempts after having kissed lady luck at first go.

Like, it was the first time I had an octopus for lunch. Sure, I was overwhelmed with the deluge of prawns in every meal we had - Macau's a manna from heaven for seafood and wine lovers - but octopus salad surely made me feel I'd soon improve my multi-tasking abilities.

Like, the first time I noticed the sky in Macau has smoke detectors. Well, not really, but when you're in The Venetian, a mall-cum-city-cum-hotel-with-3000-rooms-cum-largest-casino-on-this-planet, you could get easily fooled into thinking so, while experiencing the delights of Venice in a gondola ride.

Like, how not a single vehicle honked on the street, no matter how crowded the roads may be or how the peak hour traffic might be testing the drivers’ patience. The streets are an exercise in discipline – no litter, no honking, no bonking.

It was also the first time I interacted with Chinese people so closely. I entered into the kitchen of every restaurant we ate at, thanked the chefs for the wonderful meal, posed for pictures with the pretty waitresses, only to realise that there's more to Chinese women than Lucy Liu. Not only are they as pretty as dolls, but they’re also mother to babies so cute that I cooed in pleasure every time I saw one.

There were times during this trip that I became so obsessed with clicking pictures of Chinese kids, that I'm sure the locals must have mistaken me for a paedophile or something.

Alorino noticed this, and on our way back to the airport, comforted me by saying, “Chinese women - very rich and pretty. You marry one of them and she give you nice baby. Training, training, it bring gold from Olympics.”

“They’ll be such cute kids,” I replied, showing him some Chinese kids' pictures I'd clicked.

"What if the kids look like you?" he asked, giggling.

My travel companions roared with laughter.

The frustration of a salesman in a local train

So many people have suggested that I shift closer to office. That I must stay in Mumbai, and not some remote corner of the far flung suburbs.

Time and again, I've thought about it, but disposed the thought, thanks to experiences like these.

My daily commute in the local train stretches to beyond 4 hours, and in this period I get to see things that corner office dwellers can't even think about.

Like the Ultimate Sales Pitch.

Picture this.

Packed local train, inhuman traveling conditions, the smell of sweat and body odor in the air and an atmosphere where tempers and blood, both are boiling with equal gusto. And in pops a salesman.

"Train mein baithe sabhi yaatri zara meri awaaj ki taraf dhyaan dijiyega..."

This is his playground. And he has to sell a certain number of his wares - whatever he's selling - to make a little profit at the end of the day. Note: Salesmen in trains have to sell at price-points of either Rs 5, Rs 10, Rs 15 or Rs 20. These are basically utility items, and often they're in pretty decent shape and long-lasting. Anything above Rs 20 sells in low volumes, since the average Deshpande, More, Patil has only few notes of Rs 10 in his upper pocket. The money's not stored in a wallet, its neatly folded in the plastic folder of the railway pass, or it is lost somewhere amongst the bundle of bills, scribbled notes and folded sheets of paper.

Buying happens largely on impulse, and a good salesman can have a field day selling volumes, if he's loud, convincing and he's selling a utility product.

So its about 8:35pm, the compartment is relatively crowded.

Our salesman makes a strong sales pitch, making many heads turn, attracting the attention of several drowsy buggers and rousing their curiosity. He's selling stick-ons - "you need not drill a nail into your wall to hang your calender or your jhola, a stick-on is all you gotta use".

He gives a neat demo of the product - pulls down a few glass windows in the compartment to prove - much to our expectations - that it sticks on glass as well.

As a seller, the fellow is impressive - he's allowing the passengers to touch, feel and check out the product for themselves. He's also helping them try out the stick-on on the walls of the railway compartment. He's dodging legs, jumping over the scramble of legs, making sure he doesn't fall on anyone, minding his bagful of supplies and ensuring that nobody's 'shoplifting'.

His price points are respectable - Rs 5 for one stick-on and Rs 10 for 2.

And for Rs 50, one can buy a pack of 12.

The day's nearing its end and much to his discomfort it seems, he hasn't sold many all day - so he's pushing the Rs 50 pack aggressively.

Bad move. People just wouldn't buy.

He gets desperate and for the next few minutes, he tries repeatedly in convincing people how its important for them to save their walls, and stick-ons are so important. But to no avail.

Some folks ask him to give some discount, but he rubbishes it politely, saying, "Saab, kam margin waala dhanda hai." The passenger doesn't negotiate further.

After much trying and pleading, our salesman gives up. And in his desperation, he blurts out a few lines, which are priceless and paint the true frustration of a poor salesman trying to sell a faceless product.

"Aap soch rahe hain, naya company hai, maal shayad nahin chale. Lekin meri baat yaad rakhna (raises his index finger here), kuch saalon mein jab yeh company badi ho jayegi, tab iss cheez ka daam badh jayega.

"Tab aap sochoge, ki uss raat train mein mujhe kharedi kar leni chahiye thi. Aap sabne agar iss cheez ko TV pe ad mein dekha hota, ya Amitabh Bacchan, Shah Rukh Khan ko isska ad karte hue dekha hota, toh phir aap jaroor khareedte."

I smile, as I hear this.

And as I look around, I find a lot of other people in the compartment doing the same thing - as if silently acknowledging the salesman's words.

Just shoe it: A journalist's revolution

"Shoe kar, mere mann ko, kiya tu ne kya ishaara..."
- P Chidambaram's humming this during potty hour

The journalistic tribe has had enough.
Enough of stupid answers from spokespersons.
Enough of beating around the bush.
Jarnail has done a Bhagat Singh for the scribes of this country.

A revolution is about to happen. Beware of Just Shoe It.

The headlines:

HUL chief shoed away from press conf
In what's becoming a trend of sorts, a journalist from the Financial Chronicle threw his shoe at HUL chief Nitin Paranjpe. The journalist asked him about advertising spends that HUL is going to make in the coming quarter, and as is the norm, Paranjpe said, "I'm sorry. We don't disclose numbers." Immediately after, a shoe landed on his face...

Hanmer PR person bludgeoned with shoe
In another bizarre incident, our correspondent witnessed the bludgeoning of a senior PR person from Hanmer MS&L. She said, "It was a press conference and as soon as it got over, a journo from ET Now walked up to the spokesperson asking him for his cellphone number. As soon as he asked for it, the PR person interrupted, "Excuse me, for any questions or information, you can mail me and I'll have them answered." The journo bent down, as if to pick up something, but instead we saw him removing his shoe - and began hitting the PR person very badly. Once he was done, he shouted, "Long live Jarnail, tera sapna nahin hoga fail!"

DNA journalists go shoe-shopping
About 14 journalists from Daily News and Analysis (DNA) today went shopping for shoes. Not surprising, since after the much discussed attacked on Chidambaram by Jarnail Singh, journalists around the country have been contemplating whether it would be a good idea to carry a shoe just in case the spokesperson dodges questions. Arcopol Chaudhuri, a correspondent with DNA was spotted returning from Linking Road carrying 4 pairs of cheap shoes. "I got a very good deal," he said, delighted, jumping in the middle of the street. "Each pair is just for 100 bucks. Pehenna nahin hai, phenkna hai."

Mysore Sandal launches footwear range - My Sore Sandal
The Mysore Sandal soap is taking steps out of the FMCG business, and its taking these steps wearing sandals of its own name - My Sore Sandal! A spokesperson of the company was quoted as saying, "Legend has it that a woman's most important weapon is her sandal. Journalism is today dominated by women, and our entry into the shoes business is a step towards women's empowerment and not just any shoe-tya-giri."

Advani calls shoes a western phenomenon
Prime Ministerial hopeful L K Advani today reacted to Chidu's shoegate moment saying, "Its very unfortunate. I've always said this and I'll say it again - shoes are a western phenomenon. India has traditionally been a chappal, mojri wearing country. Not only are they comfortable to wear, they are also easier to take aim and throw, when person is in distress..." Chidu couldn't be reached for reactions.

Online shoe throwing games new stress-buster, finds survey
A survey by Just Consult has found that not just journalists, employees at various IT, banking and engineering firms spend at least an hour daily playing online games, wherein all they have to do is earn points by throwing virtual shoes. "The best part is, I get to choose the picture of the person on whose face I'm throwing the shoe," said an employee of DNA After Hrs, quoting anonymity. "Its a good stress-buster, especially when I'm throwing it on 'large editors'."

No shoes allowed at press conferences, says Adfactors chief
The head of a leading public relations firm today said that he won't allow any journalists wearing shoes to enter press conferences for his clients. Mandar Behaal, in an email sent to his employees wrote, "I want extra security deployed at the reception. The moment you give the journalist the press kit, ask him to remove his shoe. His socks will stink, so spray some deodarant on them, and let him in. Check his bags to ensure he or she is not carrying anything dangerous." Some journalists have reacted saying they'd rather go to Vaishnodevi instead.

Chidambaram calls for caution, says pen is mightier than shoe
Home Minister P Chidambaram, still recovering from the ghastly odours that may have emanated as a shoe whizzed past his nostrils, has called for caution amongst journalists after India's 'shoegate scandal'. In a telephonic interaction (he refused to meet this reporter, after he came to know he wears a Woodland) he said, "We must not read too much into it. Let us remember that the pen is mightier than the shoe." This particular quote has made Chidu enter the category of George Bush. If Bush had Bush-isms, this was Chidu's first Chidu-ism.

Abhinav Bindra to teach the art of throwing
Olympic gold medal winner Abhinav Bindra will teach journalists the art of taking aim. In return, journalists will have to stop asking him just one question, "What after Samsung?" Bindra appeared excited. "Its important to throw pointed questions. Our politicians, corporates will have to offer straight answers to the media. The days of dodging questions are over." Sources said Bindra is planning to make some business journo ask Samsung MD, "When are you gonna send Bindra his cheque?" If he doesn't answer, journo will take aim.

Shoes that don't last, but blast
Delhi based Bomb-a-shoe Footwear today launched a new range of shoes that blast within 3 seconds of being flung into the air. Company officials said they wanted to capitalise on the resurgent demand of shoes from journalists all over Delhi, especially Sardarjis. There's a catch though: These shoes would be available only when the customer shoes his Press card. Considering its Delhi, that shouldn't be a problem, we think.

IIT-Kanpur launches a shoe that's a lie detector too
Young geeks at IIT-Kanpur launched a shoe that automatically comes out of your bags, the moment it senses someone faffing. "Traditionally such a thing happens at a Mayawati rally. We're expecting major sales before she gives the next speech," said Shoe Kriya Meherbaan, a 19-year old who masterminded this shoe. And as an afterthought, he added, "I think I'll add a special something into it that'll make the shoe beep everytime somebody says Dalit. Whatsay?" Game on, brother.

Happy realization

This darned chicken pox has made me realize a lot of stuff, which along the way I never ended up noticing. Blame it on my routine job where I'm overworked, spending about 16 hrs everyday outside home. Or blame it on my obsessiveness with being wired with the outside, only to realize the treasures I missed at home.

Sometimes, I think its good to disconnect once in a while and observe things around us. And that doesn't mean driving off to Lonavla on the weekend. Chicken pox is disgusting because it forces you to be in solitary confinement. And such quarantine makes you end up talking a lot with your mind. Some happy realizations happened.

1. My dad's retirement. He really reads the papers thoroughly and his mood is determined in a big way by whether my article's appeared in the paper or not. These days he's understandably low.

2. Moms are like dogs. They're faithful no matter how much you ignore them and take them for granted. I almost did - when work took precedence over family at some point of time. I hope I can reverse the cycle a bit. I'm glad to have been blessed my parents like these.

3. My maid wears the same sari every alternate day. But she talks too loud and gets on my nerves. So, case dismissed ...I've shelved all thoughts of gifting her a new sari.

4. There's an insane number of movies I haven't watched and simply cannot muster up the courage to watch. Like Sholay. Its been spoofed to death and I just can't take it seriously.

5. I'm a wasted bibliophile. Blame the Strand Book Fair or Landmark's salivating collection of books. I ended up buying too many novels and I'm yet to read so many of them. I began reading some - finished Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Aravind Adiga's White Tiger, Vikas Swarup's Q&A and Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan's You Are Here. Decent reads all of them - White Tiger takes the cake, though.

6. My home - Ambarnath - is an isolated town. I should have known that everytime my cellphone GPRS showed my location as Kansai Village. If you switch off from the internet, mobile phone and television for a day, the world wouldn't have changed. Just the reason why its so difficult for a journalist to work from home - especially when home is in a remote town 2 hrs from the metropolis.

7. Earth Hour. Fuck it. We don't get electricity fr 6-7 hours daily as part of a routine load-shedding process for the last 4 years. Its become a way of life. Why the fuck should I switch off my lights when fat cats in Bombay burn the geyser and bathe? 'What on Earth!' hour is what I should be celebrating.

8. Water is the new oil. There are water problems all around. And bitchy society members waste gallons of water washing their cars every morning. You dumbfucks, I don't have enough water to wash my ass clean here!

9. Friends stay. I was surprised at the number of folks concerned about my messy health. And no, its not the usual friends. Some new ones - mostly women, here's their chance to play mother - have been texting me about what medicines to take, etc. Thank you, guys. Really appreciate it.

10. Brother is sentimental. He's 10 years elder to me and married, but his wife tells me that he started crying the moment he came to know I was ill. Damn, I miss him. And how!

11. This room in which I'm locked up, is painted blue. And my family did not even consult me before they got it painted 3 years back. How sick! This stupid colour is making me feel ill all over again.

12. Time to think. That's what chicken pox gave me the most. I've looked back at my past life, my work, thought about where its headed, thought about where I'd like it to be headed, am I happy in the organization I'm working with, where would I see myself in a few years from now...all of that.

Does that mean its good to fall ill once in a while? Maybe it is. Mom says chicken pox removes all the germs from your body. Dad says a lot of things too, but I don't listen to him cause he talks too much.

But the doctor says chicken pox is like love. Happens only once in a lifetime. I disagree. And this is the voice of experience talking. :)