The Invizible Man

Stream of consciousness

2006-10-30T21:54:00.000+05:30

Completely snowed down under work, so here's a post that requires almost no effort:

"When a garbage can is ridiculously feline, another chess board over a wedding dress graduates from a highly paid carpet tack. Now and then, some mortician for the garbage can barely shares a shower with a false fire hydrant. When an orbiting buzzard trembles, a wheelbarrow hides. Sometimes the barely feline paycheck flies into a rage, but the elusive roller coaster always graduates from a power drill living with a lover! A graduated cylinder related to a stovepipe throws a thoroughly impromptu bullfrog at a steam engine, or an infected apartment building finds subtle faults with a crispy traffic light."

Was half of a spam mail from god knows where - quite creative cos it gets through most spam filters. Whoever wrote it was really in his/her stream of consciousness... or is just a really smart program. Whatever. Good entertainment at this hour. Now back to work.

Coffee is the spice

2006-10-22T18:33:00.000+05:30

Interesting Dilbert strips happened last week. It started with this one:

And then continued with this:

Followed by this beauty:

If you're a Dilbert fan, in all probability, you've read this - so what's the big deal, you ask? Chances are that you've also read Frank Herbert's SF/Fantasy masterpiece, Dune. Well, this is why it's interesting - Dilbert's coffee seems to have the strange properties of the melange spice found on Planet Arrakis - Dilbert's prescience and heightened awareness seem unnaturally similar to the effect of the spice on Paul Atreides in Dune. It could be a coincidence, or it could be that Paul Atreides is a descendant (several hundred generations removed, of course) of Dilbert?!

I need some coffee. And something to do on a Sunday evening!!

(This is not my first post on Dilbert's relation to other fictional characters - this was the first.)

Tum Jane, main Jane-man

2006-10-18T15:02:00.000+05:30

This photo was taken over the weekend at the theatre where I watched Dor (I'd written about it here).

As you might have guessed, knowledgeable reader, this should have been Jaan-e-mann, Shirish Kunder's debut directorial effort (Shirish Kunder who? Farah Khan's husband. Farah Khan who? Well, never mind).

Jane-man, on the other hand, sounds just right for a metrosexual 21st century version of Tarzan - ironically, both Salman and Akshay (who're acting in the original) could fit the bill for a buff, Indian "Jane-man". Screenplay writers must be salivating at the prospect of writing killer dialogues like "Tum Jane, Main Jane-man" accompanied by chest thumping (bare-chested in the case of Salman) and war-cries.

Once released, ex-Tarzans (like Dara Singh and Hemant Birje) will rue the fact that they were born too early and never got to play a cool metro role like Jane-man. Tough luck, dudes.

Dor - Kukunoor's coming of age

2006-10-16T14:44:00.000+05:30

I watched Dor, Nagesh Kukunoor's latest, yesterday. The last two movies he's made (Iqbal and Dor) have given evidence to a maturity that was missing in many of his earlier ventures (Rockford, Hyderabad Blues for example). I've enjoyed both movies thoroughly, and find Kukunoor a director to watch out for - and here's why.

First up, I like the fact that Kukunoor's art is focused around telling the story, so everything else is but garnish and seasoning to the main hero: the tale that waits to be told. There is no gimmickry in the story-telling either - no plot twists by the second, no major sub-plots, no big stars, no random fights, no sudden baring of a heroine's fair midriff, no fashionable clothes, no foreign locales, no nothing. Just clean tellin' the story like it is. And it's completely enjoyable to watch the story as it unfolds, sans frills.

And this leads to the second - his excellent characterization. Dor moves at a languid pace, even more so than Iqbal. Kukunoor takes his time to develop the characters, but when the tale takes off, you know the characters like they were siblings. You love and hate them for the things they do; more importantly, you understand why they do them. And clearly, it needs great faith in your script and even greater faith in your abilities as a director to dare to linger over characters at a time when audiences are like babies who need cinematic rattles to constantly keep them focused. The characters are memorable - Gul Panag's strong Zeenat, Ayesha Takia's girlish Meera and Shreyas Talpade's chameleon-like behroopiya are etched in your mind - only because Kukunoor takes the time to give us a glimpse into their lives before getting on with the story.

And my third reason to like his recent work may have a lot to do with the second - he gets the best out of his actors. If Shreyas Talpade was a revelation in Iqbal, he continues to delight - his motormouth role more than makes up for his silence in his earlier film, and his mimicry is is truly chuckle-worthy. When his character summons Dutch courage to admit his love to Zeenat is a fabulous moment, one among several. He only plays second fiddle, though, to the two leading ladies, Gul Panag and Ayesha Takia. The memorability of their characters is partly due to the story-telling and characterization, but a large part is based on some terrific acting. And remember, till date, these were performers who'd made it in Bollywood primarily on the strength of their looks. To trust the script in their hands, and to bring out their best in de-glamorized roles must have been Kukunoor's most difficult, and to me, most admirable feat yet.

Sure, Dor had its faults. Yeah, the ending was DDLJ-esque and quite predictable. Maybe it could have been more tightly edited. All I can say is watch out for Kukunoor's next. It's as much in the telling of the tale, as it is in the tale itself, that a movie-maker's art lies. And Nagesh Kukunoor is slowly, but surely, becoming quite the artist.

Snow

2006-10-12T19:48:00.000+05:30

The first thought that struck me when I read about Orhan Pamuk's winning the Nobel for Literature was that finally, I've read a Nobel Prize author before (s)he won the Nobel. My second thought was that it's a definite sign of growing old.

Pamuk had come highly recommended by the Milo-man, but somehow I'd never gotten around to reading him. As Milo-man threatened fasts unto death et al, I finally took the plunge last month when I began his latest work, Snow. And it mesmerised me. It spun webs around me thick and fast, and I emerged it from it, 3 weeks later, awed by the book. At one point, I actually thought the book would sit up and talk to me with words of wisdom and sadness - it was that good. And no, I wasn't smoking hallucinatory substances, thank you very much.

More interestingly, when I'd just begun Snow, DK2 happened to see the book, and mentioned that Pamuk was in the front-running for the Nobel. I didn't think much of it, till I found out how clairvoyant DK2 was. Did you make any money on that call, mate?

Balls!

2006-10-01T11:12:00.000+05:30

I watched balls go back and forth for 6 hours and some, at the Kingfisher Airlines tennis open at CCI in Mumbai yesterday (Sep 30). It started at 5 PM with the first singles semi between Berdych and Koubek, went into the second singles semi between Tursunov and Robredo, and ended with the doubles quarters between Paes and Bhupathi finishing at close to 11:30 PM.

Not having EVER watched a tennis match from such close quarters, it was pretty cool to be there. The coolness was dampened a little bit by the first match. It was fairly ill-tempered, with both Berdych and Koubek taking issue with the chair umpire on the line calls. The quality of the play wasn't of the highest order either (honestly, neither was the line calling!), and we were quite happy that it finished as soon as it did!

The second match was a different story altogether. Tursunov played like a man possessed,
playing some scorching groundstrokes, with a forehand that moved faster than the eye could see. Watching him was a little bit like playing Russian roulette with blanks - he threatened to explode at any moment. There was one point where in frustration at a missed forehand, he raised his racket over a linesman's head - luckily, it didn't come down with any velocity or we'd have been short one linesman for sure! And there was enough swearing from the man when nobody could really understand why and in a language that nobody could really understand - I'm guessing Russian, but it could have been Hebrew for all I knew.

But interspersed between all the swearing and general racket antics was some fabulous clean hitting, and Tommy Robredo just had no answers to Tursunov. He did try gamely though in clawing a set back, but Tursunov was just too good for him. The crowd got in behind both players - of course, the only problem was that "C'mon Tommy" made it sound like one was calling out to a favorite pet! :)

By now, in spite of the great tennis, we had been sitting for more than 4 hours and the plastic chairs were having an unpleasant effect on our butts, and we couldn't wait for the Paes-Bhupathi clash to begin. The crowds had swelled up in anticipation of this game, with Bhupathi getting VJ Anusha (I think) and Rahul Bose in his corner, and Leander getting Rhea Pillai in his. In the first set, it looked like Paes-Qureshi would get blown off court in quick time, and we could all go home to a late, but not-too-late dinner. But then, some Indo-Paki vibes happened, including a classic point, where pushed back by a terrific Ancic lob, Qureshi scrambled to the baseline, and responded to Paes' frantic cry of "Oopar maar!" with a fabulous return lob - this was definitely the turning point of the second set, and Paes and Qureshi went on to win it in some style.

But it wasn't to last long - the last set was a washout of the worst variety, Ancic and Bhupathi raising their game ever so slightly to take the match in a canter. In the final analysis, I would think Qureshi was the weak link - he was amateurish at moments and seemed intimidated by both his partner and his opponents. Luckily for us, though, the match finally ended, cos I was hungry enough to eat the tennis ball that came free with the ticket (Yay, freebie!). And we were back home by midnight... in preparation for a busy Sunday!

The blogger-whom-no-one-reads II

2006-09-29T10:58:00.000+05:30

In response to this comment, another Pastis special from 3 weeks before :))

Rat rocks!!

Learning by doing - someone else's doing!

2006-09-28T00:52:00.000+05:30

The weekend gone by was rather interesting. I went for a talk by Amit Jatia. Amit used to run his family business before he started HardCastle Restaurants more than 10 years ago. But that’s not why he’s famous. He’s famous because he’s McDonald’s JV partner in India. (And why was I interested? This is why.)

The talk was organized by the Mumbai chapter of The Indus Entreprenuers (TiE) on Saturday morning at the McDonald’s outlet in Phoenix Mills. He spoke about several aspects of McDonald’s India – about how he got selected as JV partner, how their first few years were tough, how he learnt hard lessons along the way and how they’re looking at growing their business exponentially now, from 110 stores in 10 years to doubling their store reach in the next two years! It was quite an interesting talk, but there were three points he made that were of personal interest.

The first was that there was a yawning space for an Indian fast food chain. Amit believed that there was a huge opportunity in Indian fast food that had only been fulfilled to a very small extent by chains like Jumbo King. He also believed that Indian fast food would not compete directly with McDonald’s and would therefore be in a completely different space. I’m not so sure about that assertion – if fast food has to be successful, they will fight for the same customers’ wallets. However, as eating out evolves and the size of the pie increases, there might be more than enough to go around for all the players in the space. Even if they compete for the same wallets.

The second was that the supply chains are not as bad as they were 10 years ago. Amit recalled how there was no quality iceberg lettuce in the market when McDonald’s entered and how the supply chain for this had to be created all the way back to the farmer. It took McDonald’s a significant amount of time and energy to get their supply chains in place. Supply chains are developed enough now that consistent supply of fresh vegetables is not the issue it used to be - there are suppliers like Radhakrishna Foodland that can get food from farmer to doorstep consistently.

The third was the tactical elements that will make the chain successful, and the tough part of making this happen is all about getting these elements right

Product line – I still haven’t figured out the right product mix that will drive customers into my restaurants. I need a set of products that are easy to make, take the least time, and that’s pan-Indian in its appeal – any ideas?

Operations – Operations is the key to success in fast food operations, and Amit re-iterated its importance by saying that it was the one thing he really needed to get right. The two key insights he offered were to get the right metrics in place and to standardize processes.

People –How do you hire, train and motivate a group of people, who move easily and need to be replaced at a phenomenal rate? Amit had some interesting ideas on this – rewarding good performers by giving them the opportunity to grow with the company was the most important lever that he had. McDonald’s, of course, has deep pockets, and enough opportunities – can an entrepreneur do it as well, I wonder.

The talk convinced me that there is an opportunity to play this game. I know who can do the store layout and who can (potentially) figure out the operations, but I need to figure out so much more - just thinking about it leaves me both excited and apprehensive. Any and all ideas are welcome - I'm looking for as many as I can get!

Through my eyes...

2006-09-19T00:44:00.000+05:30

A few photos (pardon the resolution, my faithful Razr is doing the best it can...):

In response to an old tag from DK2:

This is Vishesh and me reflecting on, and reflected on, the underside of an escalator:

And this is the queue for a flight at the Mumbai airport on a Monday morning:

Far, far in the distance is the gate to damnation.

The blogger-whom-no-one-reads

2006-09-12T11:43:00.000+05:30

Stephan Pastis rarely fails to bring a cynical smile to my lips. And I love this particular mini-series of his (btw, it follows this one). If Rat ever needs somebody to torture, I'm sure he'll always find a blogger-whom-no-one-reads close at hand!

Onam - II

2006-09-10T00:26:00.000+05:30

And then there’s the sadhya. This time was really special for me – my sis had cooked the full sadhya for the first time, and I was really looking forward to trying it out.

First, a description of the sadhya. It starts with a banana leaf –no plates, no spoons, no forks, nothing but your fingers. We start with the banana chips (salted and sweetened), pickle and puli-inji (tamarind and ginger dish) on the left (oh yes, position of each dish is of utmost importance in the sadhya). From left to right, on the top half of the leaf, there is a serving each of olan (dish in coconut milk), cabbage upperi (cabbage side-dish), aviyal (mixed veggies in a yummy semi-solid sauce that I can’t define) and kadala koottu (a dish made from channa and yam), with a pappadum or appalam on the side. There are three courses in this sadhya – rice with sambhar, rasam and curd. And all this is followed by dessert. Here’s a graphic showing how it looks (I was too busy eating to take any photographs):

On to the feast itself: The rice is heaped on to my leaf and some ghee added – yeah, dieters pleas to avoid. Sambhar is added in large goops in the middle of the rice, and the rice-sambhar mix mashed well to get the right sambhar:rice ratio and consistency. By this time, my mouth has watered itself dry. I try each side dish once, deciding which one I’m going to favor for this session – it’s the aviyal. I feel sorry for the rest of the table since they aren’t going to see much of that dish. I plough into my sambhar rice hill, making quick dips into the side dishes, rarely talking or making eye-contact with anybody on the table. My family knows how hungry I can get when I haven’t had good mallu food in days, and doesn’t bat an eyelid, but the good neighbour, who we’ve invited to partake of our feast, doesn't know this yet and proceeds to pepper me with well-meaning questions. She is quickly quietened by my mono-syllabic responses to her questions.

- How is work? - (Gulp. Chew. Gulp.) Good (Chew.) - How is Mumbai? - (Drink water to push down food faster. Chew. Gulp.) Good. (Chew.)

You get the general idea. By now, I’ve worked through the sambhar rice, and then it’s rasam rice. I pass with great regret. I’m a good South Indian and am able to estimate, with great accuracy, how much curd rice (thayir chor) I need to feel good about life. My earlier profligacy with the sambhar rice means that I don’t have the capacity to take in the rasam before the curd. I promise my mom and sis I’ll have a little rasam in a glass so I can at least taste it. The curd rice is, well, curd rice, what can I say? It is comfort food par excellence - chocolate doesn’t even come close. Anyways, curd rice requires a blog by itself, so that’s for later.

After the curd rice, comes dessert: paayasam. There are two – a vella paayasam and an ada prathaman. The first is a gur-based liquid preparation with added chakka (jackfruit), a little too sweet for my liking, but like the rest of the dishes, outstanding in its preparation. I switch to the ada prathaman – it’s sweetened milk with ada (a rice preparation) in it. The ada prathaman is just right, and completes my meal.

I haven’t felt better, and it’ll take a lot to get the smile of contentment off my face. Life’s SO good.

Onam - I

2006-09-09T20:57:00.000+05:30

We mallus celebrated Onam on Sep 5 last week. For the uninitiated, Onam is one of the important mallu festivals, and is based on an old legend, which goes something like this: Lord Mahabali was a good and popular king who ruled the land that is now Kerala. Indra was jealous of his popularity and requested Lord Vishnu for help. Lord Vishnu took the Vamana or dwarf avatar and tricked Mahabali, pushing him to patal lok – the netherworld, which Mahabali rules to this day. He, however, returns to his homeland once a year, and that day is celebrated as Onam.

Cool story and all,but I’m not sure that’s the only reason for Onam. Methinks we mallus love food too much to celebrate only on one day in a year (that’s Vishu, our new year’s day), so we found another day to party. Being a fraud mallu with rather tenuous connections to my homeland, Onam has usually meant two things for me: the morning pookalam (the flower arrangement) and the afternoon sadhya (the feast).

This time’s Onam was quite special, since I was able to get home for a change – a feat I’ven’t managed for the past few years. The first thing I saw when I got home was the pookalam. It never fails to amaze me how my mom and sis can wake up so early in the morning to do this, but they do, and it always turns out beautiful. Here, look at our pookalam this year:

Yup, it’s quite beautiful. Of course, everybody’s stepping around it to get in and out, but that’s a small price to pay for a pookalam.

The sadhya needs a separate blog to do full justice. So hereitis.

Desi Food Machine

2006-09-09T20:46:00.000+05:30

I often wonder, how long will it take for the first global Indian fast food chain to come alive? We have quite a few city centric fast food chains – the Jumbo King vada pav stalls outside the Mumbai local stations, the Udipi restaurants (Sagar in Delhi, Shiv Sagar in Mumbai, Saravana Bhavan in Chennai/Delhi/Dubai/California), the north Indian chains (Haldiram’s, Bikanervala in Delhi) – but nothing to give any of the global western Quick Service Restaurants like McDonald’s, Domino’s or KFC a run for their dollars. It’s funny when you think about Indian fast food: a roomali roll is not that different from a wrap, a vada pav not that far from a burger, a dosa is almost a pancake. And even while they are similar, Indian food has infinite variety – a dosa can have as many combinations (consider the dough, the filling, the oil/butter content, the chutneys on the side) as there are towns in Tamil Nadu. So why shouldn’t we take this around India and the rest of the world, and why not use what the successful global QSRs have done well to make this happen?

I have a thought: a lean, mean global Desi Food Machine (DFM), with unbeatable scale (restaurants in the 1000s across India and the world), great revenues and profitability (high capacity utilizations with quick turnaround times) and best of all, really tasty Indian food (customized to local taste, but undeniably Indian). Let me elaborate.

The first part is scale. Let's use the McD and KFC model here – locate stores near high-footfall locations: tourist spots, business centers, transport hubs, any place that has the populace hustling and bustling around. We should start with India: the metros and then the smaller cities, and then target every major city: again starting with those with a sizable Indian population, and expanding to other cities. Eventually, every major world city will have at least one, if not more DFM outlets, and Ronald McDonald and Col. Sanders should get a shiver in their plastic spines every time they hear that a DFM is being set up near their own restaurants.

The second part is the economics. Three factors will drive economics: high footfall, quick table turnaround and high item profitability. While great locations will take care of high footfalls, quick turnarounds will be driven by great table management (something the Udipi joints excel at) and process standardization inside the kitchen and on the restaurant floor. High item profitability will be driven off lean sourcing and process standardization.

The third part is great food. The usual crib with global fast food is that taste sucks. While DFM food will be standardized and served quick, there will be no allowance for poor taste. The food will be customized for local palates, both for Indian tongues and foreign sensibilities, and getting the unique taste right will be key to DFM's success. This seems to be the one bit that the McDonald’s of the world can’t get fully right, hopefully this is something our DFM will be able to crack open.

I agree that McD’s is not the place I’d like to take V out to lunch, but look at how successful it has been in promoting the burger culture across the world. Why shouldn’t we conquer the world with our dosa and vada pav? Forget the culture bit for a second, it’s just a business idea that is waiting to happen, and I recently read an interview of just the person who might make it happen. Good luck, Sarath, I really hope you succeed!

It's been a long time...

2006-09-09T20:38:00.000+05:30

It's been a very odd 3 weeks since I last posted. In the ensuing period, I've had a run-in with a security guy at Delhi airport, a fabulous Onam feast at home, flights to Chennai, Delhi, Hyderabad among other places, loads of stuff which got done at work and 2 David Mitchells, 1 Neil Gaiman, 1 Ben Mezrich and some other assorted books. It's been one of those (hmmm, it's interesting how there isn't a word for 3 weeks, no? 2 weeks is a fortnight and 4 is (close to) a month, so what's 3 weeks?) periods of time - lots happening, but no time to blog. So here it comes, 4 blogs over the next day or two. Yenjoy.

Aimbathi ainthu

2006-08-21T21:00:00.000+05:30

...as fifty-five is known in Tam-land. Am continuing the story series that worthies, Bangalore Bytes, Chamique, Recluse, Mr. D and Dhoomketu, have started and continued - all 55 word pieces. Have attached the whole story here, with my 55 bits, pliss to continue:
-----------
The airplane had been airborne an hour when she entered the toilet. She looked into the mirror and hated the girl of twenty going on sixty that she saw. The horrors she had seen and the family she had lost….

She mixed lip-gloss with Vaseline, stuck her mobile in the goo and walked out.

Slowly…

*****

Between the clothes, she tucked in small surprises. Moisturising lotion for her grandmother. Seaweed hair gel for her grandfather. The cologne her brother had been hinting at...

Later, she realised her lip-gloss had been checked in as well.
Maybe she’d ask the girl next to her for some when she got back from the toilet.

*****

A bit of the viscid mixture was still on her fingers as she opened the door. She quickly massaged it into her full, round lips. Salty.

A kafir watched her and smiled appreciatively.

Bastard.

-----------

Somewhere, Akram sat staring at the bottle in his hand.

Fuck.

He'd given her the cyanide paste instead of the vaseline.

*****

She looked sort of hot (in an Asian way), though not friendly. That made him think. In the end he decided to give it a go, anyhow.

"May I borrow your vaseline, please? It's dry in here"

He added a friendly but restrained smile for effect. She looked around uncomfortably. He tried to look cool.

*****

She handed him the empty tube.

"It's not mine, it's available in the restroom. Go get one for yourself."

It was the friendliest she could be with kafirs.

She licked her lips again while sitting down. Salty.

Somewhere in her bag, the vaseline bottle had leaked open. Akram didn’t know that and pulled the trigger.

*****

First, cyanide for Vaseline, and now, a jammed trigger. Akram wasn’t having a great day.
-----------
Empty tube in hand, Grober made a beeline for the restroom. I should have killed the bitch. Oh well, there’s still an hour to go before we land. He smiled cruelly. And saw the phone. The phone of his dreams.

Shine on you, witty Mason!

2006-08-15T12:12:00.000+05:30

Though I picked up Nick Mason's Pink Floyd reminiscence book, Inside Out - A personal history of Pink Floyd, (for the uninitiated, Mason has been PF's drummer through the band's chequered history) nearly 3 months ago, I never got around to reading it - for one, because I had a backlog of fiction to read through and second, because I'm not really a huge fan of memoirs. As a rule, most books in the genre either tend to be hagiographic or bitchy, the latter especially if they are about aging rock bands with a messy past. Inside Out was approached, therefore, with much trepidation and the knowledge that if the first 20 pages were either extremely h. or b., the book would be banished from sight immediately. Such was my cynicism that I put down the quote from the Guardian on the blurb - "Mason could probably have plied a successful trade as a writer... a dry, original wit"- to a publicity rush.

The first page gave me an inkling that I might enjoy this book after all. Sample this - Mason talks about how Waters spoke to him for the first time:

"The star-crossed paths of Virgo and Aquarius had dictated our destiny, and were compelling Roger to seek a way to unite our minds in a creative adventure.
No,no,no. I'm trying to keep the invention to a minimum. The only reason Roger had bothered to approach me was that he wanted to borrow my car.
The vehicle in question was a 1930 Austin Seven 'Chummy' which I'd picked up for twenty quid... Roger must have been desperate even to want me to lend it to him. The Austin's cruising speed was so sluggish that I'd once had to give a hitch-hiker a lift out of sheer embarassment because I was going so slowly he thought I was actually stopping to offer him a ride."

The book is peppered with similarly self-deprecating and drily witty passages that evoke chuckles in places and a wry smile in others. The book starts off in a light vein with the creation of the band at an architectural school, and gets heavier as the band begins its journey towards fame and trouble- Syd Barrett's leaving the band and his personal battle with alcohol, the battle for control between Waters and Gilmour resulting in their going their separate paths, the legal battles between Waters and Pink Floyd and their getting together at Live 8 last year. In the midst of these events, Mason writes about the creation of each album, and the most famous shows that they did - the songs, the stage props, the album covers - in meticulous detail. There's a whole lot of technical jargon in this (technical details about tapes and mixers can be tiring to the untrained reader (a la me)), but if you can turn a glazed eye to the technical part and focus on his writing and the events, it's quite an enjoyable read.

Mason is Boswell to Floyd's Samuel Johnson - the chronicler of the band, the team player contributing his bit, but never playing the lead role. This plays to his advantage, since he's almost never the protagonist, but always the observer. His writing is objective and honest (read his descriptions of the war of attrition between Waters and Gilmour before Floyd's second split or how Syd Barrett was treated by the group). He also shows the human side of the band - their indiscretions with groupies (Mason's own, included), their egos and the need for credit within the band, the jockeying for power between Gilmour and Waters, the crazy schedules and last-minute changes in their live shows. And how they manage to have fun in the midst of all this turmoil.

Enough said - there's a lot of trivial details that you'd like to read through when you get to the book. If you're a die-hard PF fan, there's no reason why you wouldn't read this book, it's an absolute treasure trove. If you aren't a fan, read it anyways - it's a witty introduction to rock'n'roll life in the 60's and 70's.

P.S.: Two bits of trivia: there's a photo of Syd Barrett when he visits the studios in the 70s post his leaving (or being thrown out of, rather) PF - it's quite sad what unharnessed talent can become. And there's a picture of Naomi Watts in her diapers! Naomi's the daughter of Peter Watts, who was a sound engineer for PF in the early 70's. The world's a small place...

Does boldness good cinema make?

2006-08-14T13:37:00.000+05:30

I watched Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna yesterday. Enough has been said and written about the movie - much of it laudatory (here and here for starters) with the occasional critical voice. Frankly, I cannot understand the plaudits. Yes, Karan Johar made a movie that was different by his standards, SRK played the role of a loser, the movie had a bold theme - so what? Does that make a great movie, or even a watchable movie? (Caveat: This ain't a review in the sense of quoting several renowned film makers or making gratuitous references to arcane subjects, however, plot spoilers abound.)

What makes a great movie is a great storyline - well plotted, with characters that speak to you, and situations that meld into one another well. What makes a great movie is superlative acting - underplayed, yet powerful. This movie has the second, in parts, but absolutely lacks the first. The first half stutters along - Karan clearly wanted to get to the meat fairly quickly and doesn’t waste time on preambles. The opening is fairly lame, with the initial meeting between SRK and Rani before her wedding being so contrived that it should have come with a Spoiler Warning or something (in this case, the title, never say alvida, comes in handy)! This segues into life four years later, with a perpetually grumpy SRK (I empathise, being in a similar position just now). There is the mandatory comic track, comprising of one very, very unfunny sequence in order to get SRK and Rani to meet, and a slightly better one where SRK and Rani are convinced their respective spouses are having an affair.

After all the comedy is done and dusted, and the respective parties have met, you'd expect things to get better. Well, they do, because this is what K-Jo wanted to get to in the first place. But not enough to forgive him a tedious first quarter of the film. Once SRK and Rani get to know each other, they start falling in love – but K-Jo made that clear from scene one, didn’t he? (And there's a comic track here that had me grabbing for a barf bag - Rani shows SRK how to bring some excitement into his love life in a bed showroom and a random foreigner thinks it's a great reason to buy the bed... seriously, what's with old jokes and random foreigners in every other laugh track?) I love the fact that there is no deep justification for why they should fall in love, except they are lonely and need each other’s company. But why would you screw this up with a random opening sequence where they meet and part? Why not be real for once, without having to resort to inane plot devices? Why do couples need to part and meet again, why, Bollywood script ke Bhagwaan?

There are some good parts here - I thought the dinner where SRK and Amitabh clash was fairly intense – both actors have a smouldering presence that’s brilliant when they’re together (except when SRK is hamming to kingdom come, that is). Abhishek-Rani and SRK-Preity have showdowns that have been well-scripted - very believable, unlike several other parts of the film. Then, the plot meanders along to a slow and painful end - predictably, SRK and Rani, having undergone the right level of pain and punishment for having cheated on their respective spouses, get together at the end, DDLJ-like with last-minute trains and what not.

The feeling at end of the movie was one of annoyance – I’d read a couple of reviews (the adulatory ones above) before watching the movie and didn’t find this movie anywhere near as good. Having the “boldness” to shift themes from inane romances to adultery and the “courage” to cast a superstar in a "loser" role does not a great movie make - superb plotting and great acting does. KANK is watchable once, but nothing more.

How can I miss you if you won't go away?

2006-08-10T10:00:00.000+05:30

... and other classic country music song titles.

My favorite: Mama Get The Hammer (There's A Fly On Papa's Head).

Ouch.

Down-cast

2006-08-07T10:32:00.000+05:30

I fell badly on my left foot playing basketball a week ago. Turns out I have a torn ligament. My foot’s in a cast now – on for the next 3 weeks. As always, there's something to learn from random events... this is my quota for this week:

Me(n) is(are) dumb: Oh well, V asked me to get to the doc when the event happened last Sunday. I said, yeah sure, it’s just a sprain, will get fixed. And I waited and waited and waited… till Thursday to get to a doc, who gave it to me for waiting this long. Apparently, an untreated torn ligament can lead to unstable ankles and other unsavory fates. I recounted the story to a (female) friend – she gave me the cold eye, and said “You men! Think you’re all superheroes, no? This is what you deserve.” I thought about reacting and then shut up. No more sympathy from the women, I’ve realized.

Medical innovations never cease to amaze: The doc put me in this fiberglass cast – it’s a 3M product, but apparently quite a few other companies make it as well. If you don’t know what it is, this is what mine looks like:

For one, it’s quite lightweight compared to the traditional plaster of paris stuff. Second, it comes on very quickly – the whole process took less than 10 minutes to complete. And most importantly, it’s a very cool blue – looks quite neat. Except that nobody can sign or doodle on this – oh well, given what the women will write, I’d rather not have that option.

Broken leg can impede flight: Flying is quite a nightmare, partially because of the general pain and discomfort in the said foot, but primarily because there's always a line of people behind you mentally urging you to move faster. They are usually caught in two minds about swearing or sympathising, and end up saying "May i help you" with the kind of look that would make you wonder if "help" involves ejecting you from the plane at 25,000 ft. The silver lining, however, is that if you can hobble around and look like an injured hero, well, you might get upgraded to the more rarified environs of biz class. It happened on Jet Airways, where the ladies at the counter were far more sympathetic (of course, not telling story of not heeding gfriend's advice helped) than the old man at the Indian Airlines counter who looked at me as if I was some kind of lowly worm, who deserved to hobble.

The best part, of course, is that I can literally put my feet up at work - on the nearest chair!

Yeah right, the rains are back again

2006-07-29T20:14:00.000+05:30

I have to confess - I've never really liked the monsoon. Yes, I know, I don't have a clean soul, I can't appreciate the better things of life, yada yada, because almost everybody I know loves the rains. They love the feel of water on their face, the pitter patter of water falling into puddly pools, hot chai, the smell of the earth (that's not so bad)... Somehow I've only noticed mouldy clothes, the grey skies, traffic jams, wading through filthy water, you get the picture.

The only time I've ever enjoyed the rains was when I was in school - in parched Chennai, storm drains would get surprised by the merest whiff of the rains, so any sign of precipitation greater than a drizzle meant an odds-on chance that school would be off. And we watched rainy days with great anticipation - uniforms worn with extreme tardiness, us going to the balcony every few minutes to check if the city was flooded, making calls to friends, hoping that this groundswell of hope would lead to a holiday. And the announcement of the holiday was accompanied by joyous celebrations, more phone calls, feverish plans that would be unmade during the course of the day... much fun.

College days were different. For starters, staying on campus meant there were no off days during the monsoon. And worse followed - water leaked into the rooms through ancient walls that were just as surprised by the rains as the city's storm drains, clothes got mouldy and smelly, classes had to be gone to and sat through in soggy clothes... all in all, not my cup of tea (or rain water). There was more to follow - squirrels liked to make their cosy homes in my room. I came back after a particularly rainy autumn break to find my room smelling of piss and worse, and a litter that had gone through a few shirts and a favorite sweater in making their homes. The next year, they were back - this time, a nest in my drawer.

The Mumbai monsoon is, of course, a different animal. For somebody who waded through 4 hours of waist-deep water on 26/7 like I did, the rains have taken on a different meaning altogether. I still live in the city, one year and 5 days later, telling and re-telling the war stories from that day, and while I joke about it, I can't help but feel a vague fear every time it pours in Mumbai. I hope that one day I'll be able to make my peace with the rains - but we're adversaries just yet.

God, what a technicality!

2006-07-23T15:48:00.000+05:30

The annual Kaavad visit is happening on several stretches of the Delhi-Jaipur road. I’ve seen parts of this on my travels from Delhi to Gurgaon over the last week. The Kaavad pilgrimage pays homage to Lord Shiva by taking water from the river Ganges back to their home towns. If only it was that simple – the catch is that you have to get the water back by foot (or so the faithful believe). It’s quite a test of endurance, especially if your home is closer to Rajasthan and Punjab than to Haridwar.

As my car inched its way along the incessant traffic that’s on the Gurgaon-Jaipur Highway, I saw two kinds of kaavadiyas. The first kind were simple enough – they walked alone or in groups of 2-3. Typically middle-aged and saffron clad, they carried the kaavad (a bamboo contraption for carrying water, specifically used to carry the water of the Ganges over long distances, looks like the kaavadi used in the kaavadiyattam folk dance in Tamil Nadu – the similarity is a subject for another post) in what seemed to be a slow and painful walk. Here’s what the traditional kaavad looks like:

The second kind of kaavadiyas were more interesting. There were a set of tempos, jeeps and bikes all along the road that were filled with saffron clad youngsters, and a banner of their particular kaavad association. These vehicles were moving quite slowly along one lane, with one guy running in front at a slow jog carrying the water. I wondered why, and this is what I learnt - they rotate shifts all through the night, in order to ensure that the water was on the road at any point in time. These guys were never short of energy - this photo was taken post-midnight!

This was a far smarter way to do it, though not exactly the traditional way of doing things – these guys were making good time, and with much lesser effort than their kaavad carrying brethren. And they were getting the water back home on foot! You can trust an Indian to come up with the technicality each time… heh.

Of nutty equipment and random generators

2006-07-21T12:36:00.000+05:30

No, really. My fortune on orkut for today reads: You have an unusual equipment for success, use it properly. Hmmm, interesting. I thought I was pretty normal until now. Should I go visit a doc or something? Heck no, he might just correct my "unusual equipment" and there go any chances of success I ever had.

Where do they come up with these quirky ones - from the Fortune-telling Random Generator?! I tried this random fortune cookie generator, and would you believe the result: Man who stand on street corner with hands in pockets, not feeling crazy, feeling nuts. It's just one of those days.

Other posts on fortunes: 1.

An alternative Calvin growing-up theory

2006-07-19T20:02:00.000+05:30

I had surmised a few moons ago that possibly Calvin had matured into something else. Apparently, I was being optimistic, and life isn't that good yet. Just found another theory for what's happened to Calvin. Caveat reader, it ain't pretty.

Jo Jeleto!

2006-07-17T20:11:00.000+05:30

That's an exclamation from Gujju mom to daughter, passing the new Gelato shop at the old hang-out for the South-but-not-too-far-South Mumbaiite, Phoenix Mills. I'm sure a lot of you know what the damn thing is - I must confess, I had no clue till I had one in Hong Kong a couple of months ago. If you're among the lucky ones who don't know what it is, as always, wikipedia provides the ready answer.

Apparently, it's been in Delhi for quite some time, but I haven't seen it in Mumbai before this (unless you can correct me, educated reader). I tried a couple of flavors - the Caribbean Lime sorbetto (which if you checked the wiki link is pretty much like our own ice gola - water, sugar and flavoring) and an italian dark chocolate gelato, and V tried the strawberry yoghurt (or some such) gelato. Our verdict - Caribbean Lime sorbetto was brilliant (but that could be because we're partial to ice golas), strawberry thingie was nice (V likes strawberries more, so she liked it a lot more) and italian dark chocolate was quite sad - more like frozen cadbury's milk chocolate.

Interesting comparison between this guy's sorbetto and ice gola guy at Shivaji Park, who is no slouch when it comes to providing mean ice treats. I had a kala khatta some time in April, and it was quite awesome. The presentation is nowhere near as sophisticated (obviously!) and the price is on the higher side (25 bucks a pop), but a gola after a walk/run in the park is quite a match for the sorbetto.

On the milky side, the gelato is a lot creamier than the Natural's ice cream just around the corner, so this will be an interesting battle to watch - India's contribution to the food world (as a plaque in the Naturals store in Prabhadevi defines it) vs Italy's contribution to the food world - may the best ice cream win!

Other interesting things happened in the parlor. Perizaad Zoraabian (of the toothy smile) and Rashmi Uday Singh (of the food column) descended on the store and proceeded to photo shoot to kingdom come as V and I sat outside enjoying our gelato/sorbetto. It was quite funny to watch - Perizaad Z feeding store owner (I think) and random phirang (dunno who) some gelato, with a very wide smile. Pretty sight. Here look:

That's PZ behind the counter, photographer atop stool taking photograph and RUS standing watching and choreographing the show.

Anyways, question pops in my head - given the large vegetarian population in Mumbai, will the name 'gelato' be an issue? You've read the wiki on the subject - gelato just means frozen stuff, but the closeness of the name to gelatin will be an interesting problem for the gelato-men to solve, especially if the veggies frown on jeleto-eating. And we know how bad that can be in Mumbai.

What do we do next?

2006-07-13T13:27:00.000+05:30

Most people agree that transit systems are soft targets - while we can debate endlessly how we can combat terrorism, we also need to recognise that we definitely need to enhance our own transit system security and understanding of what to do in similar situations. A couple of thoughts post the blasts:

A thought on transit safety. While we could get access to superior technology, the challenge is one of implementation, especially in Mumbai, where getting into a train is a daily adventure. Can one ever get the teeming hordes to form a single file, let alone go through a security screen? The answer lies with easing the pressure off the existing transport system through alternate modes - the Mumbai Metro project, better and wider roads (including the sea link), even using the waterways more efficiently (a la Hong Kong). As long as the current pressures exist, I can't see how we could ever protect our transit systems effectively.

And on handling transit attacks, here's some sane advice. This seems to be very city-specific though - as I watched the news immediately after the incident and now, reading the Mumbai Marauder's first-person account of the blast, I realise we'd need a different list. The only tip I can think of just yet is that given the time that official help takes, everybody else on the train needs to get out of their coaches and start helping immediately! More seriously, we need an idea of transit safety that addresses the uniqueness of the Mumbai rail situation. Any thoughts?

I reign alone

2006-07-13T10:06:00.000+05:30

Bwahahaha. After DK2's ego-post, I went to check if it waz true... and it iz. There iz only one invizible man. Az iz but natural, I wonder why I am thiz way - maybe I'm just dyzlexic, and I zee my z'z az s'z, or iz it the other way around? Or am I French by nature and zay eet like eet eez? Or maybe thiz iz my secret code to the Brotherhood of Sion (also known as the Traffic Jam Fraternity of Bombay)?

I don't know the answer and now that the initial euphoria has settled, I feel alone. I need Hobbes. I need a hug. I need another invizible person for company. Hmm, but he/she can't see me. On second thought, that sounds like John Cena. Somehow, I'm not sure I want company any more.

Why?

2006-07-12T14:21:00.000+05:30

Is the question I've been asking myself for 3 days now. It started with the Shiv Sena creating hell on Sunday for somebody splattering a statue with mud. I still don't understand it - would the next initiative be to kill all the birds in the vicinity, because they have dared to do their business in the air above a statue?! It continued in the wee hours of Monday morning, as Zizou's head butt left me both anguished and curious, as to what could so push a man, a hero even, to that level of anger.

But nothing beats yesterday. I can't imagine a group of people so single-minded in their pursuit of a goal that they could kill 200 innocent people for it. It is one thing to warn people through shows of power, quite another to do the damage. Why? Is anything in this life that important, that somebody could be killed for it?

In some ways, this was a disaster bound to happen sooner than later - there's no more evident target in the whole country than the Mumbai rail system. All I wonder now is there any way to ever prevent it from happening again? There is almost no safeguard against this, given the tremendous strain that the rail infrastructure takes and the sophistication of the damage possible these days.

In hindsight, I feel most unhappy about writing this piece about airport security. It was meant to be a sarcastic piece, more a result of an early Monday morning than anything else, but what just happened has mocked my own cynicism. Damn.

Saving money

2006-07-05T11:14:00.000+05:30

Food for thought... I guess this is why I love free Internet connections! :)

A thing of beauty...

2006-07-02T19:59:00.001+05:30

...is Zinedine Zidane. Against Brazil. There were snatches of genius in their first match against the Swiss, but little indication of the beauty that we got to see yesterday.

Even if my failing memory will not remember a large part of this World Cup, it'll surely recall Zizou's moves from yesterday - the controlled ball that he coolly lofted over a immobile Ronaldo and collected, the deft right foot to left foot flick-and-pass, the trademark turnaround dancing past a stunned opposition, the vision to see the match-winning pass that lesser mortals would have missed - all moves of unparallelled wizardry. If only he would play a couple of matches more like this one, my World Cup would be made.

And to think that after their first couple of matches, France was almost out of the World Cup... and they've risen from the ashes on the back of one man's effort. As Domenech said after the match yesterday, "He is Zidane. You seem surprised. I'm not surprised at all. I know exactly what he's capable of doing." Amen to that.

On televised gods

2006-07-01T11:33:00.000+05:30

My restless fingers flipped channels as I spent the time between the two World Cup quarters, willing myself awake for the post midnight match. Luckily, there's tennis and cricket, I said to myself - words spoken too soon, as I realised. The cricket was excruciatingly slow, so slow that I thought it had rained in Sabina Park when I saw the score at lunch. And watching Tanasugarn play an unknown 17 year old wasn't good enough reason to watch Wimbledon. So I surfed - eyes vacant, jaw dropped, finger remote-controlling.

And I hit paydirt when I came across one of the Christian channels. A pastor was doing the usual from-the-pulpit stuff, encouraging reluctant man to follow benevolent god. Which was A-ok, till the ad break, where above pastor did a neat ad routine. He quoted the Bible as saying that oil will help man get salvation or some such guff. This was followed by his offer for special vials of oil (that had been anointed at some camp, no less) that could be got by paying anywhere from $10-100! He called it "sowing the seed of faith" - it seemed a pretty rich way of sowing seed. Not as rich, though, as the special seed of faith that 70 select people could sow for $1000 each! Very interesting ways of making money, me thought... and given the competition between 3-4 channels who're doing the same stuff, wow, paydirt, folks!

And this is not exclusive to Christian channels alone. The same channel surfing routine last week led me to the famous "evil-eye amulet". As the host, all wide-eyed and sincere, tells you, this amulet is designed to ward off the evil eye. The ad demonstrates this well through a short clip with animations from Ramanand Sagar's Ramayan - arrows emanating from another person's evil eye diverted by the invisible shield of the amulet-wearer! This is followed up with the usual testimonials - one was particularly hilarious: a scrawny young man with a goatee (an artist, of course) tells us about how he wore the amulet and immediately after, got a private art show - if the paintings behind him were an indication, the amulet must have really worked some magic! All this power is at a price, and usually with a freebie thrown in (some lucky stone, maybe?).

Inspired by this sudden religiousness, I have an offer for all you religious folk out there. I offer you the "PayforPrayer" fund - I will stand on one leg for 3 years (live video feed available for $29.99 per day) and pray that my donors (you religious folk) will get the benefits of god's blessings. Do remember that the prayer length will be dependent on how much you pay, and I've already received nearly $1 million from some donors, so don't be shy, pay for your prayer!

P.S.: Don't get me wrong, this is not a "let's bash the religious" post. I was quite religious during my schooldays, first at a Christian missionary school, and later at an Arya Samaj school. While my early religious spirit has since been tempered by skepticism, I still have respect for true faith. And this is definitely not what faith is about... this is just a religious version of the sauna belts and other exotic products that are on tele-marketing tv... and a televised version of the fakirs and babas roaming our country peddling fake solutions. And it's clearly working, given the number of ads out there. This is the golden age of knowledge, did someone say?

No large pachyderms in here!

2006-06-27T20:29:00.000+05:30

Sign seen outside a government building on Bhikaji Cama road in Delhi:

Nope, no photoshop tricks. Yup, actual signboard.

Catching 'em young!

2006-06-27T15:25:00.000+05:30

Wonder why Disney gives you that familiar feeling when you watch their animated movies? Maybe this site has the answer. Check these pics out for a preview:

While I'd like to believe this wasn't true, the pics are too similar... Not a big fan of Disney myself - Pixar is way, way better. Maybe now I'll start watching Disney movies as well - just to find the comparisons!!

What's in the stars today?

2006-06-24T12:31:00.000+05:30

I get three newspapers at home. No, no, titter away, I won't take it amiss. I can see you thinking, sage reader, the news is pretty much the same, the photos are not very different, even the ads are the same. So why, in the lord's name, would somebody get 3 papers at home??

Ah, but there are the astro columns, you see. I like to read the previews of my day, pure entertainment happens. Even better on Saturdays and Sundays, because same paper has multiple astro-entertainment columns. You'd think the same stars spoke the same language, but you'd be thinking wrong things. Reading aforesaid entertainment columns will lead you to the conclusion that if you watch stars from Bandra, they will definitely look different from the star view in Andheri or Colaba. Or there are parallel universes in which I exist. Or they quote from different lists of cliches (oops, let the cat out of the bag, didn't I?). I have worked hard, therefore, in collating what looks like the forecast for my day:

Take care as you are accident prone. (Thank you. If i don't have an accident today, i know whom to thank, and if i do have an accident, you warned me, didn't you?) (mumbai mirror)
If you can be grounded, you could ultimately make your dreams come true. (Very, very insightful. If I was at home and ten years ago, I would have done something really naughty so I could be grounded. Now that I have fiscal freedom, I'll just ground myself... into the dust. Sorry, pj) (dna)
Partners' help will now prove invaluable. This goes for both intensely personal issues and long-term professional arrangements (I hope my partners are reading the same papers. Should I just send them an sms?) (i.e.)
Life can seduce you in various ways today. Softer and more pliable, you are capable of being anything to anyone. (Sounds very soft-porno... though if I'm softer and more pliable, can't see how I can be as capable of being anything to anyone!) (ToI)

Add to this collection, my "numero-logic" for the day. My lucky number is apparently 3. It's a fairly complicated and rigorous computation. Take your date of birth. Write it down in dd/mm/yyyy format. Remove the two slashes. Then remove the digits you have written in place of mmyyyy. Total the two digits you are left with (hopefully you have only two left, otherwise, repeat procedure) to get the magical lucky number. Since that might have tired you out, take a deep breath and count till 3 (the lucky number again! you lucky dog, you) and then read your forecast - sorry, my forecast, yours will have to be calculated through computation shown above:
The platonic bond that you share with loved ones needs to be extended a bit... Your warmth can break the ice, and this could make matters so much simpler for you (Can I share my non-platonic bonds as well? will my lucky number let me do that, please, please? And what's with the warmth breaking the ice thing, isn't that supposed to be in the "How to date girl in party, shy boy" column?) (mirror buzz)

What would I do without my daily share of platitudes, cliches and tautologies?

How I learned to stop worrying and love airport security

2006-06-22T12:11:00.000+05:30

I'm heading towards the Mumbai airport at 6 AM on a Monday morning. It's way too early for civilized man - Bertie Wooster would be getting into bed right about now, give or take an hour. I'm not Bertie Wooster, and I'm barely a civilized man, so I guess it's ok for me to be awake at this hour. My thoughts are quite morbid and I'm looking for an outlet to funnel my creative rage.

I don't have to look far as I reach the airport. I get to the security guy at the entrance, who inspects both the ticket and me quite suspiciously, and thinks about the pleasure he'd get denying me entry into the airport. Sadly for him, the ticket is legit, so he lets me in. I go through and get my boarding pass done. And then wait in line for the security check.

The queue is so long, it's as if half the city has decided to get on a flight out of town - maybe I missed the plague warnings on the way in. I get to the front of the line in 20 minutes, put my laptop through screening, and get frisked by the lone security guy. No, frisked is quite tame, felt up is more like it. After inspecting the contents of my wallet and ensuring that my cell phone is not a time bomb in disguise, security guard 2 lets me go through to pick up the screened luggage.

If it was only that simple. Security guard 3 is intensely curious about the contents of my bag. I open it to show her my harmless laptop. She asks me if it's a laptop. I say yes, resisting a strong urge to tell her, no it's a grand piano, and that I intend to play it on the flight. It's a good idea in the end, it would have been difficult to explain the grand piano concept. I go through, only to be stopped by security guard 4, who checks if my baggage has received the appropriate stamp of approval. No matter that S4 is standing about 10 metres from the security check area and no matter that it's pretty much impossible to have gotten something under the eager hands of Mr. Feeler Up and the eagle eyes of Ms. Laptop Checker.

I get through S4, wearied already, and wait for the boarding announcement. The announcement duly comes and I go to the gate, only to be stopped by security guard 5, who checks the luggage tags... again! I'm sorely tempted to tell him there's a bomb in my bag and I've gotten it through 4 security guys, but I need to get out of the airport, and the flight is the quickest way out, so I wait for him to finish his inspection.

I get to the flight staircase, and there are two guys there - one who takes my boarding pass and lets me through, and guess what, another who checks my luggage tags!! I'm sure it's part of the overall entertainment package, but it's too damn wierd for me. As I enter the aircraft, I can only think, 5 security guards (and one random airline official) later, I am not sure that we would win a poll for the most secure airport. There's a greater chance (odds on actually) that we would win the poll for the most painful and pointless airport service in the world. Do other countries not have security issues, or do they just apply more thought on how to be ensure security? Too heavy for a Monday morning, I promptly go to sleep.

Here comes the Spanish Armada

2006-06-18T11:45:00.000+05:30

To answer Amit's question, and to put a spanner in the works of all the Brazilian / Argentinian / English fans out there, I propose a name that I haven't heard many people put forth - the Spaniards. Why, you ask me? Well, here are the reasons, in no order of priority:

Look at the quality of the team: Casillas at goal, Puyol, Salgado and del Horno in defense, Xabi Alonso and Xavi in midfield, Torres, Raul and Luis Garcia along with the mercuric David Villa up front. While they haven't been as highly touted as Brazil's Fab Four or Argentina's warriors, this Spanish team has the talent. As captain Raul says, "In the nine years that I've been with the national team, I've never seen so many quality players." - know what, he's right about the quality - they showed it in their first game demolition of Ukraine.
Spain has been showing its class in world sport over the last couple of years - look at Rafa Nadal and Fernando Alonso, and closer to the sport at hand, both Barca and Villareal stamped their class at the European league cups. True, they had enough foreign players, but the heart was truly Español!
Lady Luck's never really been on their side for all these years. Their best ever performance has been a fourth place in 1950, no less! It's about time the jinx is broken and the Spandiards get what's rightfully theirs - a World Cup to their name.

It's more a heart thing than something truly thought about. I'd just love to see a new winner - watching the same countries win it over and over again ain't all that exciting, and who better to win it than the Spanish!

Don't open your mouth that wide, flies will get in

2006-06-17T13:12:00.000+05:30

was my mom's mild admonishment when I used to gape at things wide-mouthed in my chaddi days. She could have as well told Sush Sen that when, somewhere in 1994, she won the Miss Universe title and challenged a few flies to enter her gorgeous mouth. What had, till then, been tut-tutted, became quite fashionable and the "open your mouth till your cheeks implore for mercy" thing became quite famous.

It seemed both cute and humble, in a wierd way, like she really didn't expect it. The look caught on like wildfire, with a string of beauty queens doing the post-win oh-my-god-did-i-really-win look. Apparently, beauty schools have, along with major and minor surgeries for different parts of the body and lessons on diction and world peace, started training their future Miss Timbucktoos's to give the appropriate wide-mouthed, wide-eyed look at the right time.

Could you, therefore, blame the world when it now looks at Rakhi Sawant all wide eyed after the infamous Mika kiss, and believe she may not have been as appalled as she claimed. Take a look:

I guess if Rakhi had turned round and tightly slapped the marauder in question, things might have been a little clearer. The Sush look clearly didn't help in the convincing-the-world department. All this became clear to me as I was sitting with a friend who watched the episode and wasn't quite sure if Rakhi was shocked or elated at the end of the kiss!

This will most probably be a forgotten episode in a couple of weeks' time... but it says a lot for our own perceptions that a look of shock and a look of delight have now intertwined themselves in our minds.

An old photograph did this to me

2006-06-10T12:13:00.000+05:30

I want to forget. Memories come back as I think they have been forgotten. I wince as the memory floods my brain. My muscles contract involuntarily and my skin erupts in goosebumps. I want the feeling to go away, but it doesn't... maybe I want it to stay a little longer, so I can enjoy the sweet torture. The masochism comes with the territory.

All of this doesn't last more than a few seconds, but the memory of the memory lingers. I feel more alive, like I've completed two or three lifetimes, in different cities, with different people, in different worlds... like that other person was me, but not me. Shades of me in that memory, but no, that couldn't have been me. I looked different, talked different, believed in different things.

Of course, it's all false, since I haven't lived a multiple lives, and I lead a fairly normal existence. But I like to fool myself, to believe that I have been created whole from those experiences, from those lifetimes of memories that I want to forget. Like a new improved version of software or soap powder or lipstick. Am I just a creation of my own confusion? Or am I a memory that'll make me wince a few years down the road? Or even better, both? I don't know... actually I don't want to know. It's easier not to know.

Tis good to write again...

2006-06-10T12:02:00.000+05:30

Can’t describe my own joy at getting back to writing after 4 days of nothing. As the words flow through me on to the screen and as I see the whiteness of the screen stained by pixellated black, it feels good. I read this somewhere, “There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at the typewriter and open a vein”. Well, boy, am I happy to bleed!

Kinki Sushi!

2006-06-04T23:11:00.000+05:30

Just back from HK, where I happened to eat at a Sushi place, that just happened to have this on their menu:

Whoa! I've heard of snakes and frogs and all of the usual SE Asian diet, but raunchy seafood has just taken it to the next level!

Baseball got ahead of them this time!

2006-05-31T21:29:00.000+05:30

Reading IndiaUncut's post on sabermetrics in basketball, I was reminded of a fascinating book called Moneyball, that came out some time in 2003. Written by Michael Lewis (of "Liar's Poker" fame), it's about Billy Beane, the general manager of a baseball team (the Oakland As) that can't afford any of the star players and has the lowest payroll in their league, to the top of the league - using a heady cocktail of old-fashioned scouting methods and new age data mining. It's a great book - you can follow it well enough even if you don't know much about the game and Lewis is a natural storyteller. Read the NY Times review of the book here if you'd like to know more.

To boo or not to boo boors - is that a question?

2006-05-30T19:04:00.000+05:30

Read an interesting article in the South China Morning Post this morning - an interview with a guy who has become quite famous in the Chinese internet world in less than a month. Simple enough story – The Hero Of Our Story sits on Number 68X Kowloon bus. Co-passenger is talking quite loudly on his mobile. THOOS taps co-passenger’s shoulder and asks him to tone it down a bit. Co-passenger turns around and blasts THOOS for a little under 6 minutes. This video has scored more than 2 million hits since when it first came out on April 29, and the co-passenger is now notorious as the “Bus Uncle”. You can find the video here and might find it quite entertaining – Bus Uncle video. (Viewer warning: Beyond 3 minutes, the video gets quite un-“under 18 years” worthy (no, no, not that kind of under 18, just a lot of “macho” abuse), viewer please exercise discretion in watching. If you’re under 18 and have clicked on this link, you are a bad boy/girl!)

I felt quite sorry for THOOS till I read his interview this morning. Sample this quote, “The most important thing I learnt from the incident is that I must work hard to shorten my working hours so that I can go home earlier and avoid taking the same bus with Bus Uncle again… (But) I am not mad at him, as I know he has pressure ”. Pressure? Like what - peer pressure? atmospheric pressure? Well, duh! It’s one thing to be empathetic, it’s another to give boors like Bus Uncle a reason to behave the way they do.

If I could meet him, I'd probably ask him if he had a brother in India I could bother for some instant pressure release? Every time I need to let some steam off, I’ll shadow this guy, talk loudly around him and wait for the fatal shoulder tap (fatal for him, that is!), when I turn around and let flow a choice stream of pressure-releasing-words, in multiple languages. After which, he'll go around telling everybody how he understands I "have pressure"... maybe they'll call this the HongKong Habit, along the lines of the Stockholm Syndrome - empathise with those who abuse. Boors rule!

Do I really need one?

2006-05-27T11:09:00.000+05:30

To IndiaUncut's question, not sure I really need one... The cloak isn't really going to double my invizibility now, is it?

2006-05-26T15:51:00.000+05:30

Good, better, BEST?

It's funny how a mention of Mumbai is incomplete without the local railway, and the sundry trials and tribulations (and occasional epiphanies) of traveling the Virar Local and the Dombivli Fast, while no one spares a thought for the old faithful trundler, the Brihanmumbai Electricity Supply and Transport (BEST) buses.

For somebody who's from a city where anything greater than 10km is a long distance (this city), taking a train was more like an afterthought, something you did once or twice a year. Like most other Indian cities, public transport typically meant buses and I used them a lot (which is why I know this). When I came to Mumbai 3 years ago, it was, therefore, a little disorienting when I'd ask people whether they travelled by bus, and they'd either give me blank stares or think I'm a looney and split their sides laughing.

That was till I started taking the buses myself, and I have to confess, I love it. I don't take them to get to work - honestly, they do take a lot of time. But on weekends, when I really want to unwind and see the city, I don't mind taking a bus. The buses are empty, they're fast enough to get a good breeze going, but not fast enough that you'll miss the sights and sounds, and they take you through parts of the city you'd normally miss if you were taking a cab or the train.

I love Bombay, but there are times when I wish I was in a city just a little less hectic, where things move at a pace that'll let me look around. I guess everybody has their own little escape chute when they need to slow down and look around... and buses are my private escape chute. If you'ven't tried it yet, hop on.

(Inspired by this post, especially the lines -"The sight of a large number of people moving with a collective sense of purpose - deftly avoiding the roadside hawkers, crossing the narrow lane, running on the platform, penetrating the layer of “macho” dudes who hog the entry points of the train - to keep up their destiny with the “Virar fast” is remarkable." Thanks Ravi)

2006-05-24T09:02:00.000+05:30

A fabulous link I Stumbled Upon the other day - how Hobbes grew to become Tyler Durden. It isn't every day that you get two of your fave characters to meet on the same timeline!

Extending the logic of the argument, I can see how in a parallel universe, Calvin would grow up to be the-engineer-who-calls-himself-Dilbert. Calvin, in a remarkable change in form, overcomes his weakness in Math, and uses his near-genius IQ to transform himself to Dilbert, the engineer. He is ashamed of what he has become, so he changes his appearance - hides behind dorky glasses and an ever upturned tie (though the hair spikes still remain, muted to engineer standards, of course) Pl see exhibit below. His playfulness has toned down, but his sarcasm has become more evolved - that's only natural when your playground has evolved from calvinosaurs to elbonian mp3 players. He still hates authority - Calvin's dislike towards Ms.Wormwood's figure of authority is further deepened by Calvin/Dilbert's exposure to the Pointy Haired Boss - and his anti-social tendencies have gone from bad to worse - as Dilbert's biographer, Scott Adams, says: He's got the social skills of a mousepad and he'd rather surf the Internet than Waikiki.

Hobbes has morphed as well - in the dog-eat-dog world of corporatedom, he became Dogbert. Now that's not what his biographer says about his origins, but it's obviously a way for a square Dilbert to explain the existence of a strange talking dog. Look no further than Adams' description of Dogbert:

Genetically he may be a dog, but Dogbert is no man's best friend. He treats people with disdain, reserving special contempt for Dilbert, who's no master--or match--for Dogbert. (Although he wouldn't admit it, if push came to shove, he'd protect the bumbler. And never let him forget it).

Calvin was never a match for Hobbes, and that hasn't changed. Hobbes/Dogbert, however, would protect Calvin/Dilbert if it really came down to it - old friends can't be forgotten that easily.

What of Sue Derkins? She never forgot Calvin, and worse, never forgave him for his G.R.O.S.S. behavior. Seeing how Calvin had gotten over his fear of math, and became an engineer, she gravitated towards engineering herself. Sue's industrious and conventional self took to engineering like a Calvin to dinosaurs, and she followed Calvin/Dilbert to his cubicledom, in the process, changing her name to Alice and her appearance to something out of Godzilla, only a lot smaller. As the only female engineer in cubicledom, she aims to torment Calvin/Dilbert by being out of his reach. Unfortunately for her, that didn't happen... however, she hangs around with the eternal hope of having the last laugh. Her description is a perfect indicator of her Sue-ness: She (Alice) has a quick temper when confronted with the idiocy of her co-workers. Sue's temper in the face of Calvin's idiocy has only multiplied to encompass the whole office now.

Calvin is dead, long live Calvin!

2006-05-22T12:28:00.000+05:30

Back in Mumbai... and am very impressed with the Mumbaiya use of space. It's like the traditional reason why Mallus don't do well at football - give them a corner and they open up a tea shop! Give the Mumbaikar some space, and they'll squeeze it for their money's worth. Take this example:

This is an ad overlooking Mumbai's very busy Kemps Corner flyover. It's a brilliant spot to put it at, given the traffic that's going to see this at eye level. What's even cuter is the way this space got created. Behind the ad is a building that's being renovated. They've screened the renovation from the general public and used that space to put up an ad... in what must be Mumbai's most expensive ad spot. Outstanding. Trust the Mumbaikar to put his space to good use!

2006-05-19T14:51:00.000+05:30

More from Chennai - in this case, politics and public transport numbers. Every five years, the buses in Chennai have their titles changed. As somebody who has used the sterling Metropolitan Transport Corporation (the agency that runs the city's buses) for a long time, I've watched this 5-year tamasha played out twice already.

This is the game: When I used to travel to school, I used to take a bus - 7F. The government changed in 1991 and the bus became 7J. While the change was initially puzzling, we got used to it in no time. It was quite interesting to watch buses all across the city take up strange titles - Js and Rs as suffixes become extremely popular. The names didn't need a lot to figure out - J was the initial of the then chief minister and R was the initial of her mentor, a late chief minister who is invoked by all and sundry in this state as their icon.

I saw the numbers switch back to the less politically inclined suffixes, e.g. A, B, C etc., when power changed hands in 1996, and then change once again to J and R in 2001. Given the perfect correlation between politics and bus numbers, I anticipated a change after the new government came into power in the state last week, and voila - when I landed in Chennai three days ago, what do I see, but the familiar A, B and C!

I felt a part of a world more secure, where I know what to expect from the governments I elect into power. Not good roads, not clean water, not uninterrupted power, what I expect are consistent bus numbers - consistent with party policy, that is. And the government unerringly delivers on that, in less than a week after getting power. Such sense of purpose and ability to execute in a constantly fluctuating world has to be a good sign.

2006-05-16T20:17:00.000+05:30

Had the opportunity to go to a fashion awards nite over the weekend. It was the first time I was out for something like this, so well, it was quite interesting to watch models sashay down the ramp, Bollywood stars do the odd stage dance and fashion folks congratulate each other and themselves with great ado. Knowing how friends and family could doubt my presence at such a non-geeky event, I got some proof... or so I thought. Here are a couple of (very grainy and quite sad) pictures taken with my inadequate-to-the-task phone:
Yeah, looks like I stood right in front of the TV and took a snap... Anyways, geek that I was, while I was impressed by the bevy of beauties, I was just as impressed by what it takes to get something like this organized. For one, the film and fashion folk involved are not exactly known for their punctuality or awareness of where to be, and when. That, of course, translated into winners being announced, presenter waiting to hand off trophy, and no actor/model anywhere in sight. Second, the technical stuff - lights, camera, action, etc. - was quite a handful. Take a look at this pic:

The camera in the picture was swinging up and down all night along in a huge arc, which threatened to decapitate a few people each time it came down, but miraculously missed each time. Add to that two cameraman who walked up and down the ramp each time a fashion show happened. Add to that a gazillion other arrangements, a teleprompter that went berserk as some models and actors didn't turn up. It was quite a revelation to watch something like this unfold in real life versus on the small screen where it's all spruced up to look real neat.

All in all, an evening well spent and extremely educational. Would recommend the same to you, especially if you can wangle the invite. Good luck.

2006-05-14T21:31:00.000+05:30

Got some good advice on blogging from this man. In light of aforesaid good advice, am putting in some shorter blogs as well.

Was out on retail therapy yesterday and we visited one of our old faithful stores in Phoenix Mills. We were at the counter, waiting in the interminable line, when we saw this at one of the inactive counters:

I guess as you get closer to the counter, this informative signboard tells you as much!

2006-05-12T09:54:00.000+05:30

In traveling between Delhi and Mumbai, am missing out on the political media activity in my own town, namma ooru Chennai, where election results came out yesterday. Don’t get me wrong, am reading the papers and following it on the web, so am in tune with most of the activity, especially the free offers going around. Both the main parties involved seem to have hired a soap marketing discard to do their policy work – you get a free computer or a free TV depending on who gets elected (the question seems to be - would you like playboy.com or will FTV do?!) But, this piece isn’t about that... it’s about the channel wars and the way these will shape Indian TV as we know it today.

What channels you say? These channels - Sun TV and Jaya TV. A brief history of these channels can be found here - Sun TV history and Jaya TV history. They are quite unabashed in their political preferences, with the channels' logos matching their political parents' symbols. While I was channel surfing a few days ago, I chanced upon the ruling party’s channel which had an interesting half hour telecast. The Hindu-CNN-IBN poll had been published the day after the elections, predicting that the ruling party would be out of power. So what did the channel do? They picked two of their star campaigners, put them in front of the camera with a popular journo-chat show host, trying to convince voters that the poll was inaccurate and that the ruling party would win at a canter. Of course, yesterday’s results had quite the opposite verdict. And going by the pre-poll propaganda on the rival channel, wouldn’t have put it beyond them to have done something similar if the shoe was on the other foot.

To be honest, I have nothing in favour of or against either party, and am not cribbing about them doing this. What excites me is the opportunity the wars might have unearthed, quite accidentally. For about a month, this was riveting entertainment. People actually tuned into this stuff on a daily basis. This wasn’t your run-of-the-mill “unbiased, objective reporting”. This was hardcore, (pie-)in-your-face reality TV… and it worked. This initial success, I think, will inspire a future TV world, which would look something like this…

Cable channels for each party – you’ll have the national channels – INC, Bhajpa TV, CPI TV, Janata Dal TV – and the state-specific regional channels. Each time a party splinters, they’ll form their own channel. There’ll be spycam shows (“Watch the other party MP/MLA stash his suitcase”), news shows (“As our esteemed leader said for the 50^th time...”), history shows (“This party was founded in the blood and toil of a brave man”), event coverage (“Watch the largest crowd gathered anywhere in the world at our rally”) and advertisements from affiliated sponsors (“One ad slot for every crore in the party kitty”). There will be soaps where the good family is in the right party and the bad family is in the wrong one. There will be movies telecast of star MPs/MLAs and also star campaigners.

Depending on the alliance formation, the cablewallah will charge you for a bouquet of channels – arre baba, political parties will ensure Conditional Access System comes in, na, otherwise how will channels make money? For example, in this election, Star, INC, DMK, etc. could be a bouquet, and Zee, Bhajpa, AIADMK, etc. could be another bouquet. All party members have to ensure they get their bouquet of channels at home, and if caught watching other party channels will be summarily suspended.

Pipe dream, you say? Stranger things have happened, say I.

2006-05-09T22:59:00.000+05:30

Went star-gazing last week. No, I don’t mean hanging around the JW Marriott hotel in Juhu watching spaghetti strapped maidens and tight T-shirt clad hunks. We went to Karjat (for the non-Mumbaikars, that’s a village about a 100 km from Mumbai) to watch some specks in the sky. No real reason to go - had nothing to do for the weekend and my credit card had this offer going (for a fee, of course!). Also, a friend had come from Bangalore and we had to show him that Mumbaikars had all kinds of cool options to choose from.

So there we went, around 9:30 PM on a Saturday night, when logic said we should have been drinking the night away. Ah well, logic was for another night, we were out to romance the stars (hmmm, wrong context, but is there any other way I could romance the stars?!). Anyways, at around 11:30, as we were stuck in some truly awesome traffic at Panvel (f. t. non-M., outskirts of Mumbai – where you can start breathing oxygen again), my Bangalore friend, sweat dripping, turned around (it took some doing, mind you, given the seats were designed by a deranged psychopath specializing in slow killing) and said with real wonder, man, you guys stay out real late. Yup, I grimaced, Mumbaikars stay up late, just the wrong people at the wrong place.

We finally made it out of the midnight jam, and made it upto Karjat, where in the middle of nowhere, we stopped. Thinking that it was a good time to make for the fields before the bandits arrived, we were about to exit stage left, when the guide announced that we had reached our destination. We had come to a field near Karjat village, where we laid down some styrofoam mats and parked ourselves. The guide, who was from the Nehru planetarium, then took us through a few constellations for the next two hours.

Our greatest learning was that our ancestors were tripping on some seriously crazy stuff to have seen what they did in the stars. Yeah, look at ol’ Leo and tell me you see a lion there – and I should probably ask you what weed you’re smoking. Anyways, a few crazy constellations past, the cloud cover decided to put paid to our night out plans. We decided to wait the clouds out, but it proved to be quite useless – the clouds had the last laugh, and we left at around 3:30 to get back home by 5 AM.

Even with the cloud cover and the bad ride, it was just fabulous to be out there. The dense silence and the pitch blackness of the night in the middle of a field was just what the doctor ordered for my city-dwelling self. I cannot begin to explain what a great feeling it was just to be there, sitting and soaking in the surroundings – till I got pelted by the rest of my group, and came back to reality and making enough noise to disturb the still of the night. People, do try to go if you can – it’s just a great experience – you, the stars and a field in the middle of nowhere.

2006-05-01T12:19:00.000+05:30

Dear reader,

Hello. As the reader of my first post, welcome to my page.

Let me introduce myself - I'm an observer. I like to look around me, and I like to think about what I see. I observe, but am not observed - a veritable Invizible Man - and this blog is a record of my observations. Introspicio ergo sum, says I.

That's the high-falutin stuff that's supposed to make you think I'm a genius, but maybe it hasn't worked, so here is the more mundane me - am on the older side of 25, live in Mumbai, work as a consultant, and like to write. Was inspired by a couple of my friends to write a blog - dunno why I waited this long. Well, here it is - my first post.