I woke up to the vibrating buzz from my phone. I was having a very interesting dream. The anchor had just announced my name and amidst thundering applause and a standing ovation, I was walking towards the stage to collect the National award for the best director (also my fifth award for the night).
“Paati Mob”, the screen screamed and I knew this was the real thing and smiled. The call got disconnected in three rings, the time it takes for my Paati (Grand mom) to realize her mistake and cut the call.
The scene began to change. I was smiling with pride and had reached the stage by then. Mani Ratnam was standing there with the award in his hand, he smiled as I approached. As I was about to put my hands out to collect the award, the phone in my jeans began to vibrate. Then it starts ringing again and the sound was resonating everywhere. The anchor was staring at me with her mouth wide open. I could hear Big B and Junior B sitting in the front row twitch and squirm in their seats and curse me for not keeping my phone on silent. And then it rang again. And again. Three rings and it got disconnected.
“Paati Mob”, the screen screamed and I knew this was the real thing and smiled. The call got disconnected in three rings, the time it takes for my Paati to realize her mistake and cut the call.
My Paati has a new mobile phone for the last four months. But she’s still trying to understand how it works. She had always been great with numbers. Be it the ones on her sudoku board or remembering phone numbers. She was good with statistics and scores of cricket matches too. In fact she learnt Hindi listening to the commentary on DD. Her understanding of Hindi numbers is better than most North Indians I know. I remember the time when she used to wake up at 4 in the morning to watch India play Australia in Australia. The match always started at an ungodly hour. She would be up and ready with her kaai- kari (vegetables) spread across in front of her while she settled down to watch the match right from the pitch report and toss. She knew for a fact that I would also be up to watch the game and immediately after the toss; she would call me (I lived in the next house). And would then discuss the strategy of the game and tell me her views on what the wicket looked like and what it might do for the team batting first. I would always tell her that she should have been the coach of the Indian team. Imagine a madisaar clad old lady sitting in the dressing room in front of a laptop making notes during a match. Now that would be a sight.
She loves her 7 children, 8 grand children and 3 great grand children. She is a Rock star. She sings like a dream. She distributes Gokulashtami Bhakshanams in a way that would put mathematicians and statisticians to shame. She loves her TV serials. She loves her cricket even if the match is between Zimbabwe and Bangladesh. For the last four months, I wake up everyday to find a couple of missed calls and a few blank messages from her phone. My name is the first on her address book and she is yet to figure out how to use her phone. It’s a wonderful feeling to wake up to those. Brings a smile on my face.
Paati has a flair for languages. She speaks Tamil, Telugu, Hindi & English with absolute ease. She picked up Telugu from her neighbor in Karakpur. This little girl who stayed next to her house would drop by her house everyday after Thaatha left for work. I still remember the day when I brought my friend home and my paati’s eyes lit up when she knew she spoke Telugu. For the next half an hour the two of them were at it and paati was in full form. Even now she keeps asking me when I would get that friend home again.
There is so much more to my Paati. I could talk about how she religiously gets up in the morning and finishes up the Sudoku from every News Paper. The way she meticulously draws the boxes onto a sheet of paper before she begins to solve the puzzle, the way she makes her thakkali (tomato) rasam, the way she walks around her garden every evening and plucks the jasmine flowers, the way she counts them and walks over to my house to talk to her daughter (my mom) and proudly tell her the count, or the way she calls my mom if she is not in town to tell her about the flowers, the way she sits right in front of the TV so that she could listen to the dialogues better, the way her skin feels all wrinkled and soft, the way she spends time with her grand kids, the way she talks proudly about her grand kids to others.
To my Paati- the most amazing woman I have ever met.
“Paati Mob”, the screen screamed and I knew this was the real thing and smiled. The call got disconnected in three rings, the time it takes for my Paati to realize her mistake and cut the call.
August 17, 2009
August 05, 2009
Exploring possibilities
the music was blaring
it made him deaf
thisthingthatthingthisthingthatthing
over and over
and over
movement, motion, kinetic
potential, position, promise
sacrifice, sanctity, salvation
over and over
and over
thisthingthatthingthisthingthatthing
the hurdles in the prose
were making it difficult
but he was not going to
stop this rush that was
more than a suburban train
thisthingthatthingthisthingthatthing
move
relax hold
scream
thisthingthatthingthisthingthatthing
understanding this ain’t
going to be easy as i
thought it would be
considering the fact that
i don’t know this at all
thisthisthisthisthisthingthisthing
P:S Thanks so much for the inspiration Ranj. And I give full credit to you and you only for the italics idea.
it made him deaf
thisthingthatthingthisthingthatthing
over and over
and over
movement, motion, kinetic
potential, position, promise
sacrifice, sanctity, salvation
over and over
and over
thisthingthatthingthisthingthatthing
the hurdles in the prose
were making it difficult
but he was not going to
stop this rush that was
more than a suburban train
thisthingthatthingthisthingthatthing
move
relax hold
scream
thisthingthatthingthisthingthatthing
understanding this ain’t
going to be easy as i
thought it would be
considering the fact that
i don’t know this at all
thisthisthisthisthisthingthisthing
P:S Thanks so much for the inspiration Ranj. And I give full credit to you and you only for the italics idea.
July 29, 2009
Have you ever seen the rain?
Have you ever seen the rain?
Have you ever seen the rain like I have? The way the clouds turn a deep shade of Grey before completely turning black, like the thick smoke coming from the mouth of a chain smoker. The way the clouds loom over your head. And the gentle breeze that it brings with it that blows away all the sorrow?
Have you ever seen the innocent school kids running hastily towards a shelter, clinging on to the hands of their parents with their tiny fingers? The people on the side of the road on their stalls, hurriedly taking the plastic sheets to cover the fruits and flowers that they have been trying to sell all day?
Have you ever seen the retired military officer walking his dog in the evening? The look in his eyes when he sees the younger lot sitting on parapet walls by the side of the road and sharing a cigarette. Have you ever seen the way the kids quickly throw the cigarette away and shamefully look down so as to not see the old man?
Have you ever seen the rickety old rickshaw filled with tiny-tots singing nursery rhymes that they learnt at school or the singing beggar who has a sparkle in his eyes and magic in his voice? Have you ever seen the chai-wallah and the old crumpled newspaper lying on the brown bench or heard his philosophy?
Have you ever seen the tiny rain droplets falling on the sand and making patterns? Have you ever smelt the intoxicating joy that tends to flood the air and along with it your nostrils when the first drops touch the soil? Have you seen the birds sitting on thin branches shaking their feathers enjoying the sudden downpour?
Have you ever seen the puddles on the road or the people jumping over them? Have you seen the speeding cars splashing water on passersby? Have you seen the pushcarts serving snacks, with sweet tea and horrible coffee?
Have you ever seen the stray dogs sprawled on the water or felt the wetness in your shoes? Have you ever smelt the wetness in the air and your clothes? Have you seen the soaked match boxes that fail to light or the sodium vapor lamps that seem to switch on?
Have you ever seen the tip of your fingers that seem to have taken a new shape from all the soaking? Have you ever felt the chill that runs down your spine? Have you ever felt the drizzle prick you like a thousand needles while riding a bike or felt the cold wind that caresses your face?
Have you ever held someone close in the rain, under a tree or looked deep into their eyes? Have you ever kissed the one that you love under the stars, in the moonlight listening to the music of the rain falling on tin roofs?
Have you ever seen the rain?
Have you ever seen the rain like I have?
Have you ever seen the rain like I have? The way the clouds turn a deep shade of Grey before completely turning black, like the thick smoke coming from the mouth of a chain smoker. The way the clouds loom over your head. And the gentle breeze that it brings with it that blows away all the sorrow?
Have you ever seen the innocent school kids running hastily towards a shelter, clinging on to the hands of their parents with their tiny fingers? The people on the side of the road on their stalls, hurriedly taking the plastic sheets to cover the fruits and flowers that they have been trying to sell all day?
Have you ever seen the retired military officer walking his dog in the evening? The look in his eyes when he sees the younger lot sitting on parapet walls by the side of the road and sharing a cigarette. Have you ever seen the way the kids quickly throw the cigarette away and shamefully look down so as to not see the old man?
Have you ever seen the rickety old rickshaw filled with tiny-tots singing nursery rhymes that they learnt at school or the singing beggar who has a sparkle in his eyes and magic in his voice? Have you ever seen the chai-wallah and the old crumpled newspaper lying on the brown bench or heard his philosophy?
Have you ever seen the tiny rain droplets falling on the sand and making patterns? Have you ever smelt the intoxicating joy that tends to flood the air and along with it your nostrils when the first drops touch the soil? Have you seen the birds sitting on thin branches shaking their feathers enjoying the sudden downpour?
Have you ever seen the puddles on the road or the people jumping over them? Have you seen the speeding cars splashing water on passersby? Have you seen the pushcarts serving snacks, with sweet tea and horrible coffee?
Have you ever seen the stray dogs sprawled on the water or felt the wetness in your shoes? Have you ever smelt the wetness in the air and your clothes? Have you seen the soaked match boxes that fail to light or the sodium vapor lamps that seem to switch on?
Have you ever seen the tip of your fingers that seem to have taken a new shape from all the soaking? Have you ever felt the chill that runs down your spine? Have you ever felt the drizzle prick you like a thousand needles while riding a bike or felt the cold wind that caresses your face?
Have you ever held someone close in the rain, under a tree or looked deep into their eyes? Have you ever kissed the one that you love under the stars, in the moonlight listening to the music of the rain falling on tin roofs?
Have you ever seen the rain?
Have you ever seen the rain like I have?
July 24, 2009
The Formula to Success- Part 1
I remember a time when my social life revolved around the F1 Calendar. Weekends were blocked for Qualifying sessions and Race day.
I very clearly remember how we used to reach a watering hole early. ‘Happy hours’ were not just the two hours of the race, but started much before the cars lined up for the
Warm-up lap. Hardcore cricket followers, boring corporate executives, journalists, advertising crowd, real estate agents, models, businessmen, college kids and the young and old alike, would all be there religiously at the same watering hole. Some even superstitious enough to sit in the same chair and table as the previous race. I wouldn't blame them really. It was just way too entertaining that way.
In a country where cricket is religion and Sachin Tendulkar is God (yes, I know am using a cliché here) F1 was quite a welcome break. It was a rebel sport. I couldn’t stand the Indi 500 races and the Moto GP races that used to come on television. There could have been nothing more boring that watch a bunch of cars and bikes going round and round in circles for three hours. Something was missing.
Then it happened, F1 came into the picture. The slick promos with fast cars taking turns at over 200 mph. The adrenaline rush that one got while listening to the commentary of Steve Slater and Chris Goodwin during every race. F1 was a sport that became very much a part of almost everybody’s life. Including my mother!
From a time when one knew about Ferrari by watching Sharukh Khan and Kajol standing next to a Ferrari convertible with the Swiss Alps in the background in a song from DDLJ to now seeing school kids sitting in coffee shops smoking sheesha, coughing and talking about the race that they just didn't see completely because MTV had the re-run of Teen Diva & Roadies, F1 has come a long way.
Friends and colleagues became opponents during weekends, each supporting a team or a driver. Michael Schumacher was the new God (not surprising really with Gods popping out by the dozen each day even otherwise). Ferrari fans/ supporters would wear red,
Mc Laren supporters would crack subtle (Not) digs when Hamilton overtook Kimi. Nicknames of individual drivers became present in everyday conversations. Life had entered into the race tracks and there is no way it would stay away now!
The screaming, the howling, the shouting and the emotions that I witnessed during each race are something that I can’t quite express in words. No matter how hard I try. It has to be experienced. Being amidst hardcore F1 lovers, watching them squeal when their favorite racer makes a mistake and crashes out or when another racer takes a dangerous turn or clips the wheels during an overtaking maneuver, the one-hundredth-of-a-second delay in the pit lane when someone comes to refuel the car followed by a quick tyre change, it was all way too intense. Every second was important. Not just for the people at the pit, or the drivers, or the race engineers, but also for the ones who watch the race. Visits to the loo were few and selective. Only during the commercial breaks, when the dreaded music was heard (a true F1 supporter knows that music that gives him his cue to run to the loo and get back).
March to November. That was the time. The F1 calendar would be at its very best. 17 races, driver’s championship, constructor’s championship, points, tables, who tops the chart, which team is out of the race, which driver has created history. The statistics were keenly followed by everyone. Wake up someone in the middle of their sleep and ask them a question and they would be able to answer. That’s the magic of the sport.
Has the magic reduced? Are people losing interest in the sport? Is the FIA coming out with rules and regulations that are ruining the sport? Or are they making it interesting? Are people worried about front runners not making a mark? Is there going to be a new trend in this sport? What is the Formula to the sports Success?
I very clearly remember how we used to reach a watering hole early. ‘Happy hours’ were not just the two hours of the race, but started much before the cars lined up for the
Warm-up lap. Hardcore cricket followers, boring corporate executives, journalists, advertising crowd, real estate agents, models, businessmen, college kids and the young and old alike, would all be there religiously at the same watering hole. Some even superstitious enough to sit in the same chair and table as the previous race. I wouldn't blame them really. It was just way too entertaining that way.
In a country where cricket is religion and Sachin Tendulkar is God (yes, I know am using a cliché here) F1 was quite a welcome break. It was a rebel sport. I couldn’t stand the Indi 500 races and the Moto GP races that used to come on television. There could have been nothing more boring that watch a bunch of cars and bikes going round and round in circles for three hours. Something was missing.
Then it happened, F1 came into the picture. The slick promos with fast cars taking turns at over 200 mph. The adrenaline rush that one got while listening to the commentary of Steve Slater and Chris Goodwin during every race. F1 was a sport that became very much a part of almost everybody’s life. Including my mother!
From a time when one knew about Ferrari by watching Sharukh Khan and Kajol standing next to a Ferrari convertible with the Swiss Alps in the background in a song from DDLJ to now seeing school kids sitting in coffee shops smoking sheesha, coughing and talking about the race that they just didn't see completely because MTV had the re-run of Teen Diva & Roadies, F1 has come a long way.
Friends and colleagues became opponents during weekends, each supporting a team or a driver. Michael Schumacher was the new God (not surprising really with Gods popping out by the dozen each day even otherwise). Ferrari fans/ supporters would wear red,
Mc Laren supporters would crack subtle (Not) digs when Hamilton overtook Kimi. Nicknames of individual drivers became present in everyday conversations. Life had entered into the race tracks and there is no way it would stay away now!
The screaming, the howling, the shouting and the emotions that I witnessed during each race are something that I can’t quite express in words. No matter how hard I try. It has to be experienced. Being amidst hardcore F1 lovers, watching them squeal when their favorite racer makes a mistake and crashes out or when another racer takes a dangerous turn or clips the wheels during an overtaking maneuver, the one-hundredth-of-a-second delay in the pit lane when someone comes to refuel the car followed by a quick tyre change, it was all way too intense. Every second was important. Not just for the people at the pit, or the drivers, or the race engineers, but also for the ones who watch the race. Visits to the loo were few and selective. Only during the commercial breaks, when the dreaded music was heard (a true F1 supporter knows that music that gives him his cue to run to the loo and get back).
March to November. That was the time. The F1 calendar would be at its very best. 17 races, driver’s championship, constructor’s championship, points, tables, who tops the chart, which team is out of the race, which driver has created history. The statistics were keenly followed by everyone. Wake up someone in the middle of their sleep and ask them a question and they would be able to answer. That’s the magic of the sport.
Has the magic reduced? Are people losing interest in the sport? Is the FIA coming out with rules and regulations that are ruining the sport? Or are they making it interesting? Are people worried about front runners not making a mark? Is there going to be a new trend in this sport? What is the Formula to the sports Success?
July 17, 2009
July 02, 2009
The Long Road
I sat alone in the coffee shop, like I've done a million times before.
I wanted to write. Poetry, Fiction, A funny story maybe, or a trying to be funny article. Just something. My thoughts were all over the place.
Writing, scrapping it off. Dreaming and Wondering.
Words failed me. I reached a blank. It continued for a long time. Really long time. This is it. I can't write anymore. Not at least now.
Saturation Point?
Out of stuff to write about?
Lack of inspiration?
Way too content with life?
Laziness personified?
End of the road?
Questions. Questions. Questions.
Then I heard a song....
"The answer my friend, is blowin' in the wind. The answer is blowin' in the wind".
Thank you Mr.Dylan.
Would you like another coffee?
I wanted to write. Poetry, Fiction, A funny story maybe, or a trying to be funny article. Just something. My thoughts were all over the place.
Writing, scrapping it off. Dreaming and Wondering.
Words failed me. I reached a blank. It continued for a long time. Really long time. This is it. I can't write anymore. Not at least now.
Saturation Point?
Out of stuff to write about?
Lack of inspiration?
Way too content with life?
Laziness personified?
End of the road?
Questions. Questions. Questions.
Then I heard a song....
"The answer my friend, is blowin' in the wind. The answer is blowin' in the wind".
Thank you Mr.Dylan.
Would you like another coffee?
June 16, 2009
Top stories at this hour
Here’s my take on all things/ people making the news in the last 48 hours.
1.India crashes out of the T20 World Cup
Aaney dhey (bring it on/ let them come) yeh cup kahin nahin jaayega, was the chant till about two days back in all the channels. The promo (a very badly shot one I must add) was sticking out like a sore thumb and in addition to that, Saif Ali Khan and Deepika Padukone’s ‘Love Aaj Kal’ publicity promo talking about the same was just too much to handle. I think people never expected India to win the last T20 World Cup in South Africa (though people might not agree to that fact). India was a team that had no idea about the concept of T20 before the World Cup and the Big Guns were not in the team. It is not to be questioned that India did play extremely well and I guess the expectation factor and the pressure factor or the lack of it during the last World Cup helped.
This time it was way too much. People started discussing this year’s World Cup even during IPL, oops, my bad, this year’s DLF IPL. Every other team (at least the coaching staff) paid attention to the weaknesses and strong points of the Indian players and they were ready to come at us hard (and Short). The likes of Raina & Rohit, Dhoni & Ishant they were exposed and made to look clumsy. This tournament should be a wake up call for the team and its members and they should not take their place in the team for granted and leave their advertising commitments aside and practice hard (no more optional practice sessions please).
One thing disappointing from the whole saga is how the Indian media is at it with its post-mortem of the Indian team’s dismal performance. The same media who were praising the magic of Dhoni was seen ridiculing his captaincy, his batting, his way of handling the media and well his hair style. Had the Ravindra Jadeja move at number 4 worked, everyone would have praised his captaincy and would have gone gaga over how he sent someone to stabilize the innings, but now he is being blamed for what he did. Except for three new players, the Indian team that played in this year’s World Cup was the same as the previous one. I rest my case.
2.“Shiney Ahuja raped me” says a maid:
An 18, actually make that 19, or wait a minute is it 17 year old maid (read domestic help) accuses Shiney Ahuja of raping her. The news channels were bored having Arun Lal, Madan Lal, Jadeja, Saba Karim, Anil Kumble, Akash Chopra and every other Indian cricketer who has retired from International cricket with their broken English dissect the Indian Team’s performance needed something more spicy. So now they have this allegation (or truth) to dig deep and splash all over their ugly news channels.
With each passing minute the age of the victim seems to be changing. Shiney Ahuja’s statements that were recorded apparently in the police station also seem to be contradictory. News about how he was earlier warned by the police after he misbehaved with a junior artist on the sets of a film in a drunken state seems to be doing the rounds now. I was talking to a friend this morning and he said Shiney Ahuja was ‘Bai-Sexual’, didn’t know whether to laugh or just be diplomatic and not comment. Another friend had a tweet saying “I really hope Shiney Ahuja's "Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi" is only a movie title”, now that was bang on.
The Indian media seems to seriously ape its western counterparts when it comes to Bollywood. They want to show everything that’s happening in the industry, they want to gossip, they want the latest scoops and inside stories (when there is none, they don’t care and they make up their own). And with news like this I can see Barkha Dutt rubbing her hands in glee and waiting to swallow the mic and scream her lungs out. Not to forget all the other jokers who forget they have a mic and they really don’t need to scream and shout to make a point (if only they had one). I hope the truth comes out soon and we are spared from these reporters saying the same thing over and over and over again (till even they get bored of it) and showing the same footage (which looks like it has been shot by a 6 year old on a Handy cam gifted by his grand mother).
3.Racist attacks in Australia:
Australia seems to be in the news all the time. There has to be something about that place. Really. First it was Symonds who got kicked out of the Australian squad two days before the World Cup, followed by the first attack that had an Indian student hospitalized after he was bashed up by a bunch of Australians sending him into a coma and battling for life and then back again after they crashed out of the T20 World Cup (just realized every single thing revolves around cricket these days)
It has been three weeks since the first news broke out of an Indian student being abused and attacked and now the count is at 14. Fourteen attacks in three weeks, cars being burnt, glasses being broken, taxi drivers being racially abused and stabbed to death, college kids fearing for dear life (after paying a bomb to come and study and add to that all the hospital bills). It’s a sad state of affairs at the moment. Indians are a fantastic lot. I mean they seem to be all over the world (and that too in HUGE GIGANTIC numbers). I have to get back to another cricket related incident here (to just make my point). The England team when it walked in at Lords near the Nursery end was booed by the Indian supporters. I mean we are talking the home team taking to the ground, in the home of cricket and something like this happens. (Wow. Wish I was there in the ground too). The world (Australia in particular) needs to understand that, there is nothing they can do to stop us Indians from moving in. We will come, alone, in groups, as a pack, and we shall fill your land. We are happy doing it. We have the best pasture here and we still like to look for more. The problem lies with the concept of Immigration, Visas, Passport, different rules, and different laws. If there comes a day when all you need to do is pack your bags, book your tickets and just go wherever you want, for however long you want, I don’t think any such attacks would happen. Home is everywhere. You just need to be a free bird, a free spirit. But I know it is far-fetched but might just be a reality sometime.
If it’s any source of comfort, I have a bunch of Indian friends in Australia at the moment and they are all alive, safe, and having a blast. In fact they were out partying last evening with a bunch of Australians and returned home to their rooms only at 5 this morning (with a couple of them also making faces at a Chinese waiter).
Oh. I have another cricket related statement here. A friend sent this SMS to me the day India lost against England. “11 Indians beaten in England" would have a dual meaning these days, I guess”.
1.India crashes out of the T20 World Cup
Aaney dhey (bring it on/ let them come) yeh cup kahin nahin jaayega, was the chant till about two days back in all the channels. The promo (a very badly shot one I must add) was sticking out like a sore thumb and in addition to that, Saif Ali Khan and Deepika Padukone’s ‘Love Aaj Kal’ publicity promo talking about the same was just too much to handle. I think people never expected India to win the last T20 World Cup in South Africa (though people might not agree to that fact). India was a team that had no idea about the concept of T20 before the World Cup and the Big Guns were not in the team. It is not to be questioned that India did play extremely well and I guess the expectation factor and the pressure factor or the lack of it during the last World Cup helped.
This time it was way too much. People started discussing this year’s World Cup even during IPL, oops, my bad, this year’s DLF IPL. Every other team (at least the coaching staff) paid attention to the weaknesses and strong points of the Indian players and they were ready to come at us hard (and Short). The likes of Raina & Rohit, Dhoni & Ishant they were exposed and made to look clumsy. This tournament should be a wake up call for the team and its members and they should not take their place in the team for granted and leave their advertising commitments aside and practice hard (no more optional practice sessions please).
One thing disappointing from the whole saga is how the Indian media is at it with its post-mortem of the Indian team’s dismal performance. The same media who were praising the magic of Dhoni was seen ridiculing his captaincy, his batting, his way of handling the media and well his hair style. Had the Ravindra Jadeja move at number 4 worked, everyone would have praised his captaincy and would have gone gaga over how he sent someone to stabilize the innings, but now he is being blamed for what he did. Except for three new players, the Indian team that played in this year’s World Cup was the same as the previous one. I rest my case.
2.“Shiney Ahuja raped me” says a maid:
An 18, actually make that 19, or wait a minute is it 17 year old maid (read domestic help) accuses Shiney Ahuja of raping her. The news channels were bored having Arun Lal, Madan Lal, Jadeja, Saba Karim, Anil Kumble, Akash Chopra and every other Indian cricketer who has retired from International cricket with their broken English dissect the Indian Team’s performance needed something more spicy. So now they have this allegation (or truth) to dig deep and splash all over their ugly news channels.
With each passing minute the age of the victim seems to be changing. Shiney Ahuja’s statements that were recorded apparently in the police station also seem to be contradictory. News about how he was earlier warned by the police after he misbehaved with a junior artist on the sets of a film in a drunken state seems to be doing the rounds now. I was talking to a friend this morning and he said Shiney Ahuja was ‘Bai-Sexual’, didn’t know whether to laugh or just be diplomatic and not comment. Another friend had a tweet saying “I really hope Shiney Ahuja's "Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi" is only a movie title”, now that was bang on.
The Indian media seems to seriously ape its western counterparts when it comes to Bollywood. They want to show everything that’s happening in the industry, they want to gossip, they want the latest scoops and inside stories (when there is none, they don’t care and they make up their own). And with news like this I can see Barkha Dutt rubbing her hands in glee and waiting to swallow the mic and scream her lungs out. Not to forget all the other jokers who forget they have a mic and they really don’t need to scream and shout to make a point (if only they had one). I hope the truth comes out soon and we are spared from these reporters saying the same thing over and over and over again (till even they get bored of it) and showing the same footage (which looks like it has been shot by a 6 year old on a Handy cam gifted by his grand mother).
3.Racist attacks in Australia:
Australia seems to be in the news all the time. There has to be something about that place. Really. First it was Symonds who got kicked out of the Australian squad two days before the World Cup, followed by the first attack that had an Indian student hospitalized after he was bashed up by a bunch of Australians sending him into a coma and battling for life and then back again after they crashed out of the T20 World Cup (just realized every single thing revolves around cricket these days)
It has been three weeks since the first news broke out of an Indian student being abused and attacked and now the count is at 14. Fourteen attacks in three weeks, cars being burnt, glasses being broken, taxi drivers being racially abused and stabbed to death, college kids fearing for dear life (after paying a bomb to come and study and add to that all the hospital bills). It’s a sad state of affairs at the moment. Indians are a fantastic lot. I mean they seem to be all over the world (and that too in HUGE GIGANTIC numbers). I have to get back to another cricket related incident here (to just make my point). The England team when it walked in at Lords near the Nursery end was booed by the Indian supporters. I mean we are talking the home team taking to the ground, in the home of cricket and something like this happens. (Wow. Wish I was there in the ground too). The world (Australia in particular) needs to understand that, there is nothing they can do to stop us Indians from moving in. We will come, alone, in groups, as a pack, and we shall fill your land. We are happy doing it. We have the best pasture here and we still like to look for more. The problem lies with the concept of Immigration, Visas, Passport, different rules, and different laws. If there comes a day when all you need to do is pack your bags, book your tickets and just go wherever you want, for however long you want, I don’t think any such attacks would happen. Home is everywhere. You just need to be a free bird, a free spirit. But I know it is far-fetched but might just be a reality sometime.
If it’s any source of comfort, I have a bunch of Indian friends in Australia at the moment and they are all alive, safe, and having a blast. In fact they were out partying last evening with a bunch of Australians and returned home to their rooms only at 5 this morning (with a couple of them also making faces at a Chinese waiter).
Oh. I have another cricket related statement here. A friend sent this SMS to me the day India lost against England. “11 Indians beaten in England" would have a dual meaning these days, I guess”.
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