Still not one of THEM

Oh girl, you went to all the right bars and pubs
You drank martinis and expensive wines
Befriended star kids and spoke their words
But still you are not one of them

You laughed with them
On their high-society jokes
You pretended you were more of theirs
Than the ones below
But still you are not one of them

You disowned your roots
You made up your accent
You sashayed and swirled
But you couldn't fit in their circle
Oh girl, you are not one of them

And while poor people and mediocre lives
Were the scent of your arm pits
You feverishly scrubbed it off
To put apple shine on your cheeks
And still you are not one of them

On the silky folds of your skin
Every time my tiny hand
Rubbed the honey of love
I saw poppies rising on your back
And blue roses blooming on my neck
Every rapid of breath I crossed
Every time you swelled like a sea
I sank like a tiny pebble
In the whirl, in the swirl of your being.

Running into a wall

Untitled

Resting on the couch

Tired Feet

For Soumitra's son Partha

A middlepath that could have been

As written on 27/03/2010

Recently I went to Kolkata for an initiative of the channel that I work for. This initiative aims at instilling in small entrepreneurs to dream bigger and scale up.
The crowd assembled 15 minutes behind schedule. It was a good mix of bengalis and marwaris who wish to take their business to the next level.

We discussed the business scenario in Kolkata and though we wished to stay away from political and controversial matters like land acquisition; Singur is a topic that still perplexes the people of Bengal.

When Ratan Tata decided to make Bengal his hub for production of Nano, a lot of people within Bengal and outside had expressed their surprise and admiration for the changing social and economic stance of the government.

But what happened finally was that Singur turned into a bloody battle between peasants and the Tata Motors. Peasants accused Ratan Tata of trying to usurp their land with the help of the state government. Disillusioned Ratan Tata walked out of Bengal to the ever inviting entrepreneurial land of Gujarat.

The one golden chance that Bengal was getting to prove to India and world that they too want to participate in the progress of India was well lost.

Gujaratis, genetically engineered to be entrepreneurs rejoiced Nano coming to their state. I personally know of some Gujaratis walking up to their Bengali colleagues and offering them sweets and chiding, “Thank you so much. Had it not been for you, we would have never got Nano in our state.”

The reason I have brought this episode up at this juncture is because recently Kanu Sanyal died.

Kanu Sanyal was hailed as the naxalbari hero alongwith Charu Mazumdar. Charu Mazumdar died in police custody many years ago. Sanyal went into hiding.
Till the year 2006 Sanyal kept making news for being in custody, later being released at the behest of Jyoti Basu. He also lent his voice to the cause of Singur.
Meanwhile the naxalite movement had fallen apart and metamorphosed into the Maoist movement. Maoists or naxals who earlier were perceived as revolutionaries are now looked as terrorists.

In a scenario where the movement inspired by Mao Zedong was losing its relevance one would have expected Kanu Sanyal to step out and correct the vision. On the other hand he came to news for the last time for his suicide. This was the last headline he would make and the last statement too.

For someone who believed in the revolutionary trend of an armed uprising against capitalists and feudalism, death embraced in a noose is not just a reason to mourn the loss of a great revolutionary but also lament the loss of a cause.

Loneliness, failing health and a vision gone awry could have led to his suicide but those who are still inducted in this stream in either Kanu's name or for that matter Charu's name would never know what the fight was about.
For years Bengal has been caught in a time warp because of the outdated communist policies.

Most educated Bengalis loathe the current political and economic scenario of Bengal. In a capitalist world where India is not satisfied just being called the emerging economy, Bengal too wants its share of the pie.

Today when Buddhadeb Bhattacharya is trying to give Bengal a push towards economic liberalization, the voice of the past in the form of Kanu Sanyal going hush will lead to a Bengal that will stay divided between two ideologies.

Kanu Sanyal feared he had become irrelevant. He had not lost relevance; he could have been the bridge between the post Naxalism Bengal and post economic reforms Bengal. It’s a pity that the bridge gave away.

Phoenix

Spring

Celestial Dance

Siva

Autumn

Hands wading through water

Time of love

The clock hung in my mind
Is wound to tell our tale
The hands are moving
Digit after digit
Marking the path of time spent
The clock is ticking
The clock is ticking…

The bitter birthday cake

The baby had completed a year and his parents wanted to obviouly mark the occassion with a lot of fanfare. So, a gathering of almost 200-300 people was invited.
The kid obviously had no clue about the whole fuss. He suddenly was surrounded by a large gathering all wanting to be the ‘me-first’ to pull his cheeks to show their love. The kid with his tiny button eyes could see bulbous noses, rotund faces coming towards him to maul his rosy cheeks. Frightened, he started howling, bawling and hid in his mother’s bosom. The mother kept pulling up his face to entertain the crowd.
I was just one of them.
Somewhere else, the little birthday girl in the month of May or June perhaps was getting restless because of her frilly dress.
Her grandmother had shaved off her hair just a couple of days ago. The father was obviously not excited about guests meeting his daughter for the first time with a bald pate.
So, he had dressed her up in a frilly, fairy sort of pink dress and coupled it with some strange lacy hat that stayed on her head with the help of an extremely irritating rubber band stretching under her chin, ear to ear. The kid was obviously losing it and she raised a cry and kicked the cake away.
The birthday party went for a final toss with the father losing his patience and walking out in resignation. The guests disbursed.
I was just one of them.
Happy Birthday babies Obviously it was meant to make you feel special. The court of the jesters ended up making ragged clowns out of you but hey, it was meant to be different than the rest of the days.

Spring on the window

The mist was gliding on the window pane,
Little wild flowers had burst on the creepers.
I smelled the musk of fresh romance…
…that exists only in thought.
I looked at the yellow flowers with their mouths open.
I watered the creeper and shut the window.

Milk – Boiling Hot

This is not exactly a review on the film Milk but a small note on the experience pre, while and post the film.
A couple of weeks back, in a newspaper I read about an upcoming film called Milk. It was a two line brief with a small picture of Sean Penn. I found the name ‘Milk’ quite strange for I had no idea this title is based on a real life character called Harvey Milk. But for some reason the word ‘Milk’ struck a chord (in real life I love milk – the drink I mean) and I decided to watch it whenever the film is shown in India.
Fortunately for me, my friend saw the film before I did and gave me a stupendous response, so I set out to watch it.
Harvey Milk on whose last 8 years of life this film is based upon is a gay activist. This film is about his short political journey, but also this film is about acceptance and love.
The first scene where I saw Harvey Milk kissing his boy friend Scott, well, didn’t put me off, for I am open to people in gay relationships but it did seem strange. Scott played by James Franco is such a masculine, good looking man that the urge to see him caressed by a woman is definitely more than seeing him kissed on the lips by a man.
And yet, two three scenes into the film you start accepting the man-man relationship quite comfortably. The affection with which Milk cleans Scott’s wound, or the way Milk cooks a special meal for him seems like a perfect domestic couple and beyond a point their sexuality does not play hindrance to a viewer’s sensitivities.
The political journey of Milk is extremely engaging. You want to cheer for him because here is a man not fighting for gay rights alone but also asking for social acceptance denied to him for being “different”. And you want him to win because all he wants for himself and others like him is to be allowed to live the way they want to.
Sean Penn won an Oscar for his performance and he so much deserved it because his mannerisms and easy smile simply transform him into Harvey Milk. Unlike in our very own films, his mannerisms are never over the top but his effeminate side is completely painted over him.
After my friend and I walked out of the theatre, a heated discussion started over why in India nobody ever dares to truthfully pick up issues in films. Why do we have a ‘Dostana’ as our icon gay film. Why no mainstream actor never takes up a role like this.
His grudge, dismay are all understandable but perhaps not valid. India is a country with people of fragile sensitivities. We have our morals, parents, society as well as conscience to answer to and that makes for a formidable set of people and emotions that stand as barriers to creative freedom of film makers.
One will have to empathise with Indian film makers when you have examples like Anurag Kashyap whose first couple of films never saw light of the day. The man who is being hailed as the ‘Experimental Director’ today is the same man who received flak for ‘No Smoking’. Critics trashed him for being self-indulgent then.
A country where in 80s the lobby of mainstream actors crushed the parallel cinema wave simply because one after the other a Naseer, a Shabana, a Pankaj were taking away one award after the other from right under their nose; where a Shekhar Kapoor strikes big with Elizabeth and never ever finds an Indian subject to interest him; where a British director wins an Oscar for capturing India the way world imagines it to be…there surely is every reason to empathise with the Indian film maker.
C’mon, Dustin Lance Black and Gus Van Sant waited for the 8 years to make this film and this film is not about today. Its about 70s…its taken 30 years for someone to speak up for this minority.
Working out of the system is actually quite easy. I guess to make a great film within societal constraints is surely more challenging.
I am sure 30 years on, India will have lot to say…

The Reader – Love on Trial

You may choose to watch ‘The Reader’ for different reasons.
Hitler turned around the fate of Germay twice over with his entry and exit. Germany did become a power to reckon with while Hitler was there but once his downfall began, it was a monster who was not dying soon. The monster would haunt Germany for generations.
‘The Reader’ takes you through the mind of a young boy’s love journey which he traverses but perhaps never arrives.
Michael has a torrid but brief affair with a much older woman Hannah. What initially looks like a couple of sexual encounters; is actually a love odyssey which will stay in minds of both Hannah and Michael for lifetime.
Hannah played by Kate Winslet is Michael’s love interest for a summer where before every love making session, she wants Michael to read out to her. The beautiful love making scenes brutally snipped by censor board in India surely make you want to hit them on their head but there’s more to their love story and so you stick around.
Hannah makes an abrupt exit of Michael’s life to return as a war criminal being tried in a court. When Michael comes to know her past, she so conveniently had kept him out of, he’s devastated.
The turmoil in him led by shame, guilt and pity is beautifully expressed by David Kross as young Michael and Ralph Fiennes as the older one. Kate Winslet puts up a convincing performance of a woman who does not realise the gravity of her actions.
Stephen Daldry gives you a love story in the backdrop of a war trial. Although there’s not one scene which could give you a peek in the war or the times, but the trial…it looks as if will go on endlessely.

Going back to The Revolutionary Road

One would wonder what could possibly take you back to a film again and again. And the answer to my mind is this. Like a foolish child who keeps opening an empty fridge to check if next time he opens it he might find someting to eat, the viewer in this case keeps looking for some kind of a resolution to his problem.
The Revolutionary Road, a film about a couple in their 30s is bored of their life and they hope to find happiness in Paris. Philosophers and spiritualists will tell you how happiness is elusive, this couple has everything going for them and yet they are unhappy.
I am not sure if this film mirrors my life but their quest is something that’s scarily real. One would wonder why April (Kate Winslet) with a loving husband and two adorable kids would want to find a way out.
You would equally wonder what keeps Frank (Leonardo Caprio) in a marriage where the wife doesn’t love him more than the dream she cherishes.
But isn’t that how normal young couples are? The monotony of a marriage sets in and the promise of greener pastures lure them. No one knows where they lie but somewhere you are convinced there is a better life which is not in the present for sure.
Two scenes which always take my breath away – April dancing with a friend when her dream has fallen through. She is dancing to get the dream out of her system. The gaiety of the dance moves are only a facade. Behind lies a broken, anxious, restless soul which quite like her dream wants to break out of her body.
The second scene is towards the end where Frank is running on the Revolutionary Road. He’s lost all that he saved for a better tomorrow, his dark present like a storm is staring him in the face but he just can’t face it.
Today was the third time I watched this film. I still hold my sympathy for both April and Frank. She dreamed of a future that may never have turned out the way she imagined. He lived a present which he knew isn’t working out but still he toiled to make it work.
No one was wrong and yet there was no resolution.

Vanishing

I was warm and nice in the glory of scotch
When you called to say you had found love atlast
I gulped down the last drops of sunshine
Empty glass and ice clinking hollow pits of my heart

Yellow Rose

I had met her in her vanity
She was applying mascara
Her eyes fluttered when she caught me looking at her
I smiled sheepishly and she pouted
Her rosy lips suggested a kiss never meant to happen
I caught a glint in her eye
Not sure if she liked me too
But I heard her laugh
When I called her a yellow rose

At the parlor

Hello girl, sitting at the parlor
Do you have some time?
Can we talk about your miseries
Over a glass of wine?
I have an evening to spare today,
My girl ditched me tonight.
Is your story same as ours?
Or are you a lost kite?
I see, you talk easy with men,
Well, good for both of us.
Come let’s raise a toast to those,
Who befuddled our lives thus.
I know, I love my little girl
But let’s just pretend tonight,
You and me play lovers for dark,
And part with the break of light.

The Wilting Leaf

I saw a yellow leaf browning at the tip,
Cold wind caressing the stem.
As I bent to pluck the leaf,
A thorn pricked the tip of my finger.
I stared for a while at my hurt and the wilting leaf…
Guess its best left alone.

Breaking Waves

The sun shines over the yellow sea,
The iron ship takes anchor on the shore.
As I stare into empty space
I hear the wind chimes of yore.
You and I had strolled into the alleys of youth
But walked out so much older.
We stand today on the verge of breaking waves,
Together, yet alone and colder.

Resigned Superhero

D's car screeched to a halt. Muttering expletives, he unlocked his car door and strode with a red face to slap the two wheeler rider.

The rider had jumped the signal and rammed his bike into D's car. It was only later to be discovered that our car's back wheel had lost its alignment because of the jolt.

I rushed out of the car to assuage the two men. I didn't know whose fault it was but I knew more than accidents, the arguments turn ugly. I was worried for D till...

Till... I saw that rider's face. Not more than 20 years old, possibly a school drop out, thin boy with just a little suggestion of a moustache over his upper lip, he was apologising to D. The boy was trying to lift his bike while D was shouting.

He was in a hurry even after the accident. He quickly wanted to take the blame and push off, for it didn't matter to him who the blame sits on. While he was haggling with D over the apologies, I caught a glimpse of his prostrate bike.

My heart broke. It was a "Domino's Pizza - Khushiyon ki Home Delivery" bike. That stupid boy, that reckless boy, that apologetic boy was rushing to carry a pizza, trying to meet his 30 minute deadline!

A deadline that was set by an international pizza delivery corporation. A corporation that could pay $2.8 million to settle a lawsuit brought by the family of an Indiana woman who had been killed by a Domino's delivery driver. A corporation that paid nearly $80 million in another 1993 lawsuit, brought by a woman who was injured when a Domino's delivery driver ran a red light and collided with her vehicle.

D was seething with anger. He had only recently got his car repaired.

He told me later he was not worried about his wheel alignment as much as he was worried for the boy. He said on Mumbai roads one drives out his car with quiet cognizance, that dents will happen.

I was wondering what did the delivery boy think every time he darted out of a Domino's on his bike.

Does he think of himself as a superhero who can bullet through a crowded street to make it to some warm hearted customer who will smile at him for making it on deadline.



Or does he resign himself to a fate where after profusely apologising to people on the street, he will ring the bell to find a customer who will point to his watch to tell that the time's up.

True Enterprise

My friend G called me out for lunch the other day. He wanted to take me to a restaurant that serves South Indian fare in an unlimited thali system.

We were to meet outside the restaurant; one coming from work and the other from home. Mumbai traffic was stymied by simultaneous Shiv Sena and MNS rallies, both claiming to be true champions of Mumbai mill workers.

While their workers set the stage, inconvenienced other Mumbaikars, I was standing patiently outside the Shri Krishna Restaurant. The location is the most unenvious location. The restaurant is plonked right outside the Matunga railway station. People jostling, bustling, going about their average day hardly ever look up at the restaurant.

Yet, lunch time is when there is not a seat vacant.

Outside the restaurant, there is clamour of the street bazaar, cars parked illegally. Add to that, rains in July in Mumbai make roads splotchy and very dirty. Waiting for G, as I was looking for a place to rest my heavy bag that I carry to work everyday, I saw a very strange sight.

In middle of the cacophony of rallies, train station and cars, there were two cows standing in a remote oasis peacefully cudding. There was a boy roughly 20 years of age feeding them green shoots. After feeding the cows, he touched them and considered himself blessed.



Smiling, he proceeded to pay a rather affable looking old woman some money. I soon realised he had bought the green shoots from her. She had some grass laddoos also. After the boy left, two-three more people came by and bought some green shoots from the old woman and fed the cows.

I went across to the woman to ask her name. She told me her name was Malti. I asked her who had left the cows by the roadside. She informed me the cows belonged to her only. She brought the two out everyday and sold these green shoots to people who fed the cows in turn.



In India, many cursed souls are directed by pundits to feed cows as cows are considered holy.

Malti told me she sells the shoots and laddoos for Rs. 10. She sits everyday for about 4 hours and gets roughly 25 to 30 customers everyday. Simple math, she makes roughly 6 to 8000 rupees every month. For a woman like Malti, the cows are indeed holy.

G arrived half an hour late for lunch. He explained he got late because of the slow moving traffic. Putting the whole city on hold, MNS and Shiv Sena may want to raise a cry for the Marathi Manoos but it is people like Malti who are the true symbol of Marathi enterprise.

A museum of virtues!

The CEO of Gujarat Narendra Modi is getting all his testimonials in place. The man who was earlier known as the glamorous face of rightist ideology is being hailed by the most virtuaous of corporates today.

The corporates who Narendra Modi has bagged for himself are men known for their integrity, their value system and a quality that at least in public domain is larger than just profiteering. Modi obviously hopes, these virtues would have some rub-off effect if not on him, then at least on his image.

Ratan Tata, the big daddy of Indian business world was the first to catapult Narendra Modi into the "right circle" from the rightist circle. The benefit was mutual. Tata got much wanted land in Sanand to start his production of Nano and Narendra Modi got not only nation wide but international coverage for being the man who made Nano possible.



Following his success with Ratan Tata, Narendra Modi started promoting Vibrant Guajarat Summit ferociously. A biennial event that is supposed to bring business leaders, investors, corporations, thought leaders, policy and opinion makers on the same stage has been going on since 2003. But genuine public interest in the event started showing only post 2007 when 675 MOUs were signed and garnered 152 billion USD of business. In 2009, 8662 MOUs worth 241 billion USD were signed only to followed by a grand success n 20011 when 7936 MOUs were signed that were to bring 462 billion USD. Although the figures are mighty impressive, the underlying fact is that Modi Inc. has been rather surreptitious about the implementation rate which over the years starting 2003 to 2009 has been on an average not more than 26%.

Nevertheless, perception is a big magnet. Narendra Modi has been carefully constructing his image as a single-minded progressive thought leader. He does not engage in petty politics nor does he voice his opinion on wrong platforms. Thus, it is no surprise that after Tata, the next big catch for Narendra Modi is Narayan Murthy - the gentle, messiah-like mentor to India's biggest export Infosys.

Although, Narayan Murthy's research centre in Gujarat will bring its obvious fruits of benefit to Gujarat's people, would Murthy be able to do another Ratan Tata for Modi?



The two proud trophies that Modi would have liked to display on his shelf - Ratan Tata and Narayan Murthy are not the same men, as we knew them.

Ratan Tata is a man with a compromised image post Nira Radia tapes scandal. Narayan Murthy though not embroiled in a controversy that large, however is a mentor to an Infosys that is slowly but surely losing it's leadership tag to other more agile and open-minded IT companies.

Co-journalists argue inspite of the dented image of Ratan Tata post Radia tapes scandal and not-so-democratic-after all image of Narayan Murthy post Mohandas Pai's resignation; the two men will continue to be perceived as the torchbearers of Corporate Virtuosity.

Possibly! But then maintaining a museum of virtues on the graves of innocent is an old Modi tactic. The facade can continue for some more time.

Two more years

Alpu is a charming woman with dark brown skin and a bright smile. She has been cooking for me for the past 5 years. In this city, she is my friend and family. I am not sure if I too am her friend and her family. She doesn't ask me any questions about my work ever, nor about my friends. Yet, she comes to know if I have had a bad day.

Sometimes I indulge her by asking her about her life. She is married and has three sons. The eldest is studying in a college. The younger ones are in school. Her husband developed brain tumor some years ago but it was successfully removed. Alpu works in four other houses besides mine. Her husband cannot work in sun anymore so he travels in search of labour work where he can dodge the sun. These days he is in Kerela.

Alpu lives in a rented house which is a small shanty in a smelly lane where I happened to go once in all these five years of my knowing her. She was shocked to see me as I grinned at her little ones. The children were watching a small TV that I had given her after having used it for seven years. She gladly took it, like she took the computer monitor, keyboard, mouse and a corrupt mobile phone. She got all of them repaired.

On Sundays when I am rather unoccupied, she stands by the kitchen door and speaks to me. She smiles as she talks about her eldest son who she says is quite bright. She laments that her middle one is not interested in studies at all, instead likes to dance on bollywood songs.

She hopes that her eldest will get a good job after his graduation. Till then, she is ready to toil. Her husband sometimes gets disheartened when contractors cheat him off his money but she doesn't give up. She comes everyday with a bright smile and wakes me up with a cup of elachi tea in the morning.

There are days when she gets uncertain about her financial security. Monthly groceries, children's school fees, her husbands quarterly CT scans and increasing rent... The other day she told me how municipality was flattening out slums. She feared she would have to leave soon. I asked her looking up from my laptop, "Where will you go?" She didn't know. She said perhaps she'd have to go to her village.

Her village in Bengal is a small hamlet that doesn't have any decent schools, leave alone colleges. Alpu's eldest has just joined first year of college. She is anxiously hoping that after two years, the son would turn around the life of the family.

Alpu's husband has been away for the last three months. She has been battling the monsoon of Mumbai all alone. I ask her how she manages to lie in a pool of water with her mattress getting wet.

She smiles at me and says, "Two more years."

Rahul Gandhi - A case study of contrasts

As a journalist, I feel the pressure of making an opinion about almost everything under the sun. However tempted I may be to allow both sides of the argument to prevail, I realise I am not "I am" till I have an opinion on issues.

A recent issue on which my faculties have eluded me is Rahul Gandhi. Rahul Gandhi, son of India's most powerful woman Sonia Gandhi (who often makes it to the Forbes list of most powerful people in world also)has become a phenomenon in India politics.

Till sometime ago the scion of the Gandhi family to some was like a prince to Indian dynasty and to others a foreign educated bloke who understands nothing about the realities of grassroot politics. Rahul Gandhi born with a silver spoon in his mouth has attended the best schools of India and pursued his further education at Cambridge. He worked with a company in London followed by some work experience in an Indian company too.

It does look like that Rahul has lived a life very protected from Bharat which is not India. However he is making efforts to travel the distance between his India to our Bharat by way of pillion riding to Bhatta Parsaul and sometimes taking Padyatras to Aligarh. And recently with his strategy to lend his shoulder to the cause of farmers, he has become a phenomena of sorts.

A young politician who comes laden with a foreign education but talks farming and not urbanisation is a bit of a contrast. Especially, with his party leading the coalition at centre has at the helm at least four prominent people who talk reforms in their sleep also. However, Rahul has positioned himself differently and his positioning is not just connecting him with his vote bank but also inviting attention of the old-guard politicians who had only recently started talking "development".

On many a occasions however, Rahul has let us down with his gaucherie. Whether it was his much publicised arrest in U.P following his visit to Bhatta Parsaul or undertaking "Padyatra to Aligarh". It appears as if he is either unaware of the disconnect between centre and state politics or he plainly assumes that people are incognizant of the fact that land acquisition policies in states are bad because there hasn't been any change in the archaic land acquisition bill 1894 and that required centre to bring about a responsible bill.

In either case, to me he appears either naive or scheming. The distance between the meaning of these two words may be apogean, however for Rahul neither would be very becoming.