Bloggertaria - The blog of pleasure. And pain.

Of meanders and other meaningful musings...

2011-07-13T00:14:00.000-07:00

It's the time of year when one writes because of the weather.

The weather invokes two rather basic reactions - either verbose, wonderful prose about the beauty of the monsoons or a regular rant about all the ills the rains bring, especially in Mumbai.

Since my writing is an obvious reflection of my life at large, you can be certain that while I'll start out meaningfully, the meandering will follow soon.

And I've been terribly meaningful for a while now.

The Goa episode is now a year old. As is my new job.

For those who just tuned in, I've been back in the Maximum City for over a year now, and I've returned to writing content ideas, advertising scripts, promos and their ilk for a living.

Thanks to Sandeep, I've settled down to an irregular pottery routine at his studio.

And the urge to plunge into pottery full-time remains something that's discussed regularly.

With more or less the same outcome. Zilch.

Then there are the new urges - most are quasi entrepreneurial in nature.

Among other noble pursuits, I now want to start a nursery selling exotic orchids, ficuses and anthuriums.

And run a cafe that'll serve only breakfast all day. Using only 'free-range' eggs. Go look that up.

Earlier these thoughts would surface only when there was a lull at the day job or when I was having a particularly harrowing time there, but slowly and surely they're taking a permanent place in my head... albeit in some dark nook.

Strangely, am not the only one with these nooks, loads of people around me seem to harbor their own dark desires too.

And the really happy ones are those who've managed to bring these demons to life...

Am hoping my own thoughts will crystallize into some action. Someday.

Among the many things I've learnt along the way is that writing a blog about it is easy, but it takes a helluva lot to make a meander meaningful.

A much younger scribble...

2010-02-25T03:41:00.000-08:00

Just found this - something I scribbled years ago :)

No offence meant to my friends at the Frog or at any other amphibious animal!

A night at Blue Frog, one of Mumbai's finest nightclubs, never fails to amuse me for one reason or another. Often, for all the wrong reasons too.

It's not the exquisite sound system, the incredibly expensive food or the truly fabulous decor that overwhelms me. Over the years I've become shallow and urban enough to act suitably unaffected by these. As usual, I settle down as obtrusively as possible. I've yet to discover how one blends into the background at these places – the funky neon-ish decor doesn't help.

The band walks on the stage.

They call themselves 'Smokesters', a euphemism I would rather not explore. There's something about watching grown men try and live out their adolescent fantasies.

Carefully worn out clothes, practised 'witty' lines (sample this 'ladies n gentlemen, that's Sunil on the percussion, for your listening pleasure tonite..and any other pleasure you'd care to have him for...') and that universal hallmark of misplaced angst- long hair.

Heroically I try and nod my way through the music.

Yeah, I know music is not supposed to have a language and all that, but it is mildly difficult to relate to 'white picket fences', 'Louisiana blues are me' and 'mama, keep it spinning'....

Maybe this seems particularly surreal to me, since these fine lines are being sung by 'Mridula, Vikas and Atul'. The band launches into a self-titled track and I can't put myself thru more.

Even though they promised that blues have always got the world drunk and laid - I think I did pretty well without it!. Guess I will never quite know why 'Smokestack Lightening' gave them their name.

As I drive out feeling a bit of a philistine, a jubilant bunch of 'dahi-handi' revellers pass me by.

I stop myself short of closing my car windows.

I let 'Govinda aala re aala' blast thru and grin happily.

Fuck Louisiana, for me, Laalbaug rocks!

Waking Up Soppy

2009-10-15T04:43:00.000-07:00

Just watched Wake Up Sid.

Strangely enough it took a rather unspectacular film to evoke a feeling I don't think I've ever admitted to having in the past 15 years.

I miss my dad.
It's been 15 years since he's gone, and now I realise I do miss him.

Maybe it's because I try not to think of this too often.

Never quite thought what it would have been like to give him my first paycheck.
I'm not quite sure what he would have made of my career choices.
Wonder what he'd have thought of my life as I live it now. The long hair would certainly not have been appreciated! In many ways the Army defined him and his discipline.
And then, there's all the people in my life now, who never got to meet Baba. And him, them.

Am pretty sure he'd have been grudgingly fond of Vishal.
Dad loved music (he was a Indian classical devotee of sorts but he truly loved music in all it's avatars) and I know he'd have been proud of Vishal's talent.
Baba would have even braved the pierced, inebriated wannabe groupies just to nod his head in chaste encouragement at Vishal's club performances.

(And I'm sorry Baba, I'm sorry that I thought accompanying you to the Sawai Gandharv fest was such a chore.)

Baba would have loved Jaggu. And Jaggu would have loved him.
I can see them talking endlessly about market, income tax policy, bureaucracy (Baba was every bit the conscientious IRS officer), Rakesh Jhunjhunwala's business acumen and of course, land deals.
In Jaggu, my dad would have found his ideal wannabe real estate tycoon partner.
And they'd have both ruminated joyfully about deals that should have been cracked and the acreage that could have been ours.

(Yes Baba, we still do the proper flag hoisting on every Independence Day at Bhugaon, and yes, the flag is always unfurled with flowers.)

With Mukul it would have been a cakewalk.
IIM-A graduate. Enough to warm my father's academic heart instantly.
And more than enough to let Baba conveniently overlook the fact that Mukul's been gainfully unemployed for the past few years.
Infact I can see them now, discussing the state of Marathi theatre versus English with my father manfully trying to act like he actually likes the single malt that Mukul's poured for him.

(What do I say Baba? Ask Mukul. Like father like son he'll tell you - at least as far as the whisky is concerned.)

I was 15 when my dad passed away.
And today, suddenly there's so much I would have wanted my Baba around for.
Annoying that it would take a damn movie to make me so stupidly soppy.

Sounds mighty petty, but I'd have wanted to show him that I get smses from someone like Pritish Nandy.
An avid reader, Baba thought the world of literary people like Mr.Nandy.
And I like to think they'd have bonded too.
Over their love for their books, their animals and of course, their daughters.

(Yes Baba, I still think you love your daughter more than you loved me :) but it's okay… I love her too!)

15 years of growing up.
And yet, it's only today that I realise how much has happened in those years that my dad wasn't a part of.

All the girlfriends. I'd have wanted him to know them all. They'd have loved him. And he'd have doted on them all too.
(I know you would have, Baba.)

And then there's the 'better' half.
I wish she could have known him.
I wish she could have had him around. To gang up against me.
To be on her side for any argument -always.
To spoil her rotten.

(Baba, she's super & she's a doctor! Yeah, yeah, everyone wonders what she sees in me!)

Ah well, I think I'm done with my 'soppyness' quota for the next 15 years.

Dumb bloody film. Wasn't even that good.

(I know what you're gonna say Baba, but I'm not as spoilt as Ranbir in the film.)

He had his dad around.

When a bong inspires a ghaat

2009-10-15T04:41:00.000-07:00

Let me start by giving credit where it's due. This entire piece of writing is enormously inspired by Samit Basu. Well, not like by him in person, but by his writing- http://www.livemint.com/2009/09/17203938/Weddings-and-erotica.html

Go read it.
Ummm. But maybe you can read it after you're done with what you're reading right now .
I mean, finish what you started and all that na (but read it okay? There, I'm absolved of all guilt now!).

Just like Samit, weddings leave me slightly horny too (certain people would claim that's a lie, nothing can leave me just 'slightly' horny…) - but Maharashtrian weddings are tricky.

See, as a people, we ghaatis are wily.
Our weddings are designed for boredom. No, really.

Punju weddings are a blast (dancing, drinking, gunshots... it's an orgy in disguise!), Bong weddings are great cause Bong aunties are, and Gujju weddings have their own fun quotient with polished female backs being bared and often (in my limited experience at least) much 'in-house' groping…
But ghaati weddings have none of the above, not to the untrained eye, in any case.

Maharashtrian weddings can often be mistaken for a senior citizens literary meet, but they have, cleverly hidden in their boringness, certain 'flashes'.
And most times, these are provided by the not-so-young females swishing around the plastic chairs.
For some odd reason, the average 'young' Maharashtrian (male or female) may look handsome, pretty, gorgeous even, but somehow never exudes any sort of carnal desirability.
It just doesn't come to them easily (pun unintended), and at weddings the young lot are almost always discussing merits of engineering colleges ('Europe madhye Germany, ani Maharashtraat Parbhani'), dentistry admissions and other such matters of national concern.
Which leaves the entire responsibility of providing sexual undercurrents for the debauched like me resting squarely on the able shoulders of the not-so-young set. And they fulfill their duty unhesitatingly, never failing to rise to the occasion (by helping others do the same).

Bum divider saris (it took heroic restraint on my part, to not mention them for so long) are an incredibly effective way of invoking desire even amongst the doddering - ALL Maharashtrian weddings seem to have an impossibly large number of these fogeys, somebody somewhere needs to research our kind for that immortality gene.

But it takes the average Maharashtrian woman to be about 32+ and married (to one of the Maharashtrian males seen about 7 years ago discussing the above matters of national concern) to use this weapon of carnal clothing to it's utmost potential.
Thankfully there's a good number of these lovely ladies at most ghaati marriages.
They walk around purposefully, smile pleasantly and exchange knowing glances with their kind as they infuse happiness across loins on the lawns (Yes, lawns, karyalays are just so… so... 'vernacular' na!)

Divided derrieres apart (that is NOT supposed to read that way!), Maharashtrian weddings are also proof that ghaati women are a completely different race from others of their gender.

It didn't take me long to accept the fact that life isn't quite fair, but every 'lagna' I reluctantly attend leaves me feeling acutely inadequate (no, not in the way you're thinking, you filthy pervert!) - cause it's at these occasions that I truly realise the impotency of my academic and career choices, especially amongst 'my' people.
Sigh.
I could start explaining this, but it might leave me suicidal and I'd won't be caught dead feeling that way.

Maybe I'm just not Maharashtrian enough (must try and speak with the mother on that delicate subject)… cause only that could explain my lack of understanding of what virtues have aphrodisiacal qualities for ghaati hotties - like, combed hair, not having a job but doing 'service' for atleast 7 years with any single employer, looking completely at ease in an ill-fitting 'pant', having a wardrobe partial to every shade of 'Glucose biscuit brown' and thinking that parents can do NO wrong ever… the list is endless.

Anyway, I digress. It's just dawned on me that the better half's (see, how un-Maharashtrian that phrase is… in ghaati-world it's always either 'phiansee' before marriage or 'missess' post) younger sister is slated to get married.

Ah, here I come (oh, you knew I couldn't resist that one!).

Not quite a Goan rhapsody!

2009-08-28T11:36:00.000-07:00

It's been almost 3 months since I settled into our itsy-bitsy house (it has a garden okay!) in Goa.
So far so good.

Synapse, the agency where I'm masquerading as a copywriter has been remarkably nice - letting me use the garden as a make-shift pottery studio and being reasonably tolerant about my Bollywood fixation.
Am still trying to decipher writing emailers, web banners and internal communication missives.
Today I was asked if I could write about debt and equity.
It's a paradigm shift in more than ways than forty-two.

When I'm not solving issues of national concern (like - does this have an apostrophe?), I'm pottering around.

Literally or otherwise.

There's the elusive pottery show that I've planned for October, the myriad entrepreneurship plans that present themselves to me at regular intervals and of course, the eternal question of what's for lunch.

Time in Goa functions differently.
Yes, I know, it's the state of legendary lethargy, but it's a bit more complex. Okay, a lot more complex.
Interestingly, Goa isn't defined by the people who live here.
No. It's defined by those who don't. And further by those who want to.
So, I won't shatter any illusions - it's gorgeous, has great food, is laid back, lazy even.

It's all that and more.
It's illogical. Just as greedy as your next nervous metropolis.
And it's parochial too.

Again it's what the rest of us (yes, am an immigrant again!) have made it.

It's no surprise that your average Pereira or Pednekar views the outsider with healthy amount of disdain.

Most of my kind (by that I just mean immigrants, not out of shape media also-rans) that I've met seem to be here seeking something quite ambiguous and vague.

It's not enough that this state provides a rather good standard of living at possibly one half of the effort needed for the same in say, Mumbai or Pune, people of my ilk who've immigrated here are still looking for something they wouldn't recognize if it came and bit their behinds - cause they have no idea what they're really looking for!

I'm no different.

I often find my new home extraordinary and exasperating at the same time.
I love the fact that I can actually swim in the sea I drive past every morning.
But I can't understand why a café in the capital city of Panjim would be closed on a Sunday!
I get excited about being able to actually reach a place minutes away from my house IN minutes, I relish the thought of leaving home at 5.40 for a 6 o'clock movie. But I find it irritating that the grocer down the road shuts shop at 7pm and won't deliver anything home. Not even for extra money!
I find the rains absolutely spectacular! Except that every shower results in the electricity being cut off.

Dutifully almost.

Am not quite sure about my feelings towards the tourists though.
Maybe it's because I was one of them not so long ago.

But I oblige when tourists ask me to click their photos against the surf (everyone has a Goa Facebook album na?!) - that's usually followed by them saying a breezy 'Thanks, enjoy your holiday'.

And then, I love that longing look they give me when I tell them that this is home for me.

Yup. Just like the state, I'm defined by those who don't live here too.

No one can live just one!

2008-05-01T21:40:00.000-07:00

While at most times living my one life keeps me busy, nowadays, I'd like more. Lives to live that is. There's so many things I'd want to be. So many things I'd want to do. And no matter what self-help books tell you, one life just isn't enough.

No, you cannot be all you want to be.

For example, you cannot be rich and poor at the same time. And I'd like to be both.
Rich enough to not care a damn. Being poor enough results in the same thing.
Either you have nothing to lose or you have enough to just keep losing. See what I mean?
I'd want to be the loyal lover. And I'd want to be the casanova too.
The ruthless business tycoon and the happy-go-lucky, good-at-nothing, will-just-do-anything kind too.

I'll admit it, I'm scared of growing old - not necessarily afraid to die, but just afraid of growing old, afraid that when I turn 50... heck 45 even, I'll turn around with all the arrogance I can muster then, and say 'what? is that all there is to it??'
Sometimes when I think about it, it bothers me, that at 28 I'm pretty much just coasting along.
Reasonably fun job (okay, its funner than most...), no real responsibility - apart from saving one's own ass - but, see that's what I mean - could it be, that having no real problem is where the dis-satisfaction stems from?

Is this rambling becoming more profound than it ought to?

Heck, I just want to do (and be) everything. And somehow, because of some warped logic, that defies the reality. Bummer.
Now excuse me, while I go and live whatever I get.

'Act and Inspire'

2008-04-05T23:51:00.000-07:00

The subject of this blogpost is something that an old school friend has coined. And this entire 'piece' is inspired by his rather unique endeavour. Read about it on his own blog http://peak29.wordpress.com/
I happen to know some of the most driven people on this planet - Kedar Iyer gets added to that list. What is it about some people that keeps them motivated to pursue pursuits which aren't exactly connected to financial, professional or even 'social' gain? Some of my closest friends seem to have this drive and focus. Of course, I clearly lack it, in a spectacular way.
It's not that I don't have focus. I just have one which is kinda broadbased. Can't help it if just about everything interests me, can I?
So, I'm now making public my newfound attempt to have both, focus and drive.
Any comments, suggestions on how to keep the motivation levels wayyy up there would be appreciated.
As I re-read this blog, it doesn't seem to be entertaining or even remotely interesting. Oh well. I'm flattering myself again. Like millions of my readers are gonna flood me with howls of protest about the lacklustre post. And while I am flattering myself, it seems as though I've lost weight too.

Me Mumbaikar!

2008-02-10T10:41:00.000-08:00

Yup. I'm finally a proud houseowner in Mumbai. Well, in the norther suburb of Malad, but that's as Mumbai to me as Colaba. So there.

And yes, I'm proud to be a Mumbaikar, recent incidents of random violence notwithstanding.

Curiously enough, the stray violence against the 'outsiders' elicited a completely non-solicited reaction from very unexpected quarters. Friends of mine (who would treat any sort of politics - parochial or otherwise with disdain) suddenly seemed to be rather upset about this (ill) treatment of the 'outsider'.
I think the reaction of everybody who seemed 'disturbed', 'aghast'... even 'ashamed' (yeah, us Maharashtrians are surprising self-deprecating) was more because they just didn't expect the meek Maharashtrian to react in this volatile manner.

And while I'm completely against the violence, I'm not surprised at it.
And in the melee of opinions, threats & counter-threats that followed, the real issue had been forgotten.

Of course, while most of the reactions I got were incredible juvenile and well, just reactionary, many were just downright silly - I could mention them, but then that would be trivialising the issue as well.

I think it's about time people realised that there needs to be some sort of regulation on the migrancy to this city. To quote a rather large Maharashtrian (Bharat Dabholkar) 'this city is like a cell phone, the incoming is free, and thats gonna create a problem at some point' - and the crumbling infrastructure is not helping either.

Unfortunately while I would like to believe that there's some sort of solution to the migrancy to this city, I can't think of a simplistic one.

Lets face it, we (yes, I include myself as a migrant... even though now I can claim residency!) can't expect to waltz in here in hordes and expect everyone who's already here to just be okay with it.

Someday, somewhere it'll snap.

And of course, when you have politicians waiting for just such an opportunity, the snap will be louder than it was meant to be.

Parochial politics isn't new to this country. And it isn't new to this city either.

Those who forget history are condemned to repeat it. And 'repeating history' is something this city could do well without.

In order to move forward though, we need to make sure that we have an eye on the rear view mirror. Something every taxiwala in this city knows the importance of.

The week looms...

2008-01-20T06:36:00.000-08:00

This week is an odd combination of excitement and excruciating anxiety - many things will probably be achieved by Republic Day - a big one would be a pad to call our own here in Mumbai. For a family that never really believed in owning anything 100kms from Pune... and most certainly never thought Mumbai would ever be something they'd call their own, it's a momentous moment. Of sorts.

I say 'family' cause this Mumbai house wouldn't have ever been possible without the collective efforts of the late father, the mother, sister, grandmother, aunt, cousin.... ex-brother-in-law's very loyal staff (go figure that one out, its just too complicated to even attempt explaining) - I'll stop right here, cause the house is yet to become ours completely and one of the wise old men (there seem to be a few in my life) has taught me that you've never really won the race until you pass the finishing line. And as my own unforgiving Maharashtrian genes will keep reminding me 'there's many a slip between the cup and the lip' - so I'll stop here about the real estate and ramble about other less important things.

My weightloss effort for instance. There's nothing to write about there. Simple cause I did absolutely nothing. And I won't bother with the 'now I will' etc etc. Cause I really don't know if I will at all. This week I plan to embark on a sugarfree soujourn - I have successfully done this in the past, but ever since I'm comfortable just resting on those laurels...

I could say 'watch this space' again, but heck, it's not really gonna go anywhere, so you can relax...

Walk this way...

2008-01-05T09:19:00.000-08:00

I've often said that this blog needs direction. And done nothing about it. Pretty much like my life, but that seems to be on some sort of track now - I'm doing things I never dreamt of doing, like buying a hole to call my own in Mumbai, trying to have a 'regular routine' - even if that includes not doing much...etc. etc.

So, coming back to my usual tripe, in order to give this blog some sanity, I've decided to blog my walk to weightloss. Yeah, I know, sounds like a cliched New Year resolution but part of the new improved life I plan to lead says that don't shy away from the regular just because it's regular. In other words, live like everyone else. It's okay to conform, it's perfectly fine to be average and it's even better to gloat about the sheer mediocrity one is allowed in this world!

Off we go then... watch this space...

Stately woes...

2008-01-01T21:26:00.000-08:00

I usually reserve my regionalistic fervor against the Naarth and everything Naarth Indian... however the annual pilgrimage to Goa has proved a long standing 'tick' in the back on my mind, that the South ain't all that cool either, specifically Karnataka.

For a while now I'd secretly harbored not-so-nice opinions about B'lore (trust me, my B'lorean buddies who are reading this really don't care, it's part of being Banglorean - to be above everything and everyone!) - under the guise of being tech geeks who read Milan Luthra and other such exotic sounding authors, B'loreans are riddled with a wide range of complex complexes.

Nothing showcases this more than a meander thru the state.
Take for example the fact that all the road signs on the national highway passing thru Karnataka are in Kannada. It's bad enough that most of the places are completely un-pronounceable (Hebbal, Utur...) but to have them written in a script thats just impossible to make sense of is just plain and simple criminal.

This wasn't the only thing that ticked me off - what irked me further, is that I was stopped by two shoddily dressed 'cops' just short of the Maharashtra-Karnataka border and asked for my papers. They refused to converse in Hindi - and I'm dead sure they both knew Marathi. And with all my papers in order, their only issue with me seemed that I didn't know the local language - there were other unfortunate 'catches' like me with them. And the cops seem to revel in yelling at them in Kannada and further perplex the 'outsiders'.

This trip has increasingly confirmed my stand that Maharashtra is just too bloody nice to the teeming unwashed millions who like to make us their home. And in some places their loo.
I've yet to meet a Maharashtrian cop who'll refuse to talk in anything but Marathi, I've yet to see highway signs only in Marathi (yeah, it reads like Hindi... how brilliant!) and am yet to meet someone on the highway who'll feign ignorance at being asked directions in Hindi.

Before this becomes a diatribe against everything non-Maharashtrian, let me also say I do really understand the other side sometimes - like for example in Goa, I can completely understand the Goan disdain for the tourist, or their interpreting all tourists as sheep - an animal born to be fleeced.

One look at the tourists who pour into that beautiful state and you realise why stereotypes are stereotypes.
There's the Mumbai brat pack - for whom Goa is nothing but some sort of massive club with a beachwear dresscode, there's the Naarth Indian (can't avoid them can I?!) for whom Goa poses as some sort of buffet, smorgasbord, if you will, of everything they'd never dream of doing or seeing in their home turf - explains why 6 guys from U.P would cram themselves onto a single beach-lounge chair just to try and ogle at some cleavage, and then there's the gora brigade who all seem to have come to this exotic asian ashram to 'find' themselves.

It's a circus.

Anyways. I'm back. The trip was largely uneventful. We brought in 2008 gorging on some excellent Burmese food.

And most importantly, I managed to avoid bumping into anyone I knew, even remotely.
That's a great new year in Goa!

Wistful thinking...

2007-10-30T09:05:00.000-07:00

It was a weekend of decisions and choices. And one where every little decision somehow became one of national concern. It started off with deciding at what time to attend an old friend’s wedding in Bandra. While to most this would seem like a rather dumb thing to even think about – I mean, one just turns up about half an hour later than one is told to, right? Wrong. When you have to navigate the Juhu beach stretch on a Saturday night, this becomes a very tactically precise decision to make. Leave virtually a few minutes later than decided and you might end up stuck in the traffic at Juhu & missing the whole reception altogether. I never wonder where the hordes at Juhu beach come from, I always wonder why they come there…. Anyways, I digress... Back to the decision dilemmas.

Sunday morning started way, way earlier than any Sunday I’ve had in the past few years. Having woken up at 5am to drop off a friend who’d come to run the Thane marathon (yeah, talk about stupid decisions!!) I returned home to sleep till well past noon.
No, that wasn't the end of the choices that presented themselves to me in myriad form.

Lunch offered its own set of choices. Finally after much deliberation we settled for a South Indian saapad at Matunga. It didn’t stop there, the lunch (which was one long session of various options of dosa, bhaath & more) was followed by dessert decisions, which were pretty easy. Ice cream never needs much thought in my head.

The underlying current for all these decisions remained far more important ones of career and work.These continue to plague me even after much, much thought - and of course, after much discussion with friends & family as usual.

The flood of decisions continued into the week today. I spent the morning with my boss and colleagues deciding the creatives for a new marketing campaign… On the personal career front the decision remained elusive…

Then just before noon Vishal called with some shocking news. A friend had died in a car crash.

Go on. Don’t shy away from the choices you have, there’ll be times when you wished you had them.
And yes, go on, revel in those decisions. The decisive one is never yours.

MH19 & MH20 in MH12

2007-10-22T06:36:00.000-07:00

A visit to the hometown this weekend confirmed some of my worst fears. Pune, a town I grew up in, and watched grow too, as been invaded. While I usually reserve my territorial angst against the blatant North Indian invasion of Maharashtrian soil and culture, this time it will be against my fellow sons-of-the-soil.

The Jaat has finally found a match - there's a new ghaat in town.

Pune seems to be the new playground of the not-so-rich and certainly-not-famous yet completely uncouth and obnoxious variety of Marathi manus. These mofossil monkeys have overrun the laidback town that once was Pune. Found usually driving an Indica or at best a Scorpio, the traditionally 'cool' areas of town were full of this variety. The behaviour is templated. They'll park in a way so as to cause the most inconvenience to everyone else using the road, particularly residents of the nearby areas, and then proceed to act in the most annoying manner possible. This includes 'attention seeking' behaviour when women pass by - loud laughter, unnecessary loud talk followed by very banal actions like spitting forcefully, scratching of unmentionables etc. Strangely enough, these specimens seem to actually believe that this behaviour is impressive in some way.

What's scary is their complete lack of any sort of respect for any sort of authority - I don't mean their respect for uniform - but even the usual respect for things which we take for granted - older people, obvious native residents, etc. Plus, they're not even typical young brats - infact most seem to be in the age which political parties refer to as youth - 30+. Their feeling of abject immortality seems to stem either from some sort of minor political affiliation or the weird strength that anonymity might offer to them, since they're clearly not from Pune.

MH12 always signified a solid sense of safety. And it's a shame if these morons are gonna try and change that.

As uncivilised as it may sound, I truly believe that only abject violence cures abject immortality. And I hope it's just a matter of time before Pune reacts strongly to this invasion, however 'in-house' it may be.
Pune has always welcomed the outsider. This time I'm not so sure we should.

Blasphemy, Books & Boredom

2007-09-16T09:54:00.000-07:00

This blog post is forced. The books bought this evening are forced. Infact everything that transpired this evening has been forced.

I've been forced to sit at home, thanks to the teeming millions who've taken over the arterial roads of this great city - it's the second day of the Ganpati festival and to the uninitiated what it basically means is that the entire length along the rather grubby coastline of Mumbai will be full of people who are out there immersing the 'elephant God'. Chaos is certain. This happens all thru the 10 day fest, with people deciding to end their responsibility towards the God on various days, the 10th day, of course, is when insanity takes over in totality.

I'm not particularly a religious person. Ok, lemme be honest. I'm just not religious.
And no, I don't understand the need of a billion people to advertise their religious beliefs to the rest of the billion.
I don't understand why everything should come to a grinding halt because the 'masses' choose to inebriate themselves silly on their opium.

And if I am to be as belligerent in my 'dis'belief as they are of their belief, then I should say I refuse to understand too.

This diatribe will continue as I brave thru this festival...

For now, I've decided to be inspired by my latest purchase 'The World's Most Dangerous Places' by Robert Young Pelton (http://www.comebackalive.com/) and team up with my partner-in-crime (and out of it), Mukul Chaddha - to embark on a most delightful mission - Mumbai's Most Entertaining Places (featuring Ashish Jagtiani aka Jaggu).

Watch this space.

Team work...

2007-02-28T08:27:00.000-08:00

Something I'd written over two months ago. But hadn't quite got on to finishing. So here it is.

March 01 - 10:00pm
the 'programming department' is hard at work. which would mean the 2 hotties that work for me are busy struggling with the new software thats being installed...

anil machado - the b'lore programming head... and our newly crowned software king has been flown down to help us make the transition smoothly. he's currently making himself useful by not interfering in the chaos.

sneha singh, our resident bihari babe is probably the only woman from her state to ever work on advanced radio scheduling software. she's doing the entire state proud. and has made herself even more useful by efficiently ordering chinese food. vegetarian, much to my dismay.

This is where I'd left it unfinished....

Now:- We're still struggling with the new software.

discovering old friends....

2006-11-28T23:09:00.000-08:00

Last week G... came over for dinner.
There's something to be said about old friends who you haven't quite kept in touch with. But you know they are always just gonna be the same. You needn't have spoken to them for hours every evening, you needn't have met up with them every other day.... you just take off from where you left off last....

As I write this, I'm awash with a strange melancholy feeling. Maybe it's got something to do with Annie playing old George Michael hits on her comp.... I grew up listening to some of that stuff. Having an older sister affects one in strange ways!

So here I am, running a Hindi hit radio station, writing random retrospective thoughts, listening to hits that I haven't heard for years now.....

And oddly, it all fits.

Rachna Apts... Hill Road...

2006-09-05T02:00:00.000-07:00

Rachna Apts. Hill Road, Bandra.

An address that brings back a rush of memories. Of watching television, discussing inane plans of world dominion and of course, sampling some of the best home-made desserts ever. Rachna Apts was the erstwhile residence of 3 of my favorite women in the world.

Seniors of mine from college - Sindhu, Vibha and Diyya became much more than just friends to me in Mumbai, am not sure they enjoyed me coming over so often, but they never made me feel unwelcome. Their pad was a refreshing change from the hole in the wall I called home then.
It had curtains, a shoe rack, a well stocked refridgerator and most importantly two loos!

And it always always smelled great - some days it smelt wonderfully of chocolate and cinnamon (Di conjuring up desserts for 'the little boy'!), on other days it smelt of Vibha's citrus shampoo & sometimes late in the evening Sin's moisturiser wafted gently thru.

Some of my happiest evenings were spent at their house.

Watching tv with Sin (she insisted we all watch Priyanka Gandhi et all file their nomination 'Roha, you're watching history being made'), discussing doggy tales with Di, and most of all standing with Vi, looking out of the window, spending entire evenings watching this other apartment which always seemed to have parties happening (and it had also had interesting lighting!).
We made up stories about who we thought lived there and often fantasised inviting ourselves over to their parties. We never did.
And then one day, the lights didn't come on in the evening. We wondered what could have happened. We waited all evening and then the next one. But that house never lit up again.

Then Sin left. On a scholarship abroad. Vibha got married. Diyya went back to her parents.
And yet another house would cease to light up again.

Mumbai - as i know it

2006-09-05T00:40:00.000-07:00

Have been trying to give some sort of direction to this blog. Not that it desperately needs it, given the 5 people that read it. Even so.

So I figured I should write about the Mumbai I know. People and places. Have been here for little less than 4 years now. Worked in three places. And met a million people. Atleast.

In Mumbai it's a tad difficult to be reclusive. Or even elusive for that matter. The first thing that strikes you is the people. The second thing that strikes you is people again. And so on and so forth.

My first house in Mumbai was a hole in the wall. RTO lane, Andheri (West, in Mumbai your geographical directions define you. Yeah, my gf wouldn't give me time of day had I been from Nalasopara East - and she's not even from Mumbai!)

I went thru two brokers to crack that deal. And one of them, Mamaji, continues to offer his services at regular intervals. Brokers in Mumbai seem to sneak into your life in a rather strange manner, and then refuse to leave. But you don't seem to mind. Or even realise that. Like the smell.

4th July '06 - a sequel to 26th July '05?

2006-07-04T02:17:00.000-07:00

2.51 in the afternoon, I've been at work since 8am.....
and the activity at the radio station has now dimmed a bit.... the morning started off on a happy note, with my morning RJs chirpily urging listeners to not worry about the downpour and brave their way to work.... the happiness soon turned to concern as the deluge showed no signs of letting up...and by about 9.30 the telephone lines jangled incessantly and the text msgs started pouring in with a vengeance.

By 10am my RJs were looking glum and feeling terribly guilty for having actually spurred people to ignore the rains.

All of Mumbai, it seemed, was flooding. Again.

26th July last year I was stuck all night on the roads. I remember being tuned in to this very radio station all the way home - for a full 16 hours. And now I'm working for them. Strange, what?

I'm still in office, the morning RJs have left after being on air for a full 7 hours! The afternoon jock has taken over... the rains seem to have slowed down, but the anxiety in the air is palpable.

To make matters worse, my jeep is stalled in the parking lot below the building. And at the back of my mind I'm figuring out how I get that going!

Change...

2006-06-01T05:51:00.000-07:00

Much has happened since the last time I wrote something here.

A season changed, a pet passed away and I changed my job. In an odd way, am back where I started from. Approximately 4 years ago I graduated from college to land my first job at a radio station in Delhi. Most people who knew me weren't surprised when I quit barely 10 months into the job, left Delhi and hit Mumbai with a vengeance.

3 years, 2 jobs and innumerable missed calls later I find myself at yet another radio station. Working with arguably the best radio heads in the country. Of course, there aren't many of them to begin with, so I guess thats easy!

Moving along swiftly, the rains are here again, and last evening was a scary reminder of 26th July last year! Man, the rains have got like a reputation here now, I'm sure it's always rained buckets in Mumbai (it certainly has for the last 4 years I've been here) and most people would enjoy the season, despite the inconviniences it brings... but it took one night, one clogged river and years of garbage to change all that. Now rains are looked upon with suspicion, fear and even disgust.

It's 6.42 in the evening, and with the new job timings I'm usually home, today though, am at work, just whiling my time away before I go for a movie.....

A generation awakens. Heck. About time.

2006-01-31T02:38:00.000-08:00

Yup, its time to write about what everyone else is writing about.
Earlier I would try and avoid this, cause I thought it was like jumping on the band wagon... but this is one wagon that i wouldn't wanna miss.

And anyways, I thought I should indulge in some pretentious stuff... like writing reviews, which few people read. And fewer care about.

I can't remember the last time a movie impressed me so much.
Oh well, actually I can - but hey maybe I'm just young and impressionable ok?! And that kinda dilutes the plot, so moving along swiftly...lemme just say that never before has a film seemed so absolutely in sync with my thoughts on a myriad variety of issues. And yes, I'd like to believe that my opinions matter. I paid for the tickets.
And for a change, this too, is a film that's not afraid to have an opinion. About family. About friends. Patriotism. Attitude. Responsibility. Even death.
Cliched as it may seem, what this film did, was not just 'strike a chord with my heart', but it actually belted out the entire symphony that was playing in my head.
Albeit a little slowly at times.

Aamir Khan and does give a crackerjack performance, but the rest of the ladies & gentlemen are routinely outstanding as well.
Soha Ali Khan is solid, thought she could do with less of a statuesque nose. Kunal Kapoor has what it takes to make the women squeal & squirm. Sharman Joshi has his moments, quite a few of them. Siddharth as the uber cool Karan Singhania (the right here, right now version of 'Singhania group of companies ka eklauta waaris') is simply superb. Alice Patten as the gori hottie gives an effortless performance. Atul Kulkarni, to many may seem refreshing, but let's just say that you can take the boy out of Pune, but you can't take Pune out of the boy. His inherent Maharashtrian-ness crops up at the most inopportune moments (check him out saying 'Sorry' and you'll know what I'm talking about!) - and the moustache stops short of screaming out Jai Maharashtra - not quite the saffron hued Laxman Pandey he's meant to be....

And surprise, surprise, the performances are not limited to the boys in the poster - the supporting cast (another surprise - not as many as you'd expect in a film this long!) are superb too. Kiron Kher finally gets rid of her usual aging kothewaali look to play Aamir's Sardarni mother - totally hard Kaur. Anupam Kher as Mr.Singania with little time for his son and none whatsoever for any scruples is convincing. Om Puri as the quintessential mian complete with checked lungi is excellent, but the man to watch out for is Mohan Agashe as the corrupt politician, a role so cliched & brief yet delivered with astonishing aplomb.

Yeah, ok so the film's a trifle too long, the plot's a little far fetched and the conclusion may seem extreme, but here's a film that doesn't baulk at anything. A director that's not afraid to tell a story searingly original and a bunch of actors giving flawless performances. And A R Rehman redeems himself with a satisfactory score.

Having said that though, the real test of a would-be cult film (which this one might well be!) is how it lends itself to subtle subplots - whether it lets people mull over random and often inconsequential questions. Like in this one, does Karan somewhere have the hots for Sonia? Everyone has a family but where's Sonia's? You get my drift. Or maybe you don't. Doesn't matter.

Go on and watch the film.
As the tagline says - A generation awakens.
Heck, about bloody time.

So what?

2005-09-15T07:39:00.000-07:00

So, I'm not a regular blogger. There I said it. Acceptance is half the battle - ask any addict of any sort. And like confession for a sinner it solves everything.

To say that my last few weeks have been hectic would be an understatement. They've been intensely stressful. There's been stress on the work front. Stress on the home front. And there's that toothache (okie so it only happened two days ago, but i can use the excuse....)

The toothache's gone though. It went with the tooth. My second extraction, in as many years. One would think 2 root canals and 1 extraction later i'd be better behaved at the prospect of another visit to the dentist. Ha. One always thinks wrong.

It was the same. Made innumerable calls to family in Pune. The sister and mother always bear the brunt of my impulsiveness. Finally went home yesterday. Visited the dentist. And got the offending tooth removed. The ache has now been replaced by a swollen face, a dull throb and the complete inability to smile.

Does this have to have a name?

2005-08-08T10:32:00.000-07:00

I'm actually mentioned on someone else's log. Rucha's to be precise. www.cranked-up.blogspot.com

Oddly enough it feels quite cool to see your name in print. Of course the fact that no one's probably reading any of this is irrelevant.
Am in office - a shoot is underway in the studio and it seems that i'll be here for a while now.

Our oldest VJ, Cyrus Broacha has made himself comfortable on the chair next to mine. He's watching National Geographic on the telly, waiting for his turn. We're shooting some stuff for PNC's latest offering - Ek Khiladi Ek Haseena.

I dare not mention the goings on at office cause I need to keep my job!
Star schmoozer Anurag Rao floats about the office, doing what he does best. For the untrained eye, it seems like Anurag does nothing, but for the well trained media professional it's obvious that his existence is imperative to the Bollywood star feifdom.

So, we prove it again...

2005-07-28T21:41:00.000-07:00

So we prove it again, that we're probabaly India's most stoic city. Rains can stop our trains, our telephones, our traffic but it's gonna take more than the 'rain of the century' to stop the Mumbaikar.

Sure we're a rocking city and the spirit of Mumbai just never lets you down, and now that the city is completely back to normal its stories of this spirit that'll cover up for the appalling lack of infrastructure.

The entire city will be buzzing with stories of heroism and the shocking apathy of the system will once again be ignored.

Yet another week starts...

2005-07-11T23:57:00.000-07:00

Its been a spectacularly boring start to a week that seems devoid of any sort of promise.
Anurag Rao - our resident star schmoozer and A class good-for-nothing man about town is back from his US trip. The levels of insanity and stupidity in the office have been restored.

More monsoon musings

2005-06-27T03:58:00.000-07:00

It's amazing how 'tapri' chai suddenly seems to taste sooo much better in the rains. Hashim (the guy who's responsible for all the 'cool' music that plays on VH1) and me stood at our regular chai tapri, just around the corner from the office and mused over the usual things that affect two guys....

The chaiwalla was forgiven for taking a good 20 minutes to brew us two isspeshuls. The rains have a way of making time look good.

Monsoon musings!

2005-06-20T21:55:00.000-07:00

Everyone writes about the rains. So I figure I should too. There's not much left to write about though. Driving down the Expressway from Pune on Monday mornings gets hugely more enjoyable. The landscape turns an awesome green almost overnight and the wind adds to the exhilaration of clipping down the highway - of course, wrangled masses of trucks and cars (oddly I counted 3 Indicas this Monday!) add a slightly somber note to the incredibly beautiful scenery.

Rains are affecting my friend and colleague at work - Shirish - in strange ways. He is overcome by an urge to listen to boy bands and Celine Dion!

Currently Sam Fox's 'Touch Me' is blaring from his comp, sending Prakash Nair into throes of nostalgic orgasm.

It's time to get back to work. That's what we call it these days.

Midweek musings

2005-06-15T01:53:00.000-07:00

Wednesday. Thankfully its all downhill from here. It sometimes bothers me that i seem to live for the weekend. Don't get me wrong, i love my job (hope the boss is reading!) - but there's something about the weekend. I think its a hangover from my schooldays. Lemme say here that I hated school. I really did. Sorry, all of you who think 'those were the best days of my life' but i abhorred school. And i don't see how most average kids would think otherwise.
School was great if you were the unassuming types who seemed to float effortlessly thru one period into another or if you were the smart kid who lived for exams and had this limitless thirst for knowledge (that's what they called it) or if you were the superstar on the field.

Unfortunately i was neither. Didn't do too badly at school, was more or less terrible on the field - but i certainly wasn't happy there. I still love friday evening more than any other - the thought of two days of holidays is incredibly liberating - and i still hate sunday evening, where some sort of impending doom seems to hang over me.

2:31 on a wednesday afternoon and i'm happy with my lot. its a great job. really reasonable people to work with. finally. though i have to say that MTV must truly be God's favorite channel. How we manage to run it ( and almost successful may i add!) seems to be a mystery. Actually thats taking far too much credit. We don't run it. It kinda runs itself.

Eventually I might actually write about each of the 'stars' that populate our office here in Lower Parel, i have a feeling that it would make for a great soap. Totally dysfunctional. Kinda Ally Mcbealish. Way, way funnier though.

Keep reading.

The first few words...

2005-06-10T02:56:00.000-07:00

Finally, i get myself a blog, I know it really isn't such a big deal, but it took reading the first simple post done by my colleague at work Jitin Abraham (www.vh1india.blogspot.com) to make me actually do this.

Oh well. Those were the first few words. And if anyone's reading, expect more.