Happy New Year from Mumbai!

Today at the stroke of midnight, planet earth will begin another dreary journey around the sun, dodging planet fragments, comets, asteriods named after painters and other cosmic and man made threats which we don't know about yet. A certain ball will descend in a big apple - and if that sounds weird, imagine thousands of humans gathered around the same, indulging in orgiastic revelery, chanting to mystic rhythms, each suffering from what Messrs. Floyd would have termed "A Momentary Lapse of Reason". Closer to home in aamchi Mumbai - there will be no descending globule - maybe due to the lack of an open area big enough for that - but my fellow citizens would give party-goers from anyplace in the world, a rabid run for their monies... Yup. We know how to party alright. Be it shelling out 13000 bucks per head to match Tanushree Dutta Jhatka by Jhatka as she sways her ample hips (oh god - can't earth like turn back so we don't have to see this?!) or to watch Koena Mitra writhing on the floor like a highly paid snake-goddess...or shelling out even more to hear Anthony Alfonso (eh? who?) play paino under a magnificently painted dome, while gorging on Ostrich egg delicacies and the finest caviar from Ulhasnagar. (this one is Zodiac Grill at the Taj)

The young 'uns will be fighting to get into the various watering holes around the city - and probably end up getting drunk in Versova or Aksa. Meanwhile, all our stars will have a busy working night...where they will attempt to make up for failed movies and horrid performances of the year gone by... poor things. If they weren't raking in so much money, I would almost feel sorry for them! Two stars who would not be working (and deserve not to) would be the Khan duo of Shah Rukh and Aamir. Aamir would be mostly working on getting every expression correct for his award speeches...Taare Zameen Par was a debut effort par excellence - measured, confident, well-researched. The Don on the other hand would spend a quiet evening with family and friends - and make sure that every paper in the country would report what a good homely person he is. No celebrations in the Bachchan household - atleast none that would permeate to the hungry world outside. If the cameras do manage to get into Prateeksha - one can be sure to see Ms.Rai putting on a sombre performance which would make Bhansali wonder "Why couldn't she do this in Devdas?!!".

The rest are insignificant.

Which brings me to me. I will have a quiet evening with the people I love...and resolve not to break my resolutions. This year was probably the most eventful year of my life - dizzying highs and appalling lows... If there is one thing that I would ask from God for this new year - it would be predictability.

A very very happy new year to all my readers - God Bless you and your families.

Cheers!

;)

...itefaq

Kya hamara milna ek itefaq tha?
Us din shaam ke rangon mein simti,
logon ki nazaron se ghabrayi hui,
tum kya mujhse hi milne aayi thi?

Kya hamara milna ek itefaq tha?
Jab ek khoobsurat sa chehra jab sharmake badalon ke peeche chhup gaya
kya woh tum hi the?
Ya gehri zulfon mein chhupa ek chaand...

Kya hamara milna ek itefaq tha?
Us din jab tumhare labz mere honton ko chhu gaye,
kya woh dil se nikli ek aawaaz thi?
Ya sagar kinare, mithi hawa ka ek jhonka...

Kya hamara milna ek itefaq tha?
Tumhari bhoori aankhon ne jab mujhe tarasha,
kya un mein mere hi sapne the?
Ya sadiyon ka chhupa hua dard...

Kya hamara milna ek itefaq tha?
Nahin...jab hamari dhadkanein ek huin,
kissi taare ne kahin janm liya,
Brahmand ki saari shakti hamare liye simat gayee,
Khuda ne khud zameen pe utarkar kaha...
Yeh meri zabani hain...koi kahani nahin
Yeh tumhari kismat hain...koi itefaq nahin...

Kem? Khari vaat chhe ne? ;)

What is it about children?

What is it about Children that brings the best in you?

That makes you behave in ways that you wouldn't normally embrace?

Is it the way they look at you with no hint of malice in their eyes?

Is it the way they don't judge you by your actions?

Can it be because for you they represent everything that is pure in this world?

Maybe because even their little lies are sincere and are meant to give you no harm?

Or is it the way their desires from you are so simple - and their affections for you unrelated to their fulfilment?

Could it be because they never offload the troubles of a long hard day on you?

Or the way they forget and forgive at the drop of a kiss?

Perhaps you love the way they wonder and delight at every small pleasure that life has to offer...and feel no less happy if those pleasures are not there?

Could it be because they are the closest you will ever get to God?

Or maybe, it is because deep in your heart you wish you were more like them...

:)

The curse of oneness...

Am in an introspective mood.

Sure...I always think a lot (in fact it's my favorite hobby - apart from writing), and most of my thoughts are disjointed, each one a homogenous entity in it's own. Each thought spawns micro-thoughts like the tentacles of a medusa... and each tentacle forms a head and tentacles of its own. Sounds like a muddle? Actually - I have trained my mind to somehow categorize these thoughts (unconsciously) and when a critical mass of thoughts is reached - I feel heavy with distilled realization. That's when I get into an introspective mood.

I have been feeling heavy since the past two weeks. And before I burst and IT services has the unsavory job of scraping my innards of the laptop screen - I thought let me purge some of that heaviness onto the blog. This is not going to be like my usual entries... :)

I have been thinking about people. One would imagine that 30 years of life would have provided me with opportunity to meet several human beings - and so I have. Most of them bounce of the peripheri of my consciousness... some of them manage to enter but very few have managed to make their way to the core. I am not a difficult person to be with or befriend (I think) - but somehow most people who do enter my consciousness, fail at some point or the other to display action or intent in line with my expectations. You would say, "Ha...it's your fault then! You have high expectations!"

Maybe.

But my expectations from others are not even half as high as those I have from myself. As I have grew older, smelt the sweet and tasted the acrid, enjoyed the rapture of true love and suffered the lacerations of selfishness and malice - I started wondering if we were all sent to this world by God to be alone... After all - barring romantic tales of the Bard - we all die alone. Even if we do find people who penetrate our ever-thickening consciousness - they never become one with us. They remain seperate entities - satellites with their own orbits, center-of-gravities and propulsion systems. But every love story or friendship - especially the ones which begin intensely - throw illusions of a oneness. A oneness that makes us feel lighter - makes us feel as if finally we have found company for our long and arduous journey towards our eventual end.

But in my experience - oneness is just that - an illusion. A mirage that helps you along on your journey towards dust. And this made me feel as if all people in this world are selfish. And life is a curse with I have to bear alone. Friends are for the moment and later are relegated to words appearing and disappearing in a chat box. Lovers satisfy immediate needs before failing on every other count.

Then - the typical critic that I am of my thoughts - I decided that this view has to be all wrong. These feelings of contempt that I have for other people cannot be right - because we are all children of the same god. If I have contempt for others - I should have contempt for myself. And that is something I don't have... So decided to take God's view of things.

I closed my eyes and sat 50,000 feet above the ground on a cumulonimbus seat - and looked down at all those various human beings for whom I had contempt. They were all scurrying around like little mice in a huge mousetrap - trying to "steal" a little cheese, bumping into other mice, trying to make the best of what they have. All the mice just wanted to survive and not get stuck and killed in the trap. What's wrong with that?

I still don't have any answers - but I know that today as a society we are not inclined towards oneness - and the oneness that can be achieved is in ourselves. People get unhappy by seemingly unkind actions of others - but most of the time the person responsible for the unkind action is just trying make the best of what he/she has. Maybe the right approach is not to search for happiness in the actions and opinions of others. If someone has entered your consciousness and has the power to induce rapture - don't expect he/she will not use the power to induce pain. Accept the sour with the sweet. But remember - that your soul is just yours... untouchable by anyone except whatever you think God is.

I want to take the journey from outward contempt to inward love to outward love. Love that encapsulates both rapture and pain. Love that is ingrained deep in my soul and does not depend on the actions of others or incidents. Love that can heal any wound that will eventually become love that will eliminate the concept of wounds. Love that will draw on every kind action and every healing word that I have been lucky to be on the receiving end of. Love that draws from the passion that I felt in my relationships and the beauty of sacrifices that my lovers have made for me. Love that mirrors the undying hope in my parents' eyes and the unabashed affection in my son's.

That is the love that I want to find. In me. And I also know where the map to that love lies. In me. I want to reach a plane of existence where physical life just becomes a manifestation of the love inside me...and does not depend on the relativity of relationships or people.

I feel better now. Lighter. God bless Web 2.0. :) Have a great day!

Rickshaw Spat

I work hard.

That is not a confession but a matter of fact statement. I work hard for many reasons...so that I can send my son to a good school, because I have lost all my friends (I should title this "Confessions of a Category Manager"), so that I can find my purpose in life (by the process of elimination...this one ain't it!) and most importantly, so that I do not have to use public transport. Though Mumbai claims to have a better public transport infrastructure than most cities - I beg to differ. Compared to Chennai or Delhi, traveling by auto-rickshaw in Mumbai is still akin to having sex in an airplane toilet (pleasurable even if it leaves one with a sore back...). But the constant pressure of the Global economy (damn you, Friedman) is sullying the thusfar obsequious outlook of my city's Rickshawallahs... Today, Mumbai rickshawallahs are as opportunistic as any mid-level manager working for any major IT company... (am I pushing my luck or what?!!)

And so I tend to avoid them. But as my spiritual teacher (Enid Blyton) once told me - you cannot avoid your fears...destiny will make you face them. That's what happened with me. My office shifted to a Special Export Zone - a walled fortress with tighter security than Tihar, housing factories and software sweatshops...key drivers of the FM's plan to someday show the middle-finger to China. This also meant that my car now required a pass to enter this fortress. A pass which requires process and documentation which makes filing your IT returns look like a walk in the park. So there I was this Monday morning, waiting for the said pass to arrive, flagging down irate and egomaniacal Rickwallahs so that I could make it in time for the 9:30 AM conference call. After a good 10 minutes I found one that was vacant...the guy stopped and gave me the "you-can't-just-disturb-the-CEO-without-an-appointment" look.

"Seepz" I said. (That's what the SEZ is called)

He looked at me as I was speaking in Moldovan. "Seepz chaloge?" I repeated infusing an extra dose of politeness I usually reserve for my boss. He looked at me as if I just asked him pull out his toenails...a look that said "Are you totally out of your mind?!! Why on earth do you think I would like to go to Seepz?!! Don't I have anything better to do?" It was obvious that he was verbally challenged so he just threw back his head in unmasked disgust - snickered like Dr.Evil at my plight - and proceeded on, ignoring me as if I was an empty guthka packet by the roadside.

I was stunned. And even more so, when Dr.Evil actually stopped 10 feet away, parked his chariot, got out and leisurely proceeded to rub some chewing tobacco on his palm. I took whatever pride I had left, stowed it somewhere between my pancreas and gall-bladder - and went up to him again. "Seepz Chalo...dus rupiye zyaada lelena..." I can't believe I was giving into such rampant exploitation...but I was getting late. He continued his carcinogenic activity as if I hadn't spoken...stuffed the tobacco in his mouth - gave me a "Leave me alone or Die" look, took out his Vada-pav stained copy of Maharashtra Times and started browsing through it as if he was studying for UPSC...

This was too much for me...so I turned around and went back to my original waiting spot. So there we were standing 10 feet from each other... each having what the other required... but not acknowledging the obvious carrier-passenger relationship. For me, now it was a matter of pride. So I just stood there...waiting for the next vacant auto. The minutes passed like a glob of honey trailing along a horizontal piece of sandpaper. No auto. And best of all? No passenger for him either... 5 min. 10 min. Peak hour was over... and soon we were the only remnants of the morning rush. He started getting impatient...and I was far beyond impatience. Finally, he looked up, put his paper down and beckoned to me to come and sit in his vehicle.

I looked at him. With all the disdain and bile I could muster, i stared at him - and did the unthinkable. I told him, "Nahin, tere saath nahin jana." and looked away. He couldn't believe his ears...shook his head at my pigheadedness (???) and went back into his newspaper.

I felt great. A feeling greatly enhanced when within a minute of this a vacant Auto came my way... As I passed the still unemployed Dr.Evil...I looked at him. Yes...he was looking at me too... I gave him a mock salute, and he nodded, probably acknowledging the winner of this battle... and letting me know that war between man and rickshaw was far from over...

Tokyo Diary - 2

Alright...this is not going to be much of an entry, as between long bilingual meetings and longer multi-culti dinners - there is not much time left for blogging. But blogging is addictive...and it keeps nagging away at that "journalist" part of your brain... "Come on! Broadcast!" it says. So here I am stealing time between two meetings and giving up a smoke to update my blog. (As you can see it has multiple benefits! ;) )

Let me dedicate this entry to a few things that amaze me about Japan...in no particular order of amazement...

1) The Toilets. When the scriptwriters for Star Trek were wondering how to design Captain Kirk's (commander of the Starship Enterprise) Central Command Station...they would have drawn inspiration from the average Japanese toilet. Only the Japanese can make something as quotidian as "crapping" into an experience akin to video gaming. Of course - there are different models - depending on how fat a manual you can digest... I have seen ones with 200 page manuals describing how to use the various controls, dials, buttons and displays to have the most satisfying defecation in the world. Here is one... the pictures on the buttons are self explanatory. ;)

2) Suica Card: Suica-card is like a instant debit card which is primarily used to pay for subway travel in Tokyo...but one can also use them in vending machines, restaurants, convenience stores etc. Anyone can "buy" a Suica card for 500 Yen (4 dollars) at one of many vending machines at Tokyo subway stations. Then as and when required one can load the card at the same machines with cash. It is so easy that even I could learn how to use it in seconds... and now I don't carry cash anymore.

All one needs to do is place the card on the arrow as one enters the subway gate...and place it again when one is leaving the subway gate the destination station. It automatically calculates the far and deducts it from the card. This is has completely eliminated queues and ticket counters at Tokyo subway stations...

3) Vending Machines: Sure there are vending machines is most countries around the world (even in India these days!) - but none have reached the sophistication of those in Japan. First... one can find them in every street corner and middle, behind every office, at very floor of every office building, next to the toilets in restaurants, inside the toilets in restaurants...phew. And the variety of wares they carry! Everthing from hot and cold drinks, to snacks, to instant noodles, to condoms, to videos & comics and anything else that can be "dispensed". I am sure if someone tried to live only on stuff available in Vending Machines - one would survive for many a year... :)

Now it is time to go...people have been breathing down my neck... :) Happy Reading!

Domo Arigato!

Tokyo Diary - 1

Japan! Have I ever seen a prettier place in all my travels?

Now don't get me wrong - I am not talking about "Alps-in-the-backdrop" or "Hand-painted-marble-domes" or "deep-red-canyon-in-the-sunset" kind of pretty. If these are standard definitions of what constitute beauty, then look much further than Tokyo. This is man-made, machine-assisted, technologically-gifted pretty. This is the pinnacle of human development and civilized existence. This is concrete beauty of Michaelangelo proportions. Tokyo - for me and apparently a lot of other visitors - is a postcard perfect setting of a millenium of tradition and honour kept alive by modern marvels of architecture, tarmac, automobiles and neon-lights. And what completes this picture of "manicured modernity" are the Japanese people themselves. Compact, clean, disciplined - each Japanese takes up exactly as much space as he/she is allocated in the most densely populated nation in the world.

One has to look way beyond the glass and steel structures and the roads (which makes it seem as if God used a slide-rule to create this place) - to realize or appreciate beauty of such nature. One has to look at the extreme and animated politeness of the Japanese, or the way every small garden is snipped and trimmed to the perfection of a Supermodel's hair-do. One has to admire the poetry in the way extremely rich and extremely busy Tokyo-ites stand in perfect "one-arm-distance" waiting for a whisper-silent diesel-powered bus which glides into the bus-stop and whisks them away to their destinations. One has to be amazed at the way Japanese town-planning guys thought and designed the worlds most complex and efficient metro-railway system - where one does not have to wait for longer than 2 minutes for any train to any where... nor have to walk more then 10 minutes from any place in Tokyo to the nearest station. The fact that this was designed in 1934 is just a matter-of-fact.

And if cleanliness is really next to godliness - then I believe God lives here. I have never seen a sweeper or one of those big cleaning trucks here - but still one can detect a cigarette butt on the ground from a mile! One would say "Oh...how unnatural!" because that's what it seems like. And it would be unnatural (a la Singapore) if all this was enforced. But here, nothing is enforced. Everything is a way of life. From the way perfectly cut pieces of sushi are arranged in the plate to the way green tea leaves settle at the bottom of a cup - everything is as human as divine. One wonders how an small island nation of 200 million manages to be the second-largest economy in the world (and by a huge margin!). One look at the place and the people and the perfection all around - it is not only very easy to understand how but also to comprehend that Japan is "untouchable". No other nation can ever reach where these guys have...though neo-rich countries like China and India can tout double-digit growth rates and enjoy being the darlings of the world right now - it is Japan which has already scaled the peak of social, industrial and economic development... and will continue to lead the world in terms of sheer perfection.

Sughoi desu ne? Domo Arigato!

Return of the Gaijin - A Japanese sequel...

Writing this one from the Airport. Comfortably seated on an uncomfortable seat in a smoky restaurant - with a half-cooked chicken sandwich and two beers inside me - I am feeling surprisingly content. And strangely excited. I have been on this seat a million times before...and foreign travel has since long ceased to bring any feelings remotely resembling excitement in me. But this time, it is different. I am returning to the place where I first learned to be self-sufficient adult. The place which made me - pardon the sexist overtones - a "man". Yes, Japan was my first stint in a foreign place as an adult - and boy was it "foreign" in every sense of the word!

I still remember carrying two large suitcases filled with everything my obviously apprehensive mother could think of - from saucepans and pressure-cooker to Parachute hair-oil and a six-pack of Rin bars. ("What if the Japanese detergents don't suit Indian clothes?" was her indignant response to my protests.) So there I was tall, dark and hairy standing outside the gates of Narita airport with my worldly belongings, gazing in (to steal a phrase from my boss) dumb agony at the small, busy, scurrying, pale, mongoloid world around me. And dumb agony was most of what I could muster in the subsequent 12 months I was there. My employer had selected a comfortable little hamlet called "Nakamichi" as my place to live...and I am not exaggerating when I call it a little hamlet. With a population of 435 circa 1999 - my arrival in the village was an event of unprecedented significance in the hamlets surprisingly long history. I remember my colleague showing me an article in the local newspaper (incidentally placed right next to the obituaries) the day after I arrived, which proclaimed that I was the first foreigner in Nakamichi in 186 years. Jeez - that's pressure on you! I was soon the local celebrity (or village idiot or one-man-freak-circus) with children often sneaking upto my ground floor apartment windows to gaze at the "gaijin" or foreigner. The place I used to work was in the neighbouring town - which meant a 30 min walk twice everyday.

As I used to walk by green and yellow fields of pumpkin and sweet-potato (aparently sweet potatoes from Nakamichi were famed far and wide) - I was cordially greeted by old bent farmers. "Ohayo Gozaimasu" (good morning) they used to call out from under their large straw hats, raising their sickles menacingly in the air - grimacing with toothless menace. I used to shout back - "Good Morning" - cementing the fact that I was indeed Gaijin and keeping the myth alive. As the days wore on - and I slowly got used to complete social isolation - I learnt to steel myself against the silence. Silence which was deafening at times - only to be broken by the extremely loud speaker attached on top of the village hall...which announced births, deaths, divorces, marriages at infrequent intervals. I ate what I got, I listened to whatever they played on the radio, I watched english movies dubbed in Japanese - and tried to lip read. I did attempt to make some friends - but to find someone who spoke the language of the queen - was as rare as an Indian in Nakamichi. And my attempts to learn Japanese were thwarted by an inherent ineptitude for new languages.

So to spend time, I thought, and I thought and I thought some more. And a lot of what I thought - and a lot of what I discovered about my own self - is something that has made me whatever I am today. I learnt a lot about Japanese culture - the importance they placed on honour and the beauty of ritual and sacrifice. Sure enough - I was not overtly sad when I left Japan to head back home a year later. But since then - a small voice inside me has been calling me back to Nippon. It is 9 years since that voice has been calling... unfortunately it was in Japanese... :) Only now I understand what it has been saying. "Come back where you were reborn - because rebirth is what you seek."

I am excited...and I will soak in every moment of this visit... will of course keep the blog updated!

Ode to Sachin - Thinker, Rascal and Friend.

I still remember that evening in February.

Vamsi and I were meeting a friend (and colleague) at a mallu joint called Coconut Grove in Chennai. Apparently that was the only place we could think of - which served syrian beef and beer. So over pungent morsels of delight and broth made from the finest barley hops...we set about discussing the epochal topic of this friend's future choices in career. This particular discussion was all the more important, as one of the choices was a place as a peer in our team. I still don't remember why we (Vamsi and I) wanted this guy in our team...I think it was a mixture of personal rapport, recognition of his talents and someone who looked like he could share our load. So in a systematic brain-washing sort of way - we started destroying his preset notions on marketing and expectations that he had from his other options. With the beer acting as a trusty lubricant to our agressive arguments - this friend was (to our sense of victorious contentment) totally sold on joining the "elite" Category Marketing team.

That friend was Sachin. And now 20 months hence - after having worked with him at close quarters - I know for sure...that fateful night it was Sachin who convinced us that he was the right guy for the job and made us feel as if we won. That in a nutshell describes Sachin - with him it is always a win-win situation. Master interlocutor and a cunning charmer - Sachin is a living example of clarity of thought, purity of intent and potency in action. But what really makes him special? He always has been a great friend and guide.

I still smile when I think of all those times when we as a team have worked together on tough and demanding projects and events - which were only successful because as a team we always were greater than the sum of the parts. And each experience was all the more fun because Sachin made everything look so easy, because he always managed to find a solution when everyone else was scraping the bottoms of their intellect, because he never lost his sense of purpose and sight of the objective...and always managed to find the lighter side of a tough and sometimes de-moralizing job. He helped us when he didn't have to - and at the same time demanded (more like cajoled) out of us better work and more value.

We will miss you Sachin. This team will never be the same without any one of us, and especially holds true for you. The bright side of the moon says you will still be in the same company...and there is hope that our paths will cross professionally, time and again. But, it is upto us to ensure that the more important part of our relationship - one that of buddies - stays alive and that the beer continues to flow. Over Syrian beef.

Take care and Godspeed.

Karthik, Vamsi and Abhishek.

From the soul...for the soul...

Love. It is such a misunderstood emotion, ill-used term and overused description of feelings. When, in all my experience (and I have some in this particular field), I have come to question - that is it indeed a feeling? Because when feelings go - vacuum remains. Can true love ever "go"? Because feelings are fleeting...you can feel love for a person by just hearing her/his voice...or by reading kind words in a chat box or by just basking in the radiance that surrounds beautiful faces. A person can uplift your heart by saying the right things at the right time... make the pain go away... fill the vacuum. That person can generate feelings that provide succour to your ailing soul...suddenly all your questions will seem answered. Before you know it...you start missing that person... start wishing to hear that voice again or read those words again... you start getting possessive... and mistake these myriad feelings for Love. When nothing can be further from the truth. This particular phenomenon is universal and more commonplace than you can imagine... people fresh out of a relationship feel it the strongest - and people in relationships that are not meeting pre-conceived expectations.

People fresh out of relationships - especially intense overpowering ones - may decide consciously "I've had enough... I am never gonna fall in love again. Let me enjoy being single!" But like all wounds, addictions and accidents - healing requires time. And a wound inflicted as a result of a broken relationship is the deepest one of them all. It affects the way you behave - changes the way you deal with people...and worst of all your injured soul (unbeknownst to you) constantly is searching for a "host". So pretty face, kind word, sympathy - Bang! Love and you feel that there is indeed hope and love in this world. The same goes for people in sad relationships - and so many people find false recourse in the arms of the "perfect other" they didn't get.

It's good - in that it makes one smile. Makes one get up in the morning and rally on through the day. Maybe - it even works in some cases. But for most foolish souls - it ends in disaster. Leaving a person in a deeper hole than before, a soul more wounded and an outlook that seems sullied beyond repair. Only difference - this time the person so confused with images of false hope and elusive love that it puts into motion a series of nameless, meaningless affairs - which can only end in a broken wasted life. One keeps chasing shadows which flicker and eventually disappear. So is there a solution to come out of the abyss and into the sunshine?

Maybe...the answer lies inside. The answer is to fill the vacuum with the wonderous joy that life provides us - which is not associated with the affections or lust for another person. Each one of us is a world in ourself... with most of our potential to live and grow left untapped. Sure enough - most of us are lucky to have life itself - something we are so willing to give to another person. As my life progresses and I experience and see beauty and pain - I realize there is so much love in the everyday...love that is not ephemeral like a feeling... love that does not require someone else's fulfilment. There is love in your duties towards your parents, there is more fulfilment in a job well done or project in which you shine. There is real, imperishable beauty in literature and music, arts and dance. There is a sense of accomplishment in running a couple of miles that far surpasses that found in momentary liasons or experiences of passion. There is an earthy "realness" in the company of old friends - much more solid and therapeutic than a crush or an infatuation. All of these provide "chicken soup" for the soul...fill the vacuum and elevate the soul from the depths of hopelessness to the elevation of enlightenment.

And when you feel that there is no longer any need for another person to give you happiness or make you feel "complete"... that's when will you find the true love of another person. That's when you will learn to distinguish between love as a feeling and real love which is the icing on an already beautiful cake.

All ye broken/sad hearts out there - live on! Love yourself. Discover and explore all that life has to give... that is the only path to true love.

Apocalypse Now - Revisited

Hi readers...I am back after two months of silence... turmoil in life, turmoil at work... didn't really feel motivated to share any thoughts...because those thoughts really weren't worth sharing. But something has happened in the past few days...made a new friend who is a saint. Sometimes one just needs the human touch to come back to life I guess. ;)

So what am I reviewing today? Apocalypse Now. It is not a new movie...infact was released in 1979 - and I remember watching it for the first time in the 80s. I hated it. In fact I remember I went back to the rental shop and asked for my money back...! How these impressions stick in one's head... as a result I ignored all Saigon movies for the rest of my life. Then suddenly - on HBO - I saw a Marlon Brando special...where they showed a few clippings from Apocalypse... the one in which shaded by dim flickering light - Marlon Brando''s Colonel Kurtz is washing his bald head in water... while Martin Sheen's Captain Willard is kneeling, tied-up, in front of him. Something struck my matured (and tempered) sensibilities... the sheer dizziness of the movie came back to me after all these ages. And I suddenly wondered - why did I not like this movie? So I got the DVD to give the Francis Ford Coppola's seminal creation another chance.

"Horror....Horror..." Apocalypse Now is one of the scariest and the most beautiful movies I have ever had the honour to see. The Oscar winning Cinematography is pure art - of the depraved crazy spinning kind - which has been manifested as moving pictures. Every scene has been painted with the desperation and the futility of war - seen through the eyes of Captain Willard. Mind you - there isn't much violence in this movie - but still it hits harder than 10 Black Hawk Downs. The movie charts the journey of Willard to the untamed interiors of Vietnam - and to the border with Cambodia - where a renegade Colonel Kurtz has started his own little war - not approved by the Pentagon. His orders are to dispose of the Colonel and restore order. As the river-boat with Willard and his 4 men makes its way upstream... the movie shows various pictures of conflict and horror... rarely have I seen such a potent combination of real and un-real shown so effectively on screen. You can't help but flinching when Willard shoots an injured Vietnamese woman when his crew insists on taking her to a hospital, so that their mission is not delayed - or when you see a handful of "all-but-dead" US soldiers counting their hours away in an an army post where the Commanding Officer had been killed a long time ago. No escape. No Mercy. Just blood, guts and war.

But the real icing on the cake (if there ever was a euphimism!) is Marlon Brando's Colonel Kurtz. I checked - he has screen time of less than 15 minutes...but it is one of those roles which will leave an indelible impression on one's senses...one that will not be wiped away with time. Colonel Kurtz had "gone over". He had conquered fear - but at the price of his soul. He thought he was God...because in his universe which he had created - he infact was. Copolla somehow (I don't know many other auteurs who could have managed this) manages to evoke our sympathies for Kurtz - how a rising star in the US army turns into a perpetrator of inhuman genocide. How during war - there are no winners...and how the horror of human depravity comes to the forefront. Sure enough - Willard himself starts sympathizing with Kurtz... but somehow in the helplessness of it all - he sees that Kurtz wants to die. As the jaded Photojournalist (Dennis Hopper) says - "His mind is free...but his soul is dead."

What happens in the end is for you see and digest... but what the movie leaves you with is a dry mouth. It leaves you shaken, and makes you wonder why the hell do we war? And Apocalypse Now manages this without preaching for a second. That is the real beauty of this movie. I am so glad i decided to revisit this classic again. You should too...

Apocalypse Now (1979) - Running time approx 155 min. Directed by Francis Ford Coppola. Starring - Marlon Brando, Martin Sheen, Robert Duvall, Dennis Hopper

Of men and rats - Ratatouille

OK...I have a confession to make. I used to hate rats...and went to extremes making sure I didn't have rodents as my extended family. I found furry little creatures scurrying around the house quite disconcerting - and seeing them in the kitchen usually called for decimating all food that could have been touched by rats. I had even invested in mouse-traps - but I should have taken the hint from Tom & Jerry... these traps are meant for catching cat-tails.

I used to hate rats - until I saw the latest from the geniuses at Pixar-Disney. (it should be the other way round - but I think the geniuses are at Pixar, not Disney) Ratatouille - pronounced Raa-ta-too-ee - is cinema at its best - even without putting it into the category of Animated movies! Brad Bird - considered by many to be the Kubrik of animation and received an Oscar for "The Incredibles" last year - has bettered his previous directorial performance by creating a movie that is hilarious, intelligent, insightful, motivating, exciting, a gastronmic delight and a leisurely Parisian stroll on the banks of the Seine...all at one go. Pixar has repeatedly created experiences for lovers of cinema by juxtaposing fantasy and reality to create situations and plots which - though seemingly ridiculous - are brought to brilliant life through technical virtuosity, tight screenplays, Oscar winning vocal performances and great storytelling. Ratatouille is the latest feather in their cap. (That cap must be running out of space!) Their movies are not for children...but children can watch and enjoy them too!

Remy - the chief protagonist (and rat) of the story - is a different kind of rat. He doesn't want to steal food for a living - he wants to cook. He knows that he has culinary talents far greater than most humans...forget rats. Ratatouille is the story of how an ordinary sewer Rat creates savory magic in the one place where he is not supposed to be: the kitchen of one of Paris' leading restaurants - Gusteau (named after Remy's "guru"). Together with his human friend - as a voluntary puppet (how he controls Linguini's movements by hiding in the chef's hat and pulling hairstrings is ingenius!) he lifts up the sagging fortunes of the restaurant - much to the chagrin of Skinner (voiced by the brilliant Ian "Bilbo Baggins" Holm) the current sous-chef (head chef). Linguini becomes an overnight celebrity - and as the reader can imagine ego problems ensue. I won't give the plot away much...but suffice it to say - Ratatouille is a story of the meek inheriting the kitchen... and of the belief that "Everyone cannot be a great artist - but a great artist can be anyone!" In this case a Rat.

The animation is what we can now call "Pixar - standard". Flawless to the untrained eye. The vocal performances are brilliant - especially Peter O'Toole as Anton Ego - the critic who brought Gusteau's downfall - and the critic who eventually recognizes the brilliance of Remy the rat. Ratatouille stays with you long after the credits roll...and makes you want to dump junk food forever! :) It leaves you feeling hopeful in the heart and light in the head...like good wine. And the movie should be enjoyed like one.

This is a Rs.700 for me. Though I doubt I will be able to afford it then...and that's what makes me feel charmed and lucky...

Transformational.

To give you an idea about the movies I avoid - Fantastic Four, Alien Vs. Predator, Godzilla...get the picture? "Comicky" - mechanical creatures, cheap effects... It doesn't really give me a feeling of reality. I know it is not real - but atleast I should feel a part of the set up. So when I saw the trailer of Transformers - I thought - "Ok here we go again." I used to own a couple of "Transformer" toys...and I remember they weren't really my favorite. The whole idea of vehicle turning into robots somehow struck as ridiculous to me. So I was pretty confident Rs.200 of multiplex-money would not be spent on this latest effects fest. Until I saw the director's name. Michael Bay has managed to pull me into theaters to see movies I wouldn't normally see - time and again - without failing. He has no pretensions...his movies are shamefully escapist (Armageddon! Bad Boys!) and the Special Effects are always years ahead of their time... Armageddon looks gimicky now...but back then it was pretty cool... Another fact that intrigued me was that Herr Spielberg himself had given his blessings to the project...which meant it was definitely gonna be deeper than Armageddon...

So I bit the bullet and decided to head out to the nearest multiplex in the pouring Mumbai rains. The movie begins with an Army base in Qatar being destroyed by a weird Cargo-Helicopter which transforms into a Robot...there are no known survivors...and it looks like the "thing" was after classified US data. Cut to normal teen Shia LaBeouf (Disturbia) negotiating which first car to buy - with his father. Of course he settles on a car that appears at Bernie Mac's (Mr.3000) shady car dealership out of nowhere...a old rusty Chevy Camaro. Sure enough the car starts acting funny... and even helps him impress the hottest girl in college - the extremely good-looking Megan Fox. (She has to be the hottest newcomer in hollywood today...). The car is actually "Bumblebee" - one of an alien race of "Machine People" who have come to earth to find a potent cube - their source of deadly power, which was being sought by the bad guys lead by the evil Megatron. The "Recepticons" - or the good guys are lead by Optimus Prime. Now who are all these guys? They are robots who have a "vehicle" avatar. For example Megatron transforms into a supersonic jet and Optimus Prime's avatar was a cool red and blue shiny truck. Hence the name Transformers.

Sounds silly so far?

I thought so too... until I saw them transforming. I haven't seen special effects so cool since Jurassic Park. Michael Bay has directed a movie which doesn't let up for a second. And best of all he manages to inflect enough emotion in what could have become a very "mechanical movie". Shia Labeouf holds the key to the cube in an old artefact that was handed down to him by his explorer Great Grandfather...and soon becomes the Recepticons' best friend and helps them overcome the bad guys...ably helped by Ms.Fox and an extremely nimble and resourceful secretary of defense (Jon Voight). The script is water-tight...not a frame or word is wasted... every moment is exhilarating and Shia's parents are "laugh-out-loud" funny... But the honors go to the action sequences which are equisitely staged the special effects which make a seemingly ridiculous concept extremely believable. Sure enough teenagers will LOVE the movie...but Michael Bay has created a movie which transcends the age barrier...by creating a bunch of transforming robots into "real" lovable people.

Brilliant. I am gonna introduce a new concept here called the "Market Value" of the movie - which is basically how much would I be willing to pay for the movie. This one is a Rs.500.

Don't miss this one.

Guess who?

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Harry Potter and the Axis of Evil

My first in the series of suggested outlines for Harry Potter sequels.

Harry is now a 36 year old family man - living in Modern london. He has been hired by the British Government as a "Consultant" - helping the muggle world deal with magical threats. On Christmas, there is a terror strike on London - with the London Eye as the target. Lots of innocent lives are lost - and MI6 cannot for the life of them ascertain the MO of the attack. No known explosive substances are found in the vicinity - it is as if someone had "blown" the huge structure down. Harry is called in - and immediately suspects magical forces at work. As he lunges into the investigation - he uncovers an underground magical movement with it's origins in deserts of Persia. Soon - he starts receiving threats from unknown sources asking him to back off. Albus Severus - Harry's second son disappears from Hogwarts the same day Harry's scar starts to hurt again. A nationwide hunt lead by Harry and helped by his friends Hermione and Ron is launched - and along the way they come across clues which surprisingly lead to suggest Voldemort's return. Has Albus been kidnapped by the Aftakhoon - the leader of the evil Persial army? Has Aftakhoon joined forces with Al Qaeda - and is preparing to launch an attack on the Western world like they have never seen before? Is he being aided by Voldemort who has yet again survived death? Can Harry and his friends save the world from the new wave of terrorism - now aided by ancient magic, far more powerful than anything that they have ever encountered? Find out in the exciting 8th installment of the series - Harry Potter and The Axis of Evil.

Maybe I gotta change the name. ;) Comments please.

Potter shouldn't die.

OK...so now I have officially given in to the temptation - I have to write what I feel about the Deathly Hallows! If any of you haven't read the book - then I suggest you stop right here...there be spoilers ahead!

So what do I feel about it? Depressed. Depressed that the darn thing got over so fast. Depressed that the distance between Manchester and London was so short that Rowling could only think up enough material for 7 books. Depressed that I might never read about Harry, Hermoine, Ronald, Albus, Severus, Remus, Sirius, Arthur, Prewett (Mrs. Weasley), Ginevra, Dobby, Luna, Neville, Tom, Draco, Lucius, Kingsley, Alastor "MadEye", Minerva, Dolores, James, Lily, Tonks, Kreacher, Dudley, Petunia, Vernon, Percy, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, Fleur, Viktor, Rubeus, Bellatrix, Argus, Filius, Cornelius, Seamus, Nearly-headless Nick, Bloody Baron, The Grey Lady, The Fat Friar, Moaning Myrtle...phew. Each character had become my friend - my companions through 7 books and 5 movies (the movies never did them enough justice though).

Ok so how do I really feel about the book? The best since Azkaban. Dark. Deep. Meaningful. Focus on Harry and only Harry. You can see that Rowling breathes Harry (or vice versa). She knows the character inside out and outside in. And you see a part of yourself in Harry's thoughts. The boy who lived - and the boy who went through more in his teenage years than most of us will do in our lifetimes. A boy - very human - very gifted. Like each one of us. A boy who finally saw the purpose of it all (don't know how many of us will be that lucky!). Harry's story will live on long past this book or the movies.

7 books later I have three favorite characters (apart from Harry) - Hermione, Severus Snape & Neville Longbottom...with Snape taking the top honours along with Harry. The Harry-Snape-Dumbledore twist gave the story an entirely new dimension. Snape's story brought a tear to my eye - and was the strongest evidence of love in all 7 books. (If you haven't read no. 7 yet - then you must be wondering what this is all about!) The ending is a little too "Matrix-like" - reminded me of Neo talking to the Oracle at the end of part 3. Voldemort had a fitting end - though I was a bit disappointed at his intelligence. He went down rather tamely I should say.

I know this is a disjointed post - but I am just so full of thoughts about this beautiful story. To summarize - Rowling didn't kill Harry - as we were all dreading and the even better news? She left the story open for sequel! :) I really hope she writes one - if she doesn't then I will. Have already formed some broad outlines for possible plots...:) Will discuss it in future posts.

The iPhone Killer is here? Maybe.

The last two months have seen two high profile mobile phone launches - one of them over-hyped and the other - to Apple's peril - quite under-hyped. I am talking about the iPhone and the Ocean from Helio. While the iPhone has started what could be described as media induced mass hysteria - lots of buyers are falling for the "love at first sight" factor that the iPhone comes bundled with. (Obviously Jobs and his designers read Malcom Gladwell's "blink") The iPhone is beautiful - there is no doubt about it. Large screen, minimalistic sensibilities. It is the phone that does not look like a phone...and I think that's where Apple hit bullseye. So crazed masses walked into stores like hypnotized zombies and paid a lot of money to acquire this futuristic object of their dreams - and decided to ignore the following facts:

1) It is ridiculously overpriced ($499 for 4GB and $599 for 8GB) - and you can only use it over AT&T Cingular.

2) It cannot replace your iPod - max storage is just 8 GB. And the memory cannot be expanded.

3) It does not support Bluetooth's Stereo profile

4) You cannot remove the battery!! (so no spare batteries)

5) It does not support the latest 3G standards - so the web experience is menial for such a device

6) Does not have built in GPS

7) Does not have a physical keyboard or keypad. (It might not seem as such a bad thing - but it is a serious disability for smart phone power users)

....and the list goes on.

Enter Ocean.

This device from Helio - does all of the above and all that the iPhone can do. (except the accelerometer - which allows the iPhone to rotate the desktop to landscape or potrait - depending on how you are holding it.) It has both a keyboard and a keypad. It is not fixed to any network...and costs $295. Check this video review from Zdnet's David Berlind and decided for yourself. http://blogs.zdnet.com/Berlind/?p=587 It might not be a looker like the iPhone - but as they say - "beauty is in function". Maybe it's true.

As for me, I have decided that the Ocean will be my next phone...

Maroon 5 - It won't be soon before long

The second album by the Grammy winning (Best new artist 2005) California quintet - Maroon 5 - debuted #1 on the Billboard charts - hitting platinum in the US in just 3 weeks. It has the highest first week sales in history and it's first single "Makes me wonder" broke the iTunes store record for sales. Did they deserve all this?

Absolutely.
Their catchy blend of 80's pop (Prince/Police/Talking Heads) meets new age alternative - is instant music to the ears. Frontman Adam Levine is greatly influenced by soul/hip-hop and every song is foot tapping starting from the album opener "If I never see your face again", going on to the heavily played "Makes me wonder" and the soon to be classic "Wake up call". The lyrics are all about love and relationships and though less misogynistic than their first multi-platinum "Songs about Jane" album, they do promote a male point of view of the cheating /disgruntled woman.

"Won't go home without you" is a direct tribute to "Every Breath you take" - with the famous bass hook forming the background. It also is a beautiful love song. "Can't Stop" is pure dance-floor energy with a chorus reminscent of the The Rolling Stones. Which then brings the best song of the album. "Goodnight Goodnight" is the kind of song that sets Maroon 5 ahead of the pack. Beautiful lyrics, gentle singing, soulful rhythm and a passionate chorus - paint a picture of heartbreak and acceptance. This is Levine accepting that relationships can break - and no one really is at fault.

The album moves on with a couple of excellent ballads "Not Falling Apart" & "Better that we break" and more foot tappers "Kiwi" & "Back at your door".

It is a great album - which improves with every listening...perfect for long drives when you pop the CD in, tap your fingers on the wheel and think about nothing but the sweet sounds of soulful pop delivered in what is now "Maroon 5" style.

4 stars out of 5.

Live free or Die Hard - A review

In India, the 4th installment of Bruce Willis' career defining movie franchise "Die Hard" was released with the highly original and imaginative title "Die Hard 4". Just makes good marketing sense I guess - as Live free or Die Hard (the US name) wouldn't really resonate with the fan club. And in this case the fan club is huge...with me as the Club Secretary. There are a few scenes in cinematic history which burn a lasting image in one's memory...and for me atleast 5 of those are from Die Hard 1 and 2. Remember the elevator scene in the first one - where he kills the first baddie and sends him down in an elevator with a note "Now I have a gun." Awesome. And John McLaine's celebration of the final insane show of guts which kills the main baddie - "Yippie-Ka-Yay M*****F*****!".

Yes, the baddie in this movie too ends with the above...and if I tell you how - I will be spoiling your fun. And this is what the movie (and the franchise) is all about. Mind-numbing explosions and gut-wrenching action. And the in-destructible and cynical Bruce Willis as unlucky NY cop - John Mclaine. He usually has a sidekick (the venerable Samuel L Jackson doing the honours in Die Hard 3) - and this time around it is a super-hacker-nerd (Justin Long) who inadvertently co-develops a program which was being used to bring all the major systems of America down. The post 9/11 computer terrorism works well - juxtaposing the totally un-Matrix-esque" McLaine trying to figure out what the bad guy was trying to do with all the computer wizardry. This also helps develop the camaraderie between the 50+ war torn veteran and the chip eating Keanu Reaves look alike.

The baddie (Tim Olyphant) is not as menacing as Jeremy Irons in the last installment - but gives enough reason for the Audience to wish for his demise. And the journey to his demise includes McLaine destroying a Helicoptor with a police car, bringing down an entire section of a Freeway and singlehandedly destoying a F-38 fighter jet. Phew.

This is what Summer movies are all about - and as one critic said, "Complaining about its mindless action is like complaining about the sound of the audience chomping popcorn..." Kudos to Willis - who proves that he still has it in him to save the world...


Watch it.

Koi Sahara Nahin

Writing this one from the airport.

Had a 2035 Sahara flight to Delhi. Reached a whole hour before, like a good boy (also knowing the kind of lengths the security check queues can reach in the evenings...). So I am pleasantly surprised to see no queue at all at the baggage screening as well at the check-in counters. I breeze happily through to the PYT (not really - but I was in a good mood) sitting at the counter. "Sahara Namaskar" she goes. I grin - what a silly thing to say. I say "Hullo...window seat if possible..." I like looking at Mumbai from above...be it day or night.

"Sure sir..." She types away... flicks a strand of hair from her face... and says "I am sorry to inform you sir that the flight is now leaving at 2130.

My pleasant demeanour vanished like fried chicken... "...then why didn't you intimate me before? Even Air Deccan does that!"

The hair flick again. "I am sorry sir..."

Yeah...sorry my ass. Now I have to spend a boring couple of hours at the airport and intimate the taxi guys at Delhi to send the car later. (They don't wait...they feel hurt if you don't tell them and leave...)

So...I decide to answer some e-mails... so I take a coffee, sit on one of those new leather seats at Mumbai airport and get to work. 45 minutes and 13 emails later, I hear an announcement "this is the last and final boarding call for all passengers travelling by Sahara flight...blah blah".

I rushed back to the check-in counter - "you told me the flight was at 2130!"

"I am sorry sir...it was a mistake...". I couldn't believe what I was hearing - and even less what I was seeing. She was giving me a dazzling smile added with an extra flicking of her damned hair. I am quite articulate even at the worst of times - but this rendered me speechless. I just managed to wag an angry finger at her as if letting her know that she will pay for it if I miss the flight - and rushed to the security check. Oh freak...I realized i had to now tell the taxi in Delhi to pick me up earlier... all said and done, I reached the gate 10 minutes before departure. To find it closed.

Damn.

And no Sahara person in sight. I panicked. (I am not used to missing flights!) After some excruciating minutes of searching through the crowd for an airline person - I saw one. I rushed to him and asked him how the hell could he take off without even calling my name!

He smiled. (One more smile and I would have broken some teeth!) And he said..."Don't worry sir, it was a mistake..." That was the proverbial straw and I stood there stunned. "What?" is all I could mumble.

"The announcement that the flight is leaving was a mistake...it is still leaving at 2130..." It took me some time before i understood what was happening. I suddenly felt like a practical joke had been played on me and immediately looked around for hidden cameras. MTV Bakra of the year...

The Sahara man put a sympathetic hand on my trembling shoulders - and spoke like a middle-class Buddha, "It happens."

He was right. It happens. Only to me!

Tag clouding the desktop

Quintura seems to be catching peoples' fancy...and it is a good thing. While monolithic brands like Google are good - they aren't the best for innovation. Once in a while, some crazy russian should appear out of the depths of Siberia and send a chill through Silicon Valley.

Now we will see how to extend Quintura to the desktop. Quintura has a desktop client very imaginatively called the Quintura Web Search Client. You can download it at http://company.quintura.com/download/ . (While there you can read about the crazy russians who started this...)

Once you install the client - it opens like a usual window's based program - which emulates the web search page. Only difference? You can select your poison... which basically means you do not have to depend on Quintura's yet-to-be completely mature database...and select whichever search engine you want - with the tag clouding functionality! Cool isn't it?



Now the desktop part. For this you need to have Google Desktop installed - yep...that monolith again. But Google Desktop isn't bad...I like it. Once installed - you can add Google Desktop to the search engine list in the Quintura Client (from options)

Then select Google Desktop from the list - and put in your search words. Voila! You have tag cloud with keywords from files on your harddrive!

Believe me it is addictive...and you will realize sifting through the junk on your computer can be so much fun!!

Try it... comments are welcome...

A real Google alternative?

My favorite online technology portal - ZDNET (no they aren't paying me - but they should) - ran a controversial and extremely difficult experiment. One of their editors decided to live a fortnight without - gasp - Google.

And thank heavens he did that - because though as expected - nothing beats Google, he found a worthy alternative. Wanna know what it is? :)

Quintura.

I tested it. It is absolutely stupendous. It is what web 2.0 is all about. Go to http://www.quintura.com/ and check it out!

It has got two halves - results on the right (which are pretty decent by the way) and a "tag cloud" on the left. So my search for JBJ (proving my continuing obsession with it) gave me the usual links on the right - along with other key words arranged in seeming disarray (only not) on the left.

Now this is why I say this will be the future of search... take the mouse cursor anywhere on the tag cloud and say highlight "photo gallery" like i did in the screen shot below:

The links on the right automatically change to reflect what you highlighted...so I got a great listing of all JBJ photo galleries... REAL-TIME. (of course how real-time depends on the speed of your connection...)

A whole new world of possibilities open-up with "tag-clouding" - people now will be like amateur detectives...sniffing out information, following trails of tags to arrive at the best possible result. The power is now with us...not with some crazy scientists surrounded by lava-lamps and gourmet food. (oh how I want to work for google...)

This is true Web 2.0 isn't it? Power to the user. In my next blog I will explain how you can get the tag cloud functionality for your desktop searches... ;) It's cool. Believe me.

Furiosity - redux

Oh yeah...JBJ is bad.

Commentor Vidooshak was right about the "intention" though... but mentioning this monstrosity in the same breath as Pyaasa will make Dutt-saab's ashes turn cold.

He intended to make something new, even tried to emulate the experimental/art-noveau-yet-commercial form of cinema which has been used by his mentor (Mani) with great effect... but I think his immaturity shows through...like imitation "tunde-ke-kababs".

The dialogue is dense, assiduously assinine - the actors are obviously trying to say something "deep" but hey we paid money to watch this crap...so we ain't exact "gifted" are we? ;)

The songs have got nothing to do with him or anyone else I berated in the review. Shankar-Ehsann-Loy cannot go wrong...period. And Gulzar has penned the lyrics...never thought he knew so much Punjabi.

Furiosity

This is a review for Jhoom Barabar Jhoom.

It has got an awesome storyline. Here is how it goes...Boy (AB Jr.) meets girl (Ms. Spicejet) at Waterloo station (no less) - both waiting for someone to arrive. Both (for the sneakiest reasons ever) concoct long winding stories about fictional beaus - for whom they are apparently waiting. After the two hour long wait - they realize that they have found their soulmate in one another...but hang on...both think the other is hitched. How bitched. So they decide to meet the competition at a (how convenient) dance competition - and evaluate for themselves. Of course neither has a beau...so they request a foul-mouthed prostitute (Lara Dutta) and "mamma's boy" spectacle salesman (Booby Deol...sorry Bobby Deol) to enact the part of their non-existent beaus. Then something amazing happens...foul-mouthed prostitute bangs spectacle salesman for free - apparently that is a sign of love. And boy and girl realize that they just got screwed over by each other. And then.... hang on.... that's the movie. Yes. The end. Of course one is amazed at the futility of it all, angry that one was subjected to such nonsense...and relieved that the torture was over. So futility, anger and relief become Furiosity.

I know there is no word like "furiosity"...but at the same time I could not resort to my existing repertoire of words to describe the sheer.... furiosity .... i felt after I spent 3 hours of my time watching Jhoom Barabar Jhoom. Preity Zinta and Abhishek Bachchan are talented actors. Then why did they waste their time for such a venture? Even more so for AB Sr. and Shaad Ali (who displayed some class in Sathiya - even though it was copied).

I will tell you why they wasted their time. Southhall. If every Sardar worth his turban in Southhall (London) pays 15 pounds and watches this movie...the producers would have made their money. The movie is for them...and them only. Half the time the characters are either speaking "London Ghetto" or punjabi.

AB Sr. had whole of 60 seconds in the movie... and was also responsible for the only part that made sense. At the end he came on screen and laughed out loud and long, looking at the audience - for no apparent reason. But there is a reason... everyone who is foolish enough to spend money and time on this movie deserves to be laughed at.

Atleast he got paid for it. The last laugh my friends was on me.

Enlightening Cinema

A colleague just passed on a URL for a Film Society. (www.enlighten.co.in) These guys organize cinema screenings in association with Cinemax - of critically acclaimed movies. These include both classic and modern. At first sight I could see displays of Godfather (imagine seeing that on the big screen!!), Salaam Bombay, Pather Panchali, ET, a few Hitchcocks... nice.

1500 bucks for an yearly membership (not clear if there are on-the-spot ticket fees too). A good chance for lovers of cinema to experience classics the way they were meant to be. On the big screen.

Fingerprinting the Pirates of Now

While everyone with their heads not buried in sand are smitten by the crazy bunch of pirates in the latest Disney fantasy "Pirates of the Caribbean - At World's end" - there is rampant piracy doing rounds on the world wide web. Recently Viacom slapped a $1 Billion lawsuit on Google Inc. for hosting what Viacom claimed to be illegal copies of copyrighted material. Google denied any such thing of course...but such things will continue to happen - unless someone can actually figure out "Video Fingerprinting".

A video fingerprint is like a unique "code" that is derived from a particular video sequence - for example the Pirates trailer will have a certain code which will be unique to it - and different from the code of say the Pirates movie. So all the Piracy watchdogs have to do is crawl the web - search for videos and do fingerprint matches with a database of copyrighted material. This will enable them to sniff out illegal stuff like a DEA alsatian. Dutch electronics giant Philips already has something like this...and is being used by content companies to crack down on Piracy. But Piracy is like water. It will find a way to get through...no matter now infinitesimal the way is. And in this case it is just a matter of changing the video sequence a little bit - like pasting other video clips in the middle or doing away with the credits or something like that. This will render the video-fingerprinting ineffective.

Duh-uh! Some other company has come out with a solution which will just profile the audio track of the movie. They claim that as the amount of data in the audio track is less - more complex calculations can be done on it - and minor changes in the Audio will not be able to disguise the fingerprint. All the pirates have to do is seperate the Video and the Audio tracks (quite easy - can be done at home) and post them seperately! One has to download them, multiplex and watch.

And the biggest loophole is that, all fingerprinting techniques are meant for public domain web sites only. What about File sharing - the leading method for piracy?

Bottomline - content creation companies can do what they want to... Piracy has become a part of their and our lives. Their only hope is that people appreciate the pleasure of going to cinemas or get the thrill of creating a DVD collection at home. And that I think is still not dead - and will not be for sometime.

In China they eat dogs. Part Four.

As we entered the gates to the Forbidden City – Chang gave me a palm
sized device with a earpiece. It looked like an imitation game boy –
surely, their major tourist attraction was no so boring that one had to
pass time playing video games. I turned the device in my hands and
saw what looked like a map with some LEDs at various points on the
map. I looked at Chang questioningly.

“It’s an interactive map.” He said. “You wear the earphones, and the
device will tell you where in the Forbidden City you are at the
moment along with some information about it.”

I was impressed – last I had seen these things at the Louvre. They
looked much more sophisticated of course.

Imagine having something like this for the Taj Mahal…

“You are currently in the area where you can deface Indian heritage.
Please pick up a stone or any sharp and hard object, and inscribe
yours and your sweetheart’s name on these walls, to make your love
immortal. You want visit the toilet? Don’t bother, that’s what these
walls are for – and don’t worry, no one’s looking – probably they are
doing the same. And if you are chewing beetlenut and all that red
spit is hindering you from expressing amazement at this lovely
edifice, get rid of it now. Choose any wall of your liking and add to
the spit collage like millions of others have done before you! Doesn’t
that red look lovely on the white?”

There was no sign here in the Forbidden City that you should not spit.
Or that you should not attempt to dedicate someone else’s love
memorial to your sweetheart. One does not have to be instructed to
take care of ones treasures.

So we stepped into the spotless compound – and immediately the lady
hidden in the device fired up.

“We thank you for visiting the Forbidden City. We hope you had a
pleasurable experience and learnt something about ancient Chinese
culture. Please return the interactive map to the ticket counters on
your way out. Goodbye and hope to see you again soon!”
“Um, Chang”
“What please?”
“I think this device is not functioning properly. It is asking me to return
it to its master.”

Chang came close to me, and pressed his ear against my ear, on which
I was wearing the Earpiece. I could smell his breakfast through the
after shave. Garlic and Meat. And Soya Milk.
Chang shook his head and said, “It is ok. It is just that we are at the
back entrance, which also happens to be the official exit.”

I suddenly felt like an enema.

So my tour began… Not much to write about that. Except that I was
the only brown skinned, bearded human in miles. The buildings were
nice…typical pagoda style. But all of them looked the same to my
philistine eyes. The Forbidden City is a series of these buildings
interspersed with balconies with stone steps leading into huge
courtyards. Each building had a name like “Hall of Peaceful
Tranquility” or “Hall of Love and Harmony” or something – depending
on what that building was used for. I am sure they sound much less
silly in Chinese.


I soon lost track of which building I was seeing, and which I had
already seen. But here are the buildings that should have been there –
but were somehow missing…

Hall of Hypersensitivity – Where the queen was locked up during
“those” days…
Hall of Painful Senility – Where the royalty wasted away their last
days…
Hall of Surprising Agility – Where the royalty practiced the Kamasutra…
Hall of Hallucinatory Activity – Where the royalty smoked pot…
Hall of Collective Stupidity – Where the Queen and her friends held
their kitty parties…

So we trudged from Hall to Hall, Compound to Compound. I was
faithfully clicking, as a tourist should. We saw huge gold plated
cauldrons (The lady in the device called them “vats”. Obviously she
has never been to Scotland) where they used to store water, in case
there was a fire. The Gold Plating was scraped off by the Japanese
during their occupation…all that was left now were black “vats” with
dirty looking yellow-green patches.


I asked Chang, why weren’t these restored. “So, that we don’t forget.
And the Japanese tourists don’t forget.”

One can draw huge motivation from reminders of the unfairness and
cruelty of the past. It pushes one forward.

Finally we reached the official entry of the Forbidden City from the
wrong side. Like very slow moving vomit.

I was feeling a little tired and very hungry at the end of this long
walk…Chang realized that. He put on his benevolent look, pointed over
my head and said, “Today we will eat where He used to eat.” I swung
around and saw a huge mug shot of Chairman Mao hanging on the gates
of the Forbidden City. He seemed to be looking proudly at the view
ahead. The simply humongous Tiananmen Square. Flanked on either
side by huge edifices from the Communist Era…this huge courtyard of
stone and cement looks imposing.


It was a reminder of a large powerful empire that perished from its
own grandeur. But, at the same time it serves as a reminder to the
rest of the world – that China is rising again. And this time, they are
more sure footed than ever.

Of course all these are after thoughts. At that moment, as I glinted in
the sunlight reflected off the polished floor of the square – all I could
think of was food. I wonder, to the extinction of which mammal, will I
contribute today.

To be continued…

In China they eat dogs. Part Three.

Unfazed by the near death experience – I confidently walked towards
the Forbidden City gates all the time keeping an eye out for any
hooded shaolin assassins. Chang was going on and on about something.
I was too engrossed in my surroundings to concentrate on the intricate
act of deciphering Chinglish. He was talking something about “arriving
at the wrong entrance”, “Taxis not allowed on the other side”, “We
should have come by bus, but I didn’t want to risk setting a crazy
Indian loose in the Beijing Transport System” or something to that
effect.

We strode up to the ticket counter which had a smaller queue than
expected. Maybe because it was a Wednesday – or maybe only the
people who survived the poison tipped arrows reached there. Chang
asked me to wait and went off to buy some tickets.

I squinted in the sunlight, and looked around at the other tourists who
were waiting to get into the Forbidden Gates. Suddenly, a man
wearing a blazing red robe and a yellow cap with “I love China”
emblazoned on it let out a loud war cry and started running towards
me. I knew it was a war cry because he was wildly waving a red flag
with a fiery dragon on it. Behind him other people, wearing the same
yellow cap (sans the robe and the flag, obviously they were meant only
for the leader) started running too.

This was it. The End.

I obviously had broken some centuries old rule and was about to incur
the wrath of a crazy Chinese death squad. Maybe standing lazily with
one’s hands in the pockets is seen as a sign of decadence and is
punishable by impalement. Maybe brown skinned people were not
allowed anywhere near the Forbidden city. Maybe my face reminded
them of the Arab invaders. Maybe I had to too much facial hair. Maybe
they were just jealous I was taller than them…

Whatever it was, the maverick crowd was thundering down upon me. I
knew I should run, but I stood there, my eyes transfixed on the dragon
flag. A dragon spewing fire which would soon engulf me. I urged my
legs to move, but they, who had served me so well since morning,
refused to move.

I stood there helpless, in a trance, as a large yellow bird with a
mangled red beak moved in for its kill. It was one of those moments
when you know that the end is inevitable. Maybe the grim reaper in
China is a yellow bird with a red beak.

The crowd was just yards away from me now. I could hear the
whipping of the dragon flag against the wind. The screaming leader
was now waving at me wildly with his flag. But now it seemed as if the
screaming and the waving was not for killing me, but as a sort of “get
out of the way” sign.

I realized it too late. The crowd was here. I was in the direct path of
the leader, who displayed faster reflexes than I, and swerved at the
last moment, avoiding crashing into me by a hairs breath – leaving me
with a scent of Old Spice and garlic. The rest of the crowd also passed
“through” me as I stood there amidst dust and irritated stares. When
the last one had passed me, I turned around and see where they were
heading. I saw that the leader had reached the stone railing which
overlooked the moat surrounding the Forbidden City walls. He was
looking over the moat and was frantically pointing at something. His
followers clambered over one another to see below.

Now I was curious. Had they seen a person fall into the moat, and
were here to rescue him? Like a Chinese Baywatch squad?
I wandered over, and glanced below. All I could see was a very
frightened and confused duck swimming in the moat. The yellow
headed followers now whipped out their megapixel Sonys and
Olympuses and Nikons and starting clicking like crazy.
At the duck.

I was wondering “What the hell…” when Chang muttered something
from behind. He too had been observing the scene.
“What did you say?” I asked.
“Japanese Tourists” he mentioned, as if that explained everything.
Wait a moment…it does actually. Japanese tourists are known to be
avid photographers, esp. when they were visiting poor rustic lands. But
a duck?
“But a duck?” I asked.
Chang just shrugged and recounted a tale of this trigger happy
Japanese visitor who got very excited by the sight of this horse
crapping on a Beijing street. He just ran towards the horse with his
camera and started (in his own words) “shooting this amazing view of
nature”. The horse got so annoyed that he just took off in the middle
of the job, creating a long running line of turd along the road. The Jap
got all of it on his precious camera. It seems that many Japanese have
lived their entire lives in big mechanized cities and salivate at the
sight of anything “natural”. Poor souls.

“Ah…that’s the Japanese definition of a Kodak moment”, I said.
Chang politely smiled, pretending that he got the joke and we moved
on towards the Gate.

“What about the crazy attire and the yellow caps?” I asked. “So that
they do not get lost”, he replied.

So we non-mongoloids were not the only one who couldn’t make out
one Chinese face from the other…the Japanese also could not make
each other out from the Chinese! That made me feel better about
myself…

This was turning out to be some day.

Wonder what secrets the Forbidden City will unfold for me…to be
continued…

In China they eat dogs. Part Two.

The Forbidden City.

Sounds like a medieval Area 51. Where ultra-secret meetings between
ultra-powerful people took place, the kinds of meetings which usually
would result in the invasion of a neighboring land or the controversial
sale of Swedish boulder catapults… a place replete with forbidden
pleasures for the selected few… forbidden activities conducted the
dark and musty alleyways and hidden enclaves. Shadowy characters
lurking in the shadows smoking weed and gazing out of the murky
depths with soulless eyes.

My over-imaginative brain cooked up elaborate scenarios by the dozen
– so much so that I was feeling tingling excitement as we approached
the gates of the Forbidden City. And why not? After all I was one of the
select few to be invited to see the Forbidden City.

There was a large fortified gate with a lone blind old man sitting
inconspicuously on a dusty wooden stool, guarding it. He sat perfectly
still with unseeing eyes, staring out into the distance – as we
approached him. He made no sign of acknowledgement as our
footsteps echoed our arrival – maybe he was deaf too. Chang, my
Chinese guide, told me to stop and bow at the old man. And he also
told me be very still and not make any sudden movements. I was
surprised.

“But he can’t see…”

Chang put on his best Zen-Master voice and uttered mysteriously “He
who appears to see not, sees the most…” (Ch.IX, Para. II. The Chinese
book of Unnecessarily Mysterious Zen Utterings. Also from The Matrix
part three.)

I pretended to be appropriately mystified and obliged by bowing at
the spooky blind man. Chang bowed too. The blind man sat still.
Unmoving. While I was wondering what to do next, Chang obviously
had done this before. “We wish to enter the Forbidden City” he said,
making our intentions clear – lest the old guy thought we were here to
pee at the gates.

Again no movement from the blind man.

I was about to suggest to Chang that the old man was perhaps not
alive or worse – both blind and deaf…when suddenly those thin lips
moved and the man spoke.

“One who wishes to enter must say the password.”

The password. Of course. This was so common with forbidden places.
Like mom’s cookie jar. Could never really figure out the password on
that one… I looked expectantly at Chang, waiting for him to utter the
magic word. I realized from the absence of sound that he was silent. I
nervously looked around me at the falling dusk. The walls were high
and I could swear I could see hooded men with bows and arrows,
gazing at us from above. Waiting for us to make some sudden
movement so that they would have the pleasure of seeing the poison
tipped arrows pierce our hearts. I decided to shake Chang out of his
apparent reverie.

“Hey, Chang, buddy, I think he wants you to say the password.”
He didn’t move. I was getting irritated now. What’s with these
Chinese and stillness! We Indians like constant motion. Patience is a
gift a few from the subcontinent possess. As a pure reflexive action I
reached out to touch Chang’s shoulder. What happened next took a
few milliseconds – but happened in slow motion for me.

First I caught a steely glint from the corner of my eye. The glint
seemed to be moving towards my head. The same neurotransmitters
which had saved me in the bathroom earlier this morning, fired off –
and I ducked. At the same time there was a loud “whoosh” to my right
from above and the corner of my eye caught another glint also moving
fast towards me.

Chang flew towards me, grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me
back just before the Arrow would have pierced my heart. Panting,
Chang said: “Abi, you should be careful while crossing Chinese roads.”

I broke out of my dream.

We were standing on the roadside, with motor vehicles whizzing past
us. It seems that I had sleepwalked into the gushing traffic and Chang
had pulled me back just in time, or else I would have been on the
menu of the local restaurant…

Can’t wait to get in. To be continued…

In china they eat dogs. Part One.

Three days of eating the internals of various creatures had left my
poor Brahmin stomach in a state of turmoil. And this turmoil had
spread to various parts of my body – affecting my sleep, my dreams
and my mood. I looked and felt like a graveyard. A Pet Cemetery. A
walking encyclopedia of a duck’s Anatomy.

Especially that morning when I was to be picked up by an unnamed
Chinese colleague for some sightseeing in Beijing. As I gazed blankly at
my reflection in the mirror – I realized I didn’t remember that I had
slept. I certainly didn’t feel like I had slept. My head was spinning, my
eyes were bloodshot, my ears had this disorienting buzz from my wake
up call and I was bathed in cold sweat. And all I had to drink last night
was coke. (Maybe Chinese coke is different.) I put down the cover of
the toilet and sat down on it, buried my head in my hands and tried to
bring the spiraling to a stop.

It didn’t help.

I realized I needed a shower. And a coffee. And Gin Seng. So I
stumbled to the water cooker, switched it on, then stumbled back to
the bathroom, maneuvered myself into the tub and turned the shower
knob in the direction of “hot”. Of course my sense of left and right had
temporarily deserted me – and the result was a stinging jet of ice cold
water biting my unsuspecting epidermis like a thousand hungry
Piranhas. My spinal cord jumped into action (the human body is
amazing) and I leapt back with reflexes that completely disregarded
my current mental and physical state. Unfortunately they also
disregarded basic laws of Physics and I had to wildly grab at the
shower curtain.

Shower curtains though appear to be sturdy when subjected to gentle
tugs – are really not meant to decelerate falling bodies. With a Chinese
“ping” one of the curtain rings came off and the others starting
following like sheep. But by that time I had steadied myself and
managed to shift my weight to my by-now-very-awake legs. The
shower curtain was hanging limply on one side akin to the affects of
too much alcohol. I hope the hotel doesn’t charge me for this.
In all this chaotic activity I had completely forgotten about the icecold
water raining down on me – and I suddenly realized that I was as
awake as I ever have been! Cold water was just what Confucius
ordered. I felt as if some crazy Chinese hack had injected me with
dollops of Tai Chi. I felt as if I could scale the walls of the Forbidden
City. I felt I could run the entire length of The Great wall. I felt I could
fight the armies of Genghis Khan. And suddenly when the adrenalin
levels returned to normal I felt like an icicle. I immediately turned the
lever down again and stood there shivering, trying to regain my
breath.

After completing the rest of the bath with relative uneventful ness I
got ready for my impending oriental adventure. We were to visit “The
Forbidden City” – which is the ancient center of Beijing. The name
sounded so exciting. To be continued…