No title.

I avoid writing about discussions which are political or controversial in nature, so will try and give a passive third-person narrative.

This was a discussion over a formal dinner. The participating entities included two natty Frenchmen F1 and F2, a Korean K1, two singaporeans S1 and S2, (all named thus to protect anonymity and prevent ambiguity), and of course, the very non-anonymous Indian: yours truly. The topic of discussion was Lakshmi Mittal's bid to take over Arcelor.

For the uninitiated, Mittal, world's richest non-american, has made a "hostile" bid for Arcelor, the detailed analysis of which can be found online in abundance. This bid has sent the price of the Arcelor stock and the pulses under the white skin racing.

So, S1 asked the frenchmen about their opinion on this proposed merger/acquisition/takeover. The opinions at the start of the argument were predictable, plain vanilla - Jobs will be lost, hostile bid is contrary to practise, Mittal will control a bit too much etc etc.

Then came the part of the argument which was strange to say the least. The part of the argument which has been labelled as "cultural differences" in papers for lack of a civil word. F1, F2 firmly argued that this takeover would compromise the quality. Of what? The quality of life. As corroborative evidence, they quoted the example of the slums in Mumbai. The quality of life in EU was supposedly already pretty good, the best in fact, and there is no scope for improvement. This was peppered with the *characteristic french shrug*

K1 argued that as European the firm is a brand, and the brand value will be lost, and pointed it to the French wine on the table, and said "This cannot be replicated". (perhaps, by then he had enough of it to swear his allegiance). To this S1 quoted an article from the Time magazine which described how the Chinese have managed to replicate French Wine to such a degree of accuracy that even connoisseurs are confused, and that its more cost-effective. All of them vehemently shook their heads to this and said it was impossible. Even if its expensive, K1 claimed that people will still pay for it, since its all in the name. A brand is like an insurance for which you pay a premium. Hmm... Nice parallel that.

S2, like a typical Singaporean, kept quiet through it all.

Brands? Quality of life? Is that argument remotely convincing?

Xenophobia, certainly. Nationalism, chauvinism, jingoism to various degrees, perhaps. Maybe, the french ideas are like they prefer their wine to be: vintage. But what really bothered me was, why did I feel the undercurrents of racism in it all. Its easy to be passive towards it when the news aggregator bundles them up as "all 3xx related-->" but, you really feel the pinch of it when you are right in the middle of it. Like I typecast them using alphabets, I and I1 - I1000,000,000, yes, we are typecast too, because of the colour of our skin.

(As an aside, strictly within the boundary of cultural prejudices, it was strange to see a Korean talk about brands, and genuine stuff.)

In any case, it's just a matter of time.....

After-thought: Very tempted to quote Russell Peters. If you know what I am talking about...

Valentine Baba ki jai!

That was the subject of the email I received yesterday from a friend. Very innovative indeed.

So I wondered, if we changed the wish from "Happy St. Valentines Day" to the above, would it please the Shiv Sena and Bajrang Dal and whoever else thinks its a "bad" influence on Indian culture? As they fervently claim, love and the expression of it must be a sacrilege to Indianness. And hence, poets wrote volumes about lovers canoodling in the parks in springtime. And, emperors spent collosal sums of money to build what are now known as wonders of the world. And, we pray to those who loved since they loved. Not only that, 64 different ways of eating the forbidden fruit were described in detail in a book, which makes excellent dinner conversation in the western world. (Are we a fairly bad influence on them too?)

For the record, I detest 14th of Feb, though for a completely different reason. My abhorrence springs from the fact that I think this pop-movement was a started by card companies to generate revenue. Don't you think the popularity is a very good example of superb marketing? Who had heard of Mother's day, and Father's day and Friendship day, and every-other-day till maybe 15 years ago?

Also, belly full of Helium or otherwise, I detest heart-shaped balloons. Yes, even before Dil Chahta Hai.

So, after careful consideration, in search of something not so cloying and yet practical, (and succumbing to peer-pressure of giving a gift), I have decided to give my valentine a potato as a gift. Why?

Its unique, can be eaten in various forms (baked, fried and mashed), its full of energy (high carbs) an nutrition, everyone loves it and the best part is: it is sometimes shaped like a heart (Not the oh-so-sweet-oh-so-red type, but a real one like in bio text books).

Here's looking at you, kid!

A Fiery love story

She was a-little-over-four years old and he exactly a month younger than a-little-over-four. They had been friends for the longest time possible and spent all their time together.

He learnt this little trick of holding a matchstick between the forefinger and thumb, balancing the matchbox on the back of his hand, tossing it up in the air and striking the match. Its quite a feat, if you know how to do it right.

One day they were playing under the bed, and he decided to demonstrate his prowess by demonstrating this trick. Somehow the matchstick slipped, and the "modha" (the small cane stool), which was carefully hidden under the bed, caught fire. Before they could control it, it rolled over and the bedsheet caught fire, followed by the whole bed.

So he, the one with the trick and the intelligence, asked her to get some water to douse the fire. She, the one without common-sense, found a soap dish: the wrong half, the bottom half. Obviously, by the time she would get to the room the water would fall through those little drainage holes in the soap dish.

Girly Girl panics and screams "Aag". Parents come to rescue.

They get fired.

It was a bad accident, a misadventure that could have ended badly... Thankfully, both of them got off unscathed. And lived happily ever after.

One scar however remains: This story is often narrated as "They set the bed on fire".

Yes, they struck a match at four.

Rang De Basanti

( Paint It yellow: Indian Yellow to be precise!)

Reviewing Rang de Basanti is the in thing to do. I shall conform. But instead of the ubiquitous dissection of every aspect of filmmaking and a detailed study of characters, I will make it an inane and brief questionnaire for all those who have watched it or plan to watch it. Will add more questions as and when they occur to me. Here goes:

The theme of the movie:
a. Coming of age movie
b. Patriotic movie
c. Both
d. Neither

The time period of narration:
a. Historical aka. "Period movie"
b. Contemporary movie.
c. Both
d. Neither

Colours?
a. Sepia
b. Vivid with all hues of the spectrum.
c. Both
d. Neither

Characters are:
a. Black and White
b. Colourful
c. Both
d. Neither

Rate the end of the movie:
a. Melodramatic/ Conventional
b. One with Poetic Justice/ Unconventional
c. Both
d. Neither

Entertainment factor:
a. Fun
b. Thought-provoking/ Serious
c. Both
d. Neither

Dialogues?
a. Predictable
b. Entertaining and Funny
c. Both
d. Neither

Songs?
a. Brilliant
b. Exquisite
c. Both
a. Neither

There I am done. So you c?

---
And for completeness will add this piece of trivia that goes with every review of Rang De Basanti:

Did you know Alice Patten is the daughter of Chris Patten, the last British governor of Hong Kong?
---

"Azaadi hi meri Dulhan hai."

---

*Edit*

Roo-ba-Roo,
Roshni

They Pass On The Torch of Life

Somedays you take the sorry route of quoting someone else to cover up the self-induced vaccum of verse or prose, or written text in any form. Routinely recite this one when watching cricket, which happens occasionally. I can't locate the silly point or the gully, though I know the on-side from the off-side. Never figured the googly, though pretended to. Yet, like all Indians, cricket is still religion for me.

Vitai Lampada
("They Pass On The Torch of Life")

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night --
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote --
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

The sand of the desert is sodden red, --
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; --
The Gatling's jammed and the Colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks:
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the School is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind --
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

Sir Henry Newbolt (1862-1938)

Themes explored...

Solar Eclipse of a "para"-normal kind

A little girl came running all excited and announced that she knew her grandad's email password. She didn't relent to the pestering by the curious-everyone. Only after they bribed her with goodies, she proudly revealed the secret key:
Star-star-star-star-star-star.

Sandmen: An antithesis to Calvin's Snowmen.

Chronicles of a Birthday Girl.

Its birthday time. Tomorrow I am getting a year older. Somewhere along the line, birthdays stopped being important. Somewhere along the line, I stopped reminding people of my impending birthday. Somewhere along the line, I became old. OLD. Many years ago, balloons gave me the cheap thrills I sought. Now nothing less than hot air balloons would do the trick.

I dont recollect a better part of the past. Yes, age is catching up on me. A few slices of the Birthday (cake?):

The Third: My cake was shaped like a castle. Exactly like the one in the book of rhymes I had. My creative addition: my favourite red car was parked right outside. From the book:

What are little girls made of?
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and Spice and everything nice
Thats what little girls are made of!

The Fifth: My birthday dress was red and white. Checks. And it had apples in front. I distinctly remember thinking: Mango is a summer fruit, and apple is a winter fruit. And my birthday is in winter, hence it should be apples on my dress. Yes, logic came early to me. (Now I am in an eternal summer where mangoes and apples are available through the year)..... My birthday cake had five dolls. Their heads were made of biscuits, and had candles stuck on them. And their brown eyes were drawn with vanilla essence.

The Sixth: I received Readers' Digest (Richard Attenborough's) "The Living Planet" as a birthday Gift from Ma and Papa. Glossy books you would love running your fingers on, and they smelt so fresh. I was fascinated by the picture of the volcano. I promised to myself I will see a volcano, among other things, some day.

Few Years Later: I had a crush, a first. He hand-made a card. I still have it somewhere. It was before the sketchpen lined, crayon filled cards made way to the sweet-smelling-yet-fake cards from Archies/Hallmark. Till date, I havent understood the need for them.

The Sixteenth: I felt pretty. The dress was blue and red. Bright. The big group of people had made way to just a few close friends at home. I also felt grown up, rejected the hype around birthdays. People felt irrelevant. I felt irrelevant to people. But thankfully, this feeling was superficial. Between 10 pm and midnight that day, I received 15 phone calls, from people who mattered. To whom, I mattered.

The Eighteenth: Ma donated the defining words to history: "I give you your freedom". Used in quote-unquote a million times since, I still haven't understood the drama around hitting 18. I remember feeling responsible. Feeling adult. That's the day, I think, I lost my freedom.

The Few Fun years: Characterized by Midnight Birthday surprises (which weren't surprising at all), big get togethers, noisy celebrations. We made plans of the big life ahead, which was ironic since figuring what to wear in the morning seemed like a big decision then. I miss that. Sometime in one of those birthdays, I also received my first bottle of Escada Margaritha Ley. My love affair with perfumes started. I have the bottle. Still. Almost empty. Smells as sweet.

2002: Four days before the dreaded GRE. Remember being full of words, big ones: The "phobias" and the "-isms" finally got a name. Normal distribution was the common enemy in more ways than one. I also spent time figuring how Dave and Joe and Harry managed to live in a strange lane full of different coloured houses, where noone got along with anyone else. Remember being worried sick. About future. About the present. About why I couldn't manipulate the past. Remember watching "Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham" and not forgiving myself for it. Till date.

2003: Four days after I landed in Singapore. I missed Chennai, I missed Bangalore. I missed the comforts. More so, I missed the people. I lived in denial, so much so, that I didnt want any new friends. Phone rang almost incessantly all day. Considering the fact that noone knew my phone number yet, I felt important.

Last year: My close friend and partner in many a crime forgot my birthday. And I spent the whole day believing he was playing a prank and would call 5 minutes before midnight. At 230 am (Midnight IST), I realized that he really forgot. Will give him grief over it for ever and a day more. Hence etched it here.

Dad wrote a touching mail stating he never realized when I grew up from a small baby to an individual with a mind of my own. I took that as a compliment. I think he wanted to use the word "lady" somewhere, but I didnt fit into the role too well. After reading the mail, I cried for an hour.

This year: Pretentious as it my sound, I gift myself: a real yet surreal alter-ego, my nemesis. A quick trip to Malaysia, and a blog written with narcissistic fervour.

New Year. New resolve.

I shall write.
Again.

Of Routines and Fragile Bonds...

No post for a long time... Life has sunk into a pattern, a routine which springs few surprises. Its not that I am complaining.

Every morning, I wake up and make my way to the bus stop on the other side of the road. I use the overbridge. Every morning I cross her, exactly midway through. Indian lady, early 30s. Everyday, she smiles at me, I smile back. Its an expression of familiarity, just that I don't know her, yet. And yet, in the strangest of ways, we have formed a bond, of brief good mornings.

Yesterday, I was a few minutes late, and she came a few steps ahead. Our secret pattern was dented, ever so slightly. On seeing me, she gave me the biggest, widest, toothiest grins ever. I could see her breathe a sigh of relief.

Sometimes, I wonder if I should stop and talk to her for a brief second. But I am usually in a rush, and in all likelyhood, so is she. We don't have time. We never have time.

Ah, routine...

Pop Wisdom!

Everything will be okay in the end; If its not okay, its not the end.
--Frog

On Advertising...

Real-estate agents routinely leave their "elevator" pitches in the postbox. I routinely drop it in the trash can before getting into the elevator. Not this one: found this a few days back.

I have no comments, just one question - What was he thinking?

Of Blogging and the big O...

Two bloggers were jailed in Singapore under the sedition act. Race and religion are sensitive issues, the law would try to preserve this delicate balance of harmony and peace. Hence, a punishment was inevitable.

In an isolated set of incidents, an institution, their ads, and bloggers’ opinions on it have wreaked havoc in the Indian blogosphere creating heroes and villains alike. The incident, though not as serious as the one in Singapore, is dramatic enough to make the story worthy of a “K” prefix… All of them: bloggers and the bloggers blogging about those bloggers, are superglued to this one concept: “Freedom of Speech”.

What bothers me here, is our Opinions, strong Opinions, our expression of those Opinions, how much are we are entitled to express in the public domain, and how much restraint should be practised.

I spent some time mulling over it. Under a broad generalization, there is an inherent contradiction in my opinions about the above incidents. On the one hand, I feel the Bloggers (A) had to be reprimanded since they shouldn’t have expressed their opinions the way they did. On the other hand, I could join the peace march for Bloggers (B) and brandish a flag about their right to express theirs…

I eventually figured the key to untangle the mess, to put things into perspective. Abstract and fragile as the idea may seem: its what we call the Social Responsibility. Bloggers (A) didn't use theirs, Bloggers (B) were acting on it. Simple.

With great power, comes great responsibility.
--Peter Parker/Spiderman

The view outside

From the moving car!
Posted by Mo

This pic is absolutely my favourite. It was taken on the highway, and we couldn't stop the car. Even if we could, who wanted to get outside?

Winter's gold, Aspenglow

The road (not) less taken
Posted by Mo

Mulling over the Transience of Life

Snowmen - by Calvin
Posted by Mo

Trip to Canadian Rockies, Part 3 Alpine Glow

First rays of the sun hit the snow-covered peaks and it looked like someone set it on fire. The full moon was still waiting, as if to witness it. Words can't do it justice so I let the pic do the talking, but in short: the view took my breath away.

The picture is a bit grainy and asymmetric, and there are two street lights standing right in the front in full view, but this pic was the first one taken, and here the moon is in all its glory. Which makes it Perfect.

Trip to Canadian Rockies, Part 2 Maple County

It is a strange country out there. The Queen of United Kingdom is the constitutional head, French is the national language, and yet it is American enough... From a die-hard British/French/American chauvinists' point of view, something doesn't seem right, isn't it?

So, in what seems like a good attempt to assert their unique identity, they use the maple leaf. In fact, Use of "use" would be an understatement: they overuse the maple leaf. So from the flag to the plastic leaves which decorate shop windows, to boxer shorts: it is the maple leaf everywhere. And then there are the subtle variations: Maple syrup in bottles shaped like maple leaves, Cookies shaped like maple leaves stuffed with maple cream. Surprisingly, I didn't see as many "real" maple trees. The only leaves I found shaking and swaying in all their glory with the wind were the ones on the ubiquitous flag.

Trip to Canadian Rockies, Part 1 a.k.a The Harrassed Flier

Travelling to US is on my list of least favourite things to do. Unfortunately its usually unavoidable.

Phase 1: 5 am, Changi International Airport, "Pre"-check-in procedure for a US bound flight.

She: Ma'am, could I ask you a few questions
Me : Sure.

She: "You are travelling to US"
Me : Is that a trick question?
"Yes." *Smile* "On transit to Canada."

She: "So what are the contents of your bags?"
Me : Oh, you don't want to ask a girl that!! At this moment, I make a mental check -- Zillions of clothes- winter clothes, going-out clothes, sporty clothes, shoes,.... did I forget anything? "Just Personal stuff!"

She: So, who packed your bags!?
Me : "Me, of course." Is that a rhetorical question?

She: Did anyone else give you anything to take with you?
Me : How I wish! A few more clothes would do me no harm. "No."

She: Are you sure ma'am?
Me :Sure, confident, lock kiya jaye? " Yes, very sure."

She: Do you have any electronics with you?
Me : Just a digital camera!

She: Ok, from now till you board the flight, please don't accept anything from anyone!
Me : *Kinda scared by now* I was just planning to get some books from the book shop, and theoretically that would be accepting something from some one, right? (Ha ha ha, the Smart alec strikes back!)

She: Of course you can.

Phase 2: Around 6 am. Boarding Gate

He: Miss, can you take off your shoes, belt, jacket and also remove all the cellphones, coins, knives, swords, bazookas, Ak-47s, matchboxes, lighters, fire extinguishers, nailcutters etc. from your pockets.
Me: Ok. Wow! Thats a long list.

*I trudge across and pull my shoes on.*

She: Can you take off your sneakers again?
Me : AAAAArrggghhhh. "Yes, of course."

She takes it and puts it on the table, then takes a small piece of paper and touches it all around my shoes. She puts the paper on a measuring device.

Me: MY SHOES DON'T STINK!

The machine label says something about "radioactivity". 3..2...1..*Beep*. She nods. I put on my shoes.

Me: Thanks and have a nice day.

The adventure had just started.

So we are 96% Percent similar to Chimps..

I thought being born in the year of the monkey was the worst part of the joke on me!

These boots are meant for blogging?

Continuing with new girly avatar that I seem to have assumed, I post a link to this. Found the link to this super-popular blog quoted in one of those "blogs to watch out for" columns in the paper today.
Even if you are not obsessed with the shoes, or not obsessed with someone who is obsessed with the shoes, still if you would notice, the Manolo, he has a strange way of writing.