Review: Kahaani

"The greatest trick that the devil ever played, was to convince the world that he did not exist and then poof! just like that he was gone!" As the stupid cripple, Verbal Kint walked out of the police station, agent Kujan sits on his desk sipping coffee, when suddenly it dawns upon him and the whole charade falls into place. The concocted story, the random subjects and the bloody brilliance of the whole thing. The Usual Suspects, to me, is the pinnacle of thriller stories.

What Sujoy Ghosh's Kahaani is, a remarkable effort of a new age director who doesn't fear making a strong story the hero. Its hard to believe that the director who made the Ritesh Deshmukh starring 'Alladin' could dish out something like this. After Ishqia, Delly Belly, LSD and PST, this is another feather in the cap of a reinvented Bollywood.

Kahaani, begins with a heavily pregnant Vidya Bagchi (Balan), landing in Kolkatta, armed with only a Evian water bottle and steely resolve to find her missing husband, Arnab Bagchi. Arnab, a Firewall expert, like his wife, had landed in National Data Center for a two week assignment and suddenly disappeared without a trace. The strange part is that there is no record of any Arnab arriving, staying or working in Kolkata. Is he for real or just a reality in Mrs.Bagchi's head?

A visit to the Kalighat police station to file a missing person's complaint, introduces us Asst. Sub Inspector Shotyoki Sinha aka Rana (played by a superb Parambrata Chaterjee). From here on he becomes her real shotyoki (Arjun's sarathi), walking side by side, unraveling the twists and turns of the story. Vidya or Bidda, as everyone in Kolkatta calls her, hits a blank at every connection of her husbands'. The seedy hotel where he was staying says he never arrived there, NDC claims there was no such assignment, the school where he studied says no Arnab Bagchi was a student there. The HR manager at NDC Agnes, however feels that her husband's face resembles an ex-employee Milan Damji, who worked there two years ago. This line of investigation sets the cat among the pigeons, with even the Intelligence Bureau (IB) jumping into the fray. A shady LIC agent doubling up as a contact killer, Bob Biswas (Saswata Chaterjee) is assigned to bump off the geriatric Agnes for ruffling leaves. The story moves on at a fast pace and with each new plot unfolding, it becomes clear that Arnab's disappearing act is strongly connected Milan Damji, who is the prime suspect of the Kolkata Metro massacre that killed over hundred civilians, over two years ago. That is the reason, IB agent Khan (Nawabbudin Siddique), hot on the heels of the Damji, is hell bent of keeping Mrs. Bagchi away from the investigation, lest she upset the applecart. But with the help of a mole within the bureau, Damji is always a step ahead of the law. The plot takes us though the backdrop of the attack with the leads trying to piece together the bits of Damji's life in order to reach him and hence Arnab. The climax set during the tumultuous time of Durga Pujo, is the perfect finale to a tightly woven story with an unbelievable ending. (I wont spoil your fun, by elaborating it. Go catch the movie for yourself). 

The first thing that really hits you in the movie is the detail to character. Rarely has Bollywood, shown stories of platonic love: no cheesiness, no melodrama, no lust. For Rana, she is talented, relentless, beautiful and so brave. At times he is in awe of her, at times protective and most times just glad to help her out. Bob Biswas, the unassuming hitman, who greets people before shooting them is creepy and loveable at the sametime. Bishnu aka 'Running Hot Water', the affable helping hand in the hotel, who takes his little transistor everywhere he goes, Chaterjee, the portly inspector who hates the beeping computer, Khan the angry young man from IB,  everyone has space and meaning in the story. But the strongest character is Kolkata itself. It lives, breathes and grows upon you, especially during the Pujo times. The vibrant colors, the suffocating traffic, the endless din, the yellow cabs and the piping chai, the processions all make you love and hate the place at the same time. 

The cinematography is really slick and no praises are enough for  Sethu for having captured the heart of the city and the depth of the characters though the lens. Even sharper is the editing of Namrata Rao, who is raking in medals after movies like LSD, Oye Lucky and BBB. The screenplay and story by Sujoy Ghosh is pacy and almost water tight. Music by Vishal-Shekar is complementary especially the opening number "Ami Shotti Bolchi" by Usha Uttup is well sung, well arranged and superbly shot.  The casting is brilliant and every actor does justice to the well crafted roles. Unheard of till now, Bengali actor Parambrata Chatterjee, as the cop willing to go any distance to help the lady in distress is a revelation. The scenes where his sense of protection overpowers him and he calls her Vidya and not Mrs.Bagchi, his daily calls to his mother while returning home from work are all very endearing. The director also ekes out strong performances from the remaining cast, especially Nawbuddin Siddique as Khan and Saswata Chaterjee as Bob Biswas. But at the end of the day, it is all about Vidya Balan. There are few heroines today who can shoulder a movie on their own and Vidya proves again that why she is setting the pedestal so high. She is alternatively vulnerable and brave, driven only by the dogged determination to find her husband. Her ability to portray the complexities within the character and her metamorphosis from a helpless pregnant woman to Ma Durga is captivating. She is without a doubt, the new Khan of Bollywood.

The movie ultimately, is the director's baby. Never-heard-of-before director, Sujoy Ghosh manages to do what every movie should do well - tell a good story well. The direction is taut and never loses steam. There are several intentional and unintentional references and tributes to other movies and directors. Being a big fan of Satyajit Ray, Ghosh has a lot of scenes which celebrate Ray, like the camera staying within the car, scenes inspired by Aranyer Dinratri, shots of the metropolis similar to Ray's masterpiece 'Mahanagar' or the lonely wife opening the windows to watch the world in Charulatha. The climax also unintentionally pays tribute to other classics like the chaotic Pujo ending, similar to the Ganapati Visarjan in Agneepath and the lal-paad sari clad Balan lost in the crowd, similar to the fantastic Bowler Hat climax in Peirce Brosnan's 'The Thomas Crown Affair'.

Its a brave new breed of Bollywood today, where the trailers live up to the expectations. I'm loving it!

Review: Paan Singh Tomar

It was ironic. Really! I watched Paan Singh Tomar, the day one of India's greatest cricketers announced his retirement. Newspapers, TV Channels, FM radio, Social Networks were all buzzing with glorious tributes to the 'Wall'. The theater, was well, never mind!

Paan Singh Tomar, is a story of  a simpleton who wears multiple hats as a farmer, soldier, sportsman, father and more infamously, as a Baaghi! Hailing from a small village from Morena, MP, Paan Singh (player by Irfan)  joins the Rajputana Rifles because be believes "Is desh mai, Army ke alawa sab chor haigo". His potential to effortlessly run long distances is immediately noted by Major Masand when Paan is asked to run twenty rounds for reporting to duty a day late. The voracious young man soon learns in the army mess, that joining sports in the army gives the license of unlimited food, a luxury not all sepoys can enjoy. As the proof of the pudding, he manages to deliver a bar of ice cream within four minutes to Major Masand's house before it can melt. No sooner, he is drafted into the athletics team.

A reed thin Paan,  shows his class by beating the entire set of trained athletes on the first day. Constrained by nepotism, his coach (played by an endearing Rajendra Singh) convinces Paan that he is better suited for running Steeple Chase than the 5000m. Thus begins the story of  Paan the athlete, who keeps breaking records to win medals at state, national and even International meets. Tomar breaks the national steeplechase record in the 1958 National Games in Cuttack with a timing of nine minutes and 12.4 seconds and his own record in the 1964 Open Meet in Delhi with a timing of nine minutes and four seconds. Running gives him opportunity, friendships, identity, fame and yes, unlimited food. 

Things, however are not so rosy back home.  His idyllic family life is thrown out of gear by a bunch of greedy relatives who are hell bent of snatching his land. A rational and fair armyman, stands no chance against the atrocities of gun totting relatives, who make life a living hell for his family. Paan tries using his army background to reach out to officials and the panchayat for help, but they all lead to dead ends. The last straw comes as his son's brutal assault which leaves the young man half dead. But, half dead is not dead, according to the local police, who insult a enraged Paan Singh when he reach out for help. His trinket collection of photos, trophies and articles mean nothing more than scrap to the insouciant inspector. "Desh ka naam uncha kiya hai maine. Kyon bhaaga main itna?" screams out an angry Paan. "To medal mila na uske liye!".

Paan is now left with no other option to pick up the gun. And once you pull the trigger, there is no stopping is there? His life now turns into a unrelenting series of cat and mouse with dodging bullets, kidnappings and death. His band and fame soon spread across the borders of three states. The dusty ravines of Chambal become home, the gang, family and the rifle, the ticket to lawlessness and power. But every meteoric rise is followed by an inevitable gory end and downfall. Its just that Paan Singh takes it with the utmost dignity and panache.

The movie is the brainchild of director Tigmanshu Dhulia, who heard about PST when he was working in Chambal for Shekar Kapoor's Bandit Queen. He then took it upon himself to gather hard to find information about the national champion turned villain. He ensures that he portrays the times and characters with utmost authenticity, including locations, dialects and events. Kudos to the new wave of Indian directors, who are not afraid to risk telling different stories and making tough movies. The cinematography is beautiful, from capturing the lanky subedar conquering the race track in baggy shorts to reigning over the unforgiving hinterlands of Chambal. The sparse and rugged landscapes evoke strong memories of Bandit Queen and Omkara. Speaking of Omkara, one cannot miss the brilliant dialogues written by Tigmanshu doing full justice to the local dialects.Classics like " Beehad mein ‘Baaghi’ hote hain, ‘Dacait’ milte hain parliament mein!"  and "beta daro mat… ye police ki vardi mein police hi hai!"  will be long remembered in times to come. 

At the end of the day, PST is all about Irrfan Khan. The most underrated actors of our times. He brings in an effortless authenticity and sincerity to one of the most difficult roles to pull off in the recent past. He's lovable as a ravenous athlete, believable as a humble farmer, charming as a playful husband, mature as a father and above all scintillating as runaway outlaw. The supporting cast also doles out strong performances. Mahie Gill as the subedar's wife, Brjendar Kala as the ultna nervous journalist taking interview, Zakir Husaain as Inspector Rathore are all very convincing. 

Bandit movies have always been popular. From the blood thirsty outlaws in Seven Samurai, to the legendary Gabbar Singh, they have captured the imagination of viewers and taken them through wild journeys of terror, bravery and madness. PST although being in the same league, forces us to ask one important question. Do we really as a nation, take sportsmen other than cricketers seriously? The long list of Indian athletes shown at the end of the movie, who died penniless and without basic medical facilities is heart wrenching. Its a shame, that as a country we treat our sporting heroes as unwanted liabilities. Maybe that is why we are not producing great sportsmen anymore, maybe that is why India will never be a force to recon with in a 100m dash. Pity!

Review: The Dirty Picture

The writer throws his story "Sir, the hero then cracks the ribs of 20 people with a single punch".

The ageing superstar replies "This wont work at all. There is no sword fight scene in the climax"

"But Sir, the hero is a Police Officer. From where will he get a sword?"

"Hmm, you have a point here. Then he can have the sword as some ancestral heirloom"

"But Sir, how can he have a heirloom? Our hero is an orphan."

"Orphaned heroes are so 60s! The public doesn't want this anymore. They want change. Give him a family. Give him a sister. Give her Izzat and then get her raped.Now that is a story!"

"Fantastic Sir, Superhit! This movie will be a guaranteed superhit!"

More than anything else, The Dirty Picture is a tribute to the 80s. Where the heroes were Gods, heroines were plus ones, movies were peppered with garish sets, over the top costumes, cliched story lines, cheesy dialogues, vulgar dances, suggestive songs and testosterone filled unbelievable fight sequences. The absolute pits of Bollywood history. And its a treat to watch Milan Lutharia's Dirty Picture just to recapture these  bizarre times.

A biopic is based loosely on the life of South Indian sex siren 'Silk' Smita. The rags to riches story of a woman ahead of her times and the inevitable downfall is the central plot. A woman who unabashedly used her body and sexuality to titillate and shake the morality of a shallow society. Reshma, played by Vidya Balan, is a small time extra on movie sets whose gyrations and potential are discovered by a keen eyed producer. She is offered an 'item number' with Surayakant (Nasseruddin Shah), an aging leading man, whose growing paunch and greying hair are no deterrent to romance girls half his age. The ambitious and sharp Reshma, who is now rechristened Silk, capitalizes on the window of opportunity using Suryakant as a launchpad to catapult her life into a tailspin of sex, success and stardom.

Abaraham (an uber cool Emraan Haashmi), is an intelligent director who wants to make meaningful and thought provoking movies. The meteoric rise of 'cheap' Silk overlapping his own 'grey cells' driven career is a reason strong enough for him to hate Silk to his last breath. Suryakant continues to use Silk to quench his thirst for sex and desire for success. Suryakant's brother, Ramakant ( Tushaar Kapoor ) is an aspiring script writer, who is madly in love with the voluptuous dancer. These three men form the triangle of love, sex and deceit around Silk.One cannot decide if she is a victim or an opportunist. Its inevitable truth that an inexorable and quick rise is followed by a dark and quicker downward spiral. Silk continues to get dragged into a life of alcohol, lust, exploitation, heart break, failure, bankruptcy, loneliness and eventually death.  

The movie is a brave effort to be different. Is it a classic? No. It has his baggage of lapses. The second half is a drag with several unnecessary scenes like a catfight with another item girl, out of place dance sequence, extended drama-bazi at an awards function. The screenplay is at times tardy and predictable. In terms of performances, Nasseruddin Shah effortlessly carries the role of the age defying hero and Emraan Hashmi always manages to grab and deliver interesting roles. Tushaar Kapoor is easily replaceable and sticks out as a sore thumb amongst a host of capable actors, managing to eke out a role just because of  big sis! The music is catchy and relevant, especially the chartbuster from Bappi Da!

There are two things that stand out in the movie. Firstly, the dialogues by Rajat Arora. They are sharp, heavy, bucolic and in the face:the 80s in a nut shell. From crackerjackers like  "Agar upar wale ne neeche itna kuch diya, to thoda share karne mein kya jata hai" and "Public samaan dekhne ati hai, dukaan nahi", every other dialogue is a riot. The second and the pivotal part of this movie is Vidya Balan. She has managed to define a new range of characters for herself in Bollywood, be it the dogged mother in Pa, the femme fatale in Ishqia, the plain jane sister in NOKJ or the glamorous Silk in The Dirty Picture. She single handedly carries the movie on her heaving cleavage and thrusting pelvis. She lives and breathes fire into Silk with a passion unseen before and sets a new bar amongst today's heroines. The cookie cutter class of Deepikas and Katrinas look so childish and incapable in front of Vidya. She is no doubt going to bull doze all the award ceremonies next year.

Its great to see that over the last few years, Bollywood is not afraid to try new ideas and brave new frontiers. Add this to its list of movies carving a new niche for Hindi films. Go watch the movie, for Vidya and definitely for the Dialogue baazi!

Why we love Calvin and Hobbes!

Fourteen years ago, one fine Saturday morning I opened Times of India to find this cartoon strip for the first time. I had never laughed so hard at a cartoon before. It was crisp, it was witty and it was hands down funny! Its been fourteen years, and there has not been a single day since Calvin and Hobbes has not enriched my life. Today I have the entire collection in soft copy, all the books in paperback and I have the hard bound limited edition set! I sit and wonder, why is it that everyone loves CnH so much and the list is just endless!

You will laugh so much, you'll cry
Whatever the format, the setting, the language, the message, a cartoon fundamentally needs to be funny. Bill Watterson is undoubtedly the most talented cartoonist of all times. He always manages to bring in amazing humor into such short pieces of art, they will leave you rolling on the floor. The humor cuts across all ages, topics and formats.


Verbose or sparse!
Watterson in his '10th Anniversary Edition' talks about two strips that influenced him to write CnH, Peanuts by Charles Shultz and Pogo by Walt Kelly. You can clearly see the shades of both in CnH. The flat, spare and laconic drawings of Peanuts and the lush, bombastic, nonsensical commotion in Pogo. Every comic strip has its own style. Rarely can one find, a strip that can be either verbose or sparse, and be awesome either way!



It happened in your life? It's already there in CnH!
I had lost a good friend of mine in a tragedy. I opened that newspaper the next day and there was the 'Dead Racoon' series on CnH, which was almost talking to me. It was spooky. For every small incident in your life: important, insignificant, happy, sad, there is a Calvin strip for it. I have sat down to make so many presentations in my career and I always manage to find a CnH strip perfect for the point I am making on the slide. It, just goes to show the genius of Bill Watterson and his powers of observation. There is a Sherlock Holmes case, where at the end after getting the logic behind how the case was solved, Watson is amazed that both Holmes and he could see all the facts in front of them, yet only Watson failed to see them. And Holmes replies " People see dear Watson, I, observe".


The third frame
Usually the daily strip is a standard four frame cartoon. It sort of builds up the curiosity when you are reading frame by frame. I love those strips which have the 'moment of realization' third frame. There are no dialogues, just a silent Calvin or Hobbes, looking straight at your face. And you know, that the last frame is going to have a killer one liner. And once you are done reading and laughing your guts out, you are forced to look back at the expression in the third frame and end up laughing even more!

Masti ki Paathshaala
Those were the times, weren't they? With so much to see, learn and get fascinated by. No malice, no pressure, no complications. And it is this essence of school life which Watterson so beautifully captures in his strips. I bet, almost everyone who reads the stips, just wishes that they can get back to the times of the uniform, school bus, recesses, PT and times that were far simpler.

HowStuffWorks.com

As a kid I always wondered, how a rectangular bus could turn around a curve. The storks delivering the baby formula has almost become legendary. For every question that a kid has, grown ups need to come up with an answer which may very well change that small world of the kid. I just love the Calvin and his Dad's question answer sessions. As Watterson puts it "It must be great temptation to misuse one's parental authority for private jokes."

The parent trap!
I am not a parent, and can't imagine how it's going to be having a 'pain in the ass' kid. I have seen my mother pull out her hair, all thanks to her 'wonderful' sons. When I first introduced her to CnH, she could so easily connect with Calvin's mom. And it just makes you wonder, how the hell did Bill Watterson manage to churn out such amazing parent-kid confrontation strips, when he doesn't have kids of his own!


Snow men!
There are lots of CnH stories, which personally don't thrill me, like the Transmornifier or the Rosalyn series. But what really kills me are the Snow men series. With a very basic framework of just conversations and building snow men, Watterson comes up with so many interesting strips, it amazing!



Who is your role model, really?
Whatever people say about being good and fair, they all know deep down, its fun to be bad, to be lazy, to play pranks, to lie and be a little mean. Calvin embodies everything that people would want to be, but can't, as they are bound by rationality, society and responsibility. This is just an outlet for all such people, to find out, just how different life would have been, only if they could live the way they really wanted to!


Tiger, tiger, burning bright
Frodo couldn't have reached Mt.Doom if not for Sam, Harry couldn't have brought down Voldemort without Ron and without Jerry, Tom would have just been a cat running around the house. Calvin, without Hobbes, wouldn't be just as much fun! Hobbes is the friend who one always wants, he is the innocent bystander, he is the mirror to the world around. And the stuffed tiger vs. imaginary friend, is just different versions of reality for Bill Watterson. As he quotes "The nature of Hobbes's reality doesn't interest me and each story goes out of the way to avoid resolving the issue. Calvin sees Hobbes one way and every one else another. I just show two versions of reality and each makes complete sense to the participant who sees it. I think that's how life works".


Licensing and Merchandising
Bill Watterson believed that a comic stip, should survive only its merits. Printing it on a million products, producing hundreds of dolls and memorabilia, just cheapens the product and the public inevitably grows up to bored of it. Do you care for Mickey Mouse any more? Not really! With CnH, remaining in its pure form, it does manage to have a magic and aura still associate with it, which I personally find endearing. Watterson also hated the publishing syndicate dictating what a strip should talk about and got into constant tiffs with them. As he puts it "When a cartoonist is trying to talk honestly and seriously about life, then I believe he has a responsibility to think beyond satisfying every market's whims and desires. Cartoonists who think they can be taken seriously as artists while using the strip to sell boxer shorts are deluding themselves."


Alter Egos!
Well, what's great about Bruce Wayne turning into Batman. Can he turn into Superman as well or Captain Planet? And that is where the beauty of CnH lies, in its variety. Calvin can instantly turn into Spaceman Spiff or Stupendous man or my personal favorite, Tracer Bullet. It gives Watterson the license to transport Calvin into a totally different world of intrigue and adventures, that are so much fun to read.


Life is beautiful
Calvin and Hobbes, is funny, entertaining, witty and lot more. But most importantly, in its own non preachy way, it teaches us about life. It doesn't go around making whats right or whats wrong statements, but it forces us to think of who we are and what we have become in this fast paced world. The strong messages of friendship, environmental care, futility of war, ambitions, careers, relationships are all out there. Its left to us, if we are ready to learn it from a six year old kid and his stuffed tiger!


It is just fitting, that I end this post, with the last strip that Watterson ever wrote, which embodies the undying spirit of Calvin and Hobbes. Thanks, dear friends, for enriching our lives so much.

Review: Delhi Belly

The time of the formula masala movies in Bollywood is over! No more 'boy meets girl, they fall in love, shit happens, they separate, but love heals all but not before 15 songs, 10 fights, 6 arguments, 3 rapes, 2 accidents, 1 prayer and oh yes! 20 more songs'. The time of the new hero has come in Bollywood. He aint no rippling muscle hunk or the chocolate boy next door or some producer's son who cant act for nuts. This new hero of Bollywood, ladies and gentlemen, is 'novelty'. Every new kid on the block is getting fresh concepts, quirky ideas, bold subjects, which stand out and yell, 'I am different and I dont care if you dont like it!'. Ishqia, LSD, TZP, Kaminey, Udaan, Tere Bin Laden and now you can add Delli Belly to the list.

The inspiration for the movie comes from the 'British Gansta Flick' types, which rewrote a whole new genre of slick storytelling. Quintein Tarentino ushered in the revolution by making 'Pulp Fiction' which mesmerized, bewildered and captivated audiences around the world. And then Guy Ritchie made 'Lock, Stock and two Smoking Barrels' which set a benchmark for the genre. A set of simpletons usually get entangled in a web of gun totting gangsters, stolen diamonds, car chases and fist fights. The co-incidences are unbelievably crazy, which make the movie that much more funny and edgy. Delhi Belly works exactly on this premise.

Three friends, struggling to make a mark in life, share an appalling flat in some bylane of Delhi. Tashi (Imran Khan) is an aspiring journalist engaged to the bade-ghar-ki-beti Sonia (Shenaz Treasurywala). Arup (Vir Das with weird hair-do) is a talent cartoonist, stuck with an idiot boss and dumped by his girlfriend for an NRI groom from Canneda! The real funny part of the tripod is Nitin (Kunal Roy Kapoor),

the fat, gluttony, greedy photographer colleague of Tashi. He eats trash off the streets, to suffer from a bad of bout of diohhrea a.k.a Delhi Belly. Its metaphorical of all the shenanigans that happen in the underbelly of a large metropolis like Dilli!

An underworld gang use the air hostess route to smuggle diamonds into the country. All hell breaks loose when a delivery of smuggled diamonds gets exchanged with the stool sample of Nitin. From here on the movie is a like roller coaster ride, taking a twist every other second and changing course faster than party hopping politicians. Into this melee, is thrown an ex-wife obsessed businessman, a whore loving house owner, a Khatak dance master and his protégés, an office babe who has the hots for Tashi. Every character is unique and fits into the story effortlessly.

The strength of the movie lies in the situational humor: dark or otherwise which keeps coming at you relentlessly. It’s more than a welcome change for the Indian audience burdened with the multi-star, brainless, so called ‘laugh riots’. They story in itself, is not very complicated, but it’s told with a style and pace that keeps you at the edge of your seats asking for more. Kudos to the director, Abhinav Deo for pulling off a tough genre to make. The cinematography is slick with amazing angles, be it the old pizza rotting under the sofa, the blood dripping over the dead gangster’s forehead. The final shoot out scene is shot in slow-mo, a tribute to the climax in Reservoir Dogs, similar to the one in Vishal Bharadwaj’s Kaminey.

What really sets the movie apart is the music. There are no song and dance sequences which the lead actors break into without any rhyme or reason. There are only background scores which beautifully complement the situation: Sweety tera pyaar, Bhaag DK Bose. You will really enjoy the catchy ‘Ja Chudail’ parody which is beautifully choreographed by Farah Khan. And finally it brings us to the dialogues. The dialogues are smartly written, damn funny and totally street like. A lot has been said and written about the profanity in the movie. Common guys, this is the language of today’s generation, like it or not. If you refuse to grow up to the truth and want to take up cudgels with the morality brigade, its really just your loss. The movie would have worked just as well without the profanity, but it’s a package deal isn’t it!

Imran Khan does a decent job, but can be easily replaced by anyone else. The support cast really do a commendable job. But the two guys who really pack in a fantastic performance are Kunal Roy Kapoor as the fat Nitin and Vijay Raaz as the frustrated underworld don. The movie as such could have been set in any other city, but today’s movie makers have developed a strange new obsession with the capital.

Delhi Belly is funny, entertaining and above all, original. Go catch it, before Aamir’s sequel ‘Disco Fighter’ hits the screens.

Driving for dummies

I have been in Mumbai for five years now. Have been driving for three. I have driven and ridden - in the scorching Mumbai summer, in the unforgiving torrential rains, along the potholed highways, over the innumerable flyovers, waited countless minutes at the irritating signals, dodged insouciant jaywalkers, BEST buses, greedy maamas, check nakas and the whole jazz. I can say, with some amount of experience, I have become what you may call, 'Mumbai's short fused, foul mouthed, impatient' driver next door. And when one has nothing to do while siting in the car and waiting for timeless moments to pass, one cant help but observe the world around. So, this blog is about all the specimens on Mumbai roads, that you will be delighted to ..err.. bump into.

Specimen 1: The Dogs in the window

You have seen those pet dogs traveling in the back seats of cars, with their tongues hanging out? Well, they have competition and they are called taxi drivers! Head thrust out of the window, right arm dangling from door like a hose, a red piece of wet cloth hanging out to dry, they are the undisputed kings of the road. They cut lanes like a frog jumping on hearing gushing water, give a generous blast of honking if you dare stray in their path and never short of kind words to share, in case you tell them to watch where they drive. Bombay might become Mumbai, Victoria Terminus may become Shivaji Terminus, but the Black and Yellow taxi drivers are destined to be on the roads of Mumbai for ever.

Specimen 2: The Real Estate Agents

What is the most expensive thing one can buy in this city? Real Estate of course! There is no free land here. And that's why these set of guys fight for every inch on the road, like their lives depended on it. Even in bumper to bumper traffic, if they spot a piece of open road, not occupied, they gun for it with every last bhp their engines can cough up. Even in situations where others have a clear road, if they are just let through, our land grabbers just wont let it. They will fight for that last inch and claim it.

Specimen 3: The guided cannon balls

Have you seen a canon ball fly? They fly straight, they fly fast and they are mostly found on the leftmost lanes of Mumbai's highways! They might have as well bought left hand drive cars and stayed back in the US. They don't bother about anything that may come in their way: potholes, parked vehicles, people waiting at bus stops. They just zoom past at breakneck speed, cause the cannon balls know only one rule 'Left is always right'!

Specimen 4: The Greenpeace Gang

Ever had that meeting where you just couldn't afford to be late, the anniversary dinner you wouldn't dare to miss, the trailers you loved to catch at the start of the movie? Well, they can all wait, cause the carbon saving guys are sauntering ahead of you. Not that they give a damn about the environment, they don't mind replacing petrol with third grade kerosene. Just that they see a small hint of declivity, they switch off the engines and go 'row row row your boat gently down the stream'. You could kill them if you had a gun, but I guess, punching them on the face would be the greener thing to do.

Specimen 5: The Hawa ka Jhonkas

It was the first time that I sat in an auto in Mumbai. Off it went cantering along the bylanes of the largest suburb in the city. It was afternoon and the was not much traffic on the road. As the auto picked speed, I noticed a small kid walking out of the gate and into the road. The vehicle was too close and too fast and neither slowed down. I clasped the railing harder, held my breath and almost closed my eyes. To my utter amazement and relief, the vehicle swerved by half an inch and I swear there was just enough gap in between for wind to pass through. That was the day I learnt, this was just another day in the office in Maximum City. Time is money here, they said and true to the last letter, no on slows down, no one brakes and no one gives the damn way!

Specimen 6: People with Connections

No silly, not the neta types of connections. Its the ringing types. The worst invention of the century if you ask the automobiles about it. Worse than Jack Daniels. And we, being the forever connected generation, cant keep our hands off the mobiles. Even if it means that we have to balance the phone between our cheeks and shoulder while riding the bike, have the traffic pile up behind us while checking Facebook, not knowing that the signal has turned green, check incoming mails and messages on the BlackBerry while clocking 80 on the highway. Dents, bumps and crashes are all pardoned as long as we are on the 'Smart' phones. An Apple a day, might not really keep the doctor away.

Specimen 7: The Diwan-e-aam

The common man, he is there everywhere. Not one or two, a full twenty million plus and growing. And given that 70% of this twenty million people stay in slums and roads, you have them everywhere. They just arent there on the roads! They use it as an extension of their living rooms. They sleep, the run, they eat, they shit, they live on these roads. Which of course, leaves little space for your car or bike, let alone the trucks and buses. And not to forget the million other people looking to go to work, schools, homes. Of course, they have never heard of zebra crossings, sky walks, footpaths or generally about 'look where you are going'. That obviously leaves the motorists as the poor cousins or say second rate citizens, where really they should have been kings.

Specimen 8: Mahanagar

Its just not some place, its not just a city. Its a living, breathing, ever-changing mega flux. You have to adapt to it, adjust your pace, develop a taste. Long roads, ugly flyovers, clogged bridges, beautiful sea faces, serpentine alleys, on going constructions, mid night traffic jams, sun scorched bus stops, rain battered cobble ways, potholed highways, blood stained memories, aged black and yellow cabs, historic landmarks. They are all there. You just have to be a part of it. There are millions out there trying to reach their destinations. If you just pause and observe, you might as well enjoy the journey though this mad place.

I wish you enough

How many birthday reminders do we see every morning when we log into Facebook! The standard operating procedure then kicks in. Open every person's profile who has his/her birthday on a different tab, type any of the following generic wishes applicable to any age, any sex or any relation: 'Hey Happy Birthday' / 'Many happy returns of the day' / 'Have a great day and fantastic year' / 'Here's wishing you all the joy in the world', copy the line you have typed and paste it in each of the tabs open. After a while you get a standard reply like 'Hey thanks for your wishes' / 'Thank you' which has been laboriously copied and pasted into every person who has wished them on their wall. Or some of them who don't have the patience to reply to each post, put up a generic 'Thank you all for the warm wishes! It made my day' post on their wall. And all those friends/acquaintances/colleagues/relatives who has missed out wishing them in the first place, reply to the post with a standard 'Happy belated birthday'/ 'Better late than never'/ 'So sorry to have missed wishing on your birthday'. This cycle continues till the last day you have a profile on Facebook and then decide to move on to something different, like when you decided to move from Orkut to Facebook.

I usually put on the AIR FM channel when I drive. The other set of FM channels with the loud RJs usually end up playing the same set of songs, until you reach a point of dying due to repetition. The AIR FM has really bad RJs accompanied with old English chart busters, that are easy on the ears and fun to drive along with. On one such occasion, a couple of days ago, a RJ narrated a story of a guy in the airport wishing his daughter goodbye and then telling her 'I wish you enough'. It was a really beautiful piece of prose, effortlessly stringing in simple words to deliver a powerful, heartfelt message.

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.

I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.

I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.

I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.

I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.

I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.

I wish you enough “Hello’s” to get you through the final “Goodbye.”

Isnt it brilliant! To all my friends, whom I had wished with a standard, hollow "Happy Birthday', I apologize and wish you enough!

Review: Stanley Ka Dabba

******************* Spoiler Alert ********************

Got a chance to watch Amol Gupte's 'Stanley ka Dabba' last Sunday. If you recall, Amol Gupte was the scriptwriter for Aamir Khan's 'Taare Zameen Pe'. There were some ugly rows between the two, with Amol accusing Aamir of hijacking the script and direction, which ensured ample coverage on Page 3. This time however, Gupte ensures that he delivers the movie on his own and boy does he deliver or what! 'Stanley ka Dabba' comes out as a sweet, real and nostalgic movie which will take you down the memory corridors of your school life.

Stanley Fenandez is the most popular student of Class 4F at Holy Family School. He breaks into impromptu karaokes, stitches the most incredulous stories on the fly to his classmates delight, joins the group for a game of after school football. He is the favorite student of the sweet and encouraging 'Rosie Miss' who is spellbound by the your boy's ability, be it writing a funny essay, breaking into a poem for her birthday or building a Light House with junk. He is exactly what Ishaan Awasti was not in TZP. He's funny, he's popular, he's smart and he's without a tiffin box.


This is where the story begins to unfold. Stanley never gets dabba from home. Unkempt, torn uniform, blackened eyes all point to some basic brickwork missing from the boys' life. Your heart tears to see him drink water from the school tap to fight his hunger. But for every dark cloud, isnt there a silver lining! His classmates are forever welcoming him to trade their food for his stories. It reminds you of your own days in school, when all the kids used to flock around the table to hog on yummy food tucked in by over zealous moms. Enter Aman Verma into the picture. He is there in every class I am sure. The guy who has the biggest and yummiest food packed into a carrier that would put the Qutub Minar to shame. And the kids dig in with gusto.


What the kids are not prepared is for Hindi teacher 'Babubhai Verma' a.k.a Khadoos. The sweaty glutton never lets go of an opportunity to dig into the dabbas of students and even teachers. He shamelessly asks for a helping from his colleagues and worse still takes a liking to Aman Verma's tower of indulgence. And yes, he never gets his own food. The kids spite him for his bullying and especially take offense to Khadoos picking on Stanley for not getting his own food. And that's when the most fun part of the movie comes in: a set of kids outwitting the greedy hog by changing the khane ka adda every day. It doesn't take long for Khadoos to realize that he's being played with and lashes out at poor Stanley for his 'beizatti'. The 'No dabba to no school' diktat pushes the proud boy to a corner and he stops coming to school.

This is where the movie takes the tested and familiar route of David vs Goliath, innocence vs oppression to reach a very expected ending. The boy is an orphan, living with his hotel owner chacha who constantly abuses and exploits him. The only solace there for Stanley is Akram, the hotel cook who doubles up as his Big Brother. Akram helps Stanley finally get his own dabba to school, which acts as his license to get back to school and the ultimate expulsion of Khadoos.

It might not be a script that sets the screen on fire, but there are a couple of things which make the movie so endearing. Firstly its the school life itself. Its sure to transport you back to the days of your own challenging days with pampering mothers, boring lessons, great friendships and times of pure innocence. The teachers' casting is superb with Divya Dutta as the glowing Miss Rosie that every student looks up to, Divya Jagdale as the archetypal Mrs. Iyer, the flower adorned cold as stone Science teacher, the classy and elegant Father and finally Amol Gupte, as the Hindi teacher who shares no love or cares two hoots for his students. I am sure every one amongst us has vivid memories of the teachers who taught, loved, punished and molded us. Secondly, it touches upon the friendships that we build over the years. The real pillars who understood everything that was going on in our lives and shared every moment of the highs and lows to build everlasting memories of bonding and camaraderie. We are after all, defined by the friendships that we make. Finally, the real star of the movie if your really ask me is the food itself. There are hundreds of superbly shot scenes of spluttering tadka, frying samosas, chopping colorful vegetables, fresh paneer...the list is endless. I really loved the character of Raj, the new history teacher who brings in a new dish every day and has such a lovely story and explanation to every preparation: the style of cooking, the contents of the dish, the variety in the spices. Every time the food comes on screen, you will feel like digging into the dabbas and feel its really not such a sin if Khadoos wanted a bite of this heavenly bliss.



The acting is superb. The young actor Partho, who is actually Amol Gupte's son effortlessly manages to paint the tale of Stanley with total sincerity and enthusiasm. You cant help but fall in love the with boy who inspite of the cruel world around him, comes up trumps with his personality and simplicity. The script is a little slow and predictable at the end, but never leaves you uninterested. The direction is quite good and Amol Gupte doesn't try to over do any emotional scenes. Its a simple story, told with a lot of innocence and a large heart. Go watch it and enjoy yourself, its worth its salt.

The Fellowship of the Bling

It was the only time that some thing else replaced it. At the time of Napolean Bonoparte when Aluminum was just discovered and considered so rare, he had his 100 most revered guests served with Aluminum cutlery. The rest of the lesser mortals were served in just gold plates. Of course it just took another 10-15 years for gold to win back its ....err.... gold medal.

" I just got my year end bonus. Lets go buy some gold" my wife said.
"Do you want to spend some 20 grand on 10gms? We can put it in some Mutual fund na!"
"20k was last year Sir! Its at 22500 now and the paper says it will go to 50k in two years!!"



That is ridiculous I thought. Which led me to go online and check some trends on prices of gold over the years. And boy was I stumped or what!! Over the last 36 years, irrespective of closed or open economies, boom or recession, smuggling or streamlined, gold prices are going in only one direction: north-north west. In 1974, 10 gms of gold cost INR 185 and today we are at INR 22500 and its growing at a phenomenal pace. No wonder we are the largest gold consuming country in the world. And hey! even the world went crazy after it: remember the Gold Rush of California and Alaksa in the early 18th century!


And then it got me thinking. Gold is just every where in our life. Its there as a metal, as a concept, in our language, in our names, its all pervasive. Lets see...

• Language: Idioms and phrases filled with it like 'as good as gold', 'golden goose', 'all that glitters is not gold', 'old is gold', 'heart of gold', 'worth its weight in gold', 'silence is gold', 'sitting on a gold mine', 'gold digger', 'golden age', 'golden ratio', 'golden rule', 'Midas Touch', 'Eldorado'.....its endless
• Royalty: The Russian Czars were shot at point blank range with automatics, but they apparently had so much gold and jewelry on them that the bullets just bounced off! This and stories around the Peacock throne, the Gold sarcophagus of Tuthankamen et all.
• Names: We call out to small babies with affection - chinnu, shona equating them to precious gold, or heck just name them after gold - Sonika, Kanchan, Swarna and as simple as Goldie!
• Movies: How many movies have we seen as kids where bad men were the bald big men who used to smuggle gold and drugs at the docks. James Bond fighting the Man with the Golden Gun or at Golden Eye, finding the magic land though The Golden compass, Charlie Chaplin eating the shoe in Gold Rush and Natalie Portman's intriguing performance in Golden Swan. Well and if you do well, you will get what else but the 'Golden Globe'!
• Religion: Well almost every God we know of in every religion is adorned in Gold. Be it Lord Venkateshwara in Tiruapti or the sacred Golden Temple, Goddess Lakshmi in one of her forms, the box of Moses to hold the 'Ten Commandments'
• Random: Golden Gate, Gold fish, Golden Handshake, Golden retriever, Golden triangle and quadrilateral, Gold ETFs, Gold dust, Gold's Gym, Gold Quest
• And Weddings: Ofcourse how can we Indians forget about weddings jewelry, mostly gifted and occasionally demanded! Parents end up saving years, some times taking loans or mortgaging property to gift the gold! Well a picture is worth a thousand words if you ask me....

Well I cant think of any thing else as of now. If you can let me know and I might just give you a Gold Medal.

Life between two blog posts

Its been just over three years since my last blog. Over the three years, I have

• Gotten married
• Worked in two great companies
• Made a lot of good friends
• Seen the great Pyramids
  
• Bought a flat and a piece of land
• Ported from Airtel to Vodafone
  
• Changed four houses
• Put on twenty kilos
• Lost a dear aunt
• Been gifted an Enfeild \m/
• Finally started my dream movie collection
• Spotted a tiger in the wild
• Got malaria 3 times
• Driven 1000 kms in flat 16 hours
  
• Understood how the guy who calls at 3 PM on Sunday afternoon selling Insurance feels
  
• Seen an IPL final and India win the World Cup!
• Survived near lay offs, recession and a company takeover
  
• Lost a phone and a wallet
• Gone bonkers over the road side Pani puri in Mumbai
  
• Flown in a hot air baloon
  
• Proudly seen my brother get his first job
• Fallen in love with Ikea furniture
  
• Broken my ankle twice
• Have seen the smart phone revolution
  
• Earned tonnes of i-mint points
• Totally stopped reading for some Goddamn reason
• Bought my first car
• Collected upto thirty eight fridge magnets
• Traveled to every nook and corner of the great Megapolis called Mumbai
  
• Moved from Orkut to Facebook
• Celebrated my dad's 60th year Shanti
• Developed lots more grey hair, but maybe not that much wisdom
• Enjoyed every bit of this crazy journey called life

I'm lovin' it!

Chinese, Japanese, Battameez.......oh God!

Obviously the dad loves his son. So what does he do when he comes home from a trip? Buys him a cool mobile ofcourse! And from then on things go downhill for the daddy dearest cause the son is lost in the world of wireless fantasy with a myriad things to do. Its a good story to build an ad around. Unfortunately, the ad had something else in the offing. They wanted to show that the dad is constantly battling the mobile, vying for the attention of his son. And how do they show this? By having the head of the dad in a suitcase, which constantly peeps out to reach out to his and then finally just pops out to fall at his feet, which he conveniently chooses to ignore.


I just could not believe that this was a Moto ad. I have always had a high regard for them. Their positioning is always very distinct. Classy, stylish, contemporary and young. The 'Hello Moto' at the end of the ads are just perfect, like a fab dessert to finish off a nice dinner. And this positioning has been consistent across all Moto ads. The Razr ad where the room folds into a mobile, the one where the girl with the tight pants slips the Moto into her back pocket, the couple fighting in the tube, the Moto Music with Abhishek. All suave, all classy. But why in the name of the lord this new one? Yeah, I understand this is a phone for the young and for the masses. Not a very upmarket model which will sell only by thousands. All fine with the targeting and positioning. But the communication!!??

We had a presentation from Motorola in college. The head of marketing or thereabouts had come down to explain the philosophy of Moto and the opportunities that were available to join them. And he was quite expecting this question to pop up. His blanket statement was that "Hey as long as my ads are creating a buzz, positive or negative, I am home."

This is where I don't agree to his logic. Ads should be positively reinforcing the brand identity. Even if it is a new product, like in this case, targeting a whole new segment of customers, the message should be positive. Agreed that a Mika pulling over Rakhi Sawant to land a full blown kiss will do wonders for her career, that a 'Balbir Pasha ko AIDS hoga kya?' would work to bring the message out to the public, but I am not so sure the same logic would hold true to products. No viewer would be thrilled to see a head popping out in a ad. Its disgusting to see such things. I recall India Today long ago had carried a front page picture of a Taliban soldier carrying a chopped off head by the hair. Most of the readers wrote in very strongly to the editor condemning display of such gory scenes. The main issue, of people being treated like animals and butchered by the minute was not talked about. The style of information dissemination became more important than the information itself.

So, when the marketing manger talks about not caring about the direction of the buzz being created, it shows a certain levels of marketing immaturity from the company. The effectiveness of an ad campaign is measured by multiplying the 'reach, frequency and impact' of the ads. And this is where to measure marketing impact, the quality of impact should be considered as an additional dimension along with the force of the impact. How are the sales patterns changing after such a campaign? What would be the relative difference in numbers when the ad had a positive buzz and when it had a negative buzz? Do the Digen Vermas add to the brand equity or the dropping heads do? I am sure that the Lowes, the McCann Ericssons, the Ogilvies and the Leos of the world have more intelligent things to say about this, but I think its something worth mulling over for marketers around the world.

Whats your take?

Aham

This is a crap blog. If you are looking to gain something out of this stop right here. I am just writing this cause I am in a state of mind which does not fall into any particular category. These random electric impulses in my head need a conductor with low ohmic values. Ah that is where my blog comes into play. But i don't like calling it my blog. It doesn't have a personal touch. So at this defining moment of web history, I, Sandeep Cashyap, all of five feet ten inches and eighty kilos of flesh and bone, in the august presence of this IBM R 52 laptop dub thee my blog, as Linda. No its not a sexist thing to call her by a female name. Its just that I like the name Linda. If you have a problem with Linda, you can take a hike.

I am sitting in this class, International Marketing I think. This prof looks like the villain in the Power puff girls. But i think he looks like a stork. I have this tendency to map everyone I meet to an animal he or she resembles the closest. What I think about you? Ha! You shall never know. Its a secret I shall take to my grave. But I think I wont have a grave. Damn. Where will this secret go? Matter can neither be created nor destroyed. Some wise man said. So are thoughts matter? Or should I ask do thoughts matter? And it matters to whom. You? Me ? Linda? I am bored of this line of thought! Its not taking this post anywhere. I don't like it when my thoughts go nowhere. That is when I feel I should go somewhere else, then my thoughts would also go somewhere right? Damn! this is sad logic.

The top two three players in the liquor industry are being debated upon. I have no clue what is happening. Can you believe I am sitting in the first bench and doing this? I am a bad student Linda. Forgive me for i know not what I am doing. But does anybody? Only Jesus did. But he ended up on a cross anyway. I agree with you Chester Bennington. In the end it doesn't even matter.

Now its moved over to pricing. Ah! Four Ps i think. Whatever. Its always a choice to listen in class or write a blog. You take the blue pill and you will wake up in your bed, like nothing happened. You take the red pill and I shall show you how deep the rabbit hole goes. Life is just a summation of all the choices we have made till now. Isnt it Linda? I chose to create you and chose to call you Linda. QED. But what about the choices that are beyond our control or understanding and yet affect us. Life is a bitch.

Its channel alignment now. No one in class knows that it is. The prof is amazed at our ignorance. Here we are future building blocks of this nation (or maybe other nations) and unsure of the tools and concepts that are going to build it. whatever! We can learn. Life is long.

I feel like going on a trek right now. I like mountains. They are just there, as real as they can get. And the higher you go, a calming sense of peace pervades through body. The silence becomes very palpable. When you can hear every thump of your heart, hear your lungs creaking working overtime, your thoughts resounding in the quiet of the moment, it helps you understand who you are. I have been on many treks. But I don't know who I am. Its a process. its slow. Its complex. But I have hope. If you want to know more about yourself, just wear a good pair of boots and head to that nearest mountain.

I know all this doesn't make sense to you. I don't care. It does to me, and Linda sometimes. I have recycled my brain dung. My contribution to Greenpeace. Now back to the class. Vulnerability analysis has to do with specific points possibly going wrong. What is the difference between needs and wants? Can wants over a period of time mature into needs? What is.........

Run Mumbai Run

I have seen Marine drive in Mumbai at various points in time. Early morning 4 AM when there are none but stray dogs, beat cops or the incorrigible insomniacs; the middle of the afternoon, with the hot Mumbai sun beating down on the sticky necks; the pleasant evenings with the cool sea breeze flowing though your hair; late nights with the neon lights courting the curving road....but never had I seen it like yesterday morning! It was madness, it was chaos, it was magical! There were a million people, running, walking, laughing, cheering, singing and having a ball. Never in my life have I seen so much energy at a single instance. I loved the Mumbai marathon!

Ofcourse Dream a Dream (www.dreamadream.org) was there. The fifty member gang were all geared up in bright yellow shirts symbolizing the chirpy mood of the morning. The whole reason I ran the marathon was for Dream a Dream to begin with. I had heard of how marathons world over are used as a channel to spread awareness, drive home messages important to the world and obviously generate charity. Having been involved with DaD for over three years now, I was wondering how I could contribute to them staying here in Mumbai now. And there was no better opportunity than the marathon. So I set myself a humble target of raising 5000 bucks for DaD and registered myself with GiveIndia, the official charity partner for the Mumbai marathon. Little did i know that I would be hit with this wave of goodwill from friends, family, professors and a whole motley bunch of people. It is a quiet reassurance to know that there are many who are concerned about those who were not equally blessed with good fortune like us. I collected a whopping 15333 bucks, more than three times my original target.

Some wise man said "Give a man a fish; you have fed him for today. Teach him to fish; and you have fed him for a lifetime". Dream a Dream believes not in providing basic necessities but developing life skills among the underprivileged kids and helping them integrate better with the mainstream society. In other words teaching them how to fish. :)

I bow to the indomitable spirit of Mumbai and to all the fantastic people like you who make this world a better place to live in! I am feeling so light today.

Technology Aethists Inc!

She crossed the road. Stood in front of the place for a while. Opened the door. Then on there was a marked difference in her body language. It was more tentative, more skeptical. She braved on. Went in. She was all alone in the scary room. There was deadly silence within. broken only by the slow drone of the AC flannels. She looked back through the glass door for reassurance. Got none. The huge monster in front of her was blinking. With each blink her trepidation turned into certainty. She was helpless, she could do nothing, it was all futile. She turned back to get out of the cloistered room. But it was all part of a conspiracy. The door didn't budge. The panic button was pressed in no time. She was struck in this dingy place, all alone and no where to run. She started waving wildly for help. The sealed doors refused to carry her pleas out into the open. Then I decided the queue outside the ATM was too long. I had to go in to help my mom. I let out a 'here-we-go-again' sigh and went in.

"You gotta press the button to come out amma!"
"Oh! I didn't know there was a button. "
"Whats wrong?why haven't you drawn any cash?"
"Ayyo! That screen is not going away at all. I tried all sorts of things!"
"Did you swipe the card in?"
"Umm....no! I felt the screen should be changed first!"
"Sigh! You felt the screen should be changed first!! What is the PIN code?"
"****"
"But is says invalid PIN code when I key it in! Maaaaaaaaaa! You have bought the wrong card!"

Well, this was just a small instance. I could list some hundreds more. Thousands more in fact, where my parents have refused to get in tune with 'technology'. Take for instance, a mobile phone. I got my dad once a couple of years back. Even till today he hasn't sent a single SMS from it; presses the wrong button and puts the call on hold rather than receive it! And he refuses to learn it right and refuses to acknowledge that he isnt getting it right! And this inability to operate such 'mindblowingly complicated devices' turns into an inexorable hate for any sort of technology! "Mobile phone are going to ruin everything! Students, girls, office life! Look at the number of accidents that happen because of mobiles. The doom is inevitable!". Well there goes a free prophecy of mass destruction along with every mobile that is seen. Its like the new package deal from Vodafone!

Its not that they are dumb! My mom has a PhD! My dad is an engineer working on the most intricate electrical designs for the past thirty years. Yet, they refuse to learn anything that is new, that has technology involved. ATMs, computers, internet, DVD players, MP3 players, mobiles, radio... the list is endless. The urge to take advantage of its multiple uses are there, but a flat refusal to learn the 'Know-hows'. I have given up trying to explain how it works, how easy life could get, how tough it would get in the future to live without knowing how to use it! And I get irritated every time I see that 'God, this thing is going to bite me if I touch' kinda look on their faces! And even worse is when they heap praise on uncles and aunts who can handle 'it'! "AvaLige e-mail yella kaLsakke barattante kaNo!" (roughly translating to I heard she knows how to send an email and stuff!!"

Robert Pirig in his book 'Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance" ponders why his friends are so averse to repairing their own bikes. Why they refuse to mend a broken faucet at home! And then it dawns upon him and everything falls into place!

"Why suppress anger at a dripping faucet? I wondered.

Then that patched in with the motorcycle maintenance and one of those light bulbs went on over my head and I thought, Ahhhhhhhh! It’s not the motorcycle maintenance, not the faucet. It’s all of technology they can’t take. And then all sorts of things started tumbling into place and I knew that was it. Sylvia’s irritation at a friend who thought computer programming was "creative." All their drawings and paintings and photographs without a technological thing in them. Of course she’s not going to get mad at that faucet, I thought. You always suppress momentary anger at something you deeply and permanently hate. Of course John signs off every time the subject of cycle repair comes up, even when it is obvious he is suffering for it. That’s technology. And sure, of course, obviously. It’s so simple when you see it. To get away from technology out into the country in the fresh air and sunshine is why they are on the motorcycle in the first place. For me to bring it back to them just at the point and place where they think they have finally escaped it just frosts both of them, tremendously. That’s why the conversation always breaks and freezes when the subject comes up.

Other things fit in too. They talk once in a while in as few pained words as possible about "it" or "it all" as in the sentence, "There is just no escape from it." And if I asked, "From what?" the answer might be "The whole thing," or "The whole organized bit," or even "The system." Sylvia once said defensively, "Well, you know how to cope with it," which puffed me up so much at the time I was embarrassed to ask what "it" was and so remained somewhat puzzled. I thought it was something more mysterious than technology. But now I see that the "it" was mainly, if not entirely, technology. But, that doesn’t sound right either. The "it" is a kind of force that gives rise to technology, something undefined, but inhuman, mechanical, lifeless, a blind monster, a death force. Something hideous they are running from but know they can never escape. I’m putting it way too heavily here but in a less emphatic and less defined way this is what it is. Somewhere there are people who understand it and run it but those are technologists, and they speak an inhuman language when describing what they do. It’s all parts and relationships of unheard-of things that never make any sense no matter how often you hear about them. And their things, their monster keeps eating up land and polluting their air and lakes, and there is no way to strike back at it, and hardly any way to escape it. "

Well when every other statement they say begins with "You know in our times...", you know some things will never change!