An aunt from our family friends circle is a journalist. She contributes to international magazines. She writes mostly about social issues in India.
Recently we were all recipients of a mail from her with a link to her blog. She requested the recipients of the mail to take a look at her blog. I opened the mail rather late and saw that she had very few hits and no comments. She sent the mail out again. But the post was not getting the attention she was seeking.
She was surprised. Her article in magazines always led to comments and discussions. Finally this Sunday I went over to her blog and was surprised to read some very tepid post on violence on women. I called her and told her that she had got blogs all wrong. She had married reporting with a narrative style and made a hash of the topic in the process. It was also obvious she and chosen the topic because she thought it would arouse interest. Her thinking was very journalistic with an eye on webhits.
Now this aunt has not been to my blog, but I do send out my posts from this blog to a group of people in my family and friends circle who prefer it by mail. And this aunt is one of the recipients. She was encouraged by the discussions and comments in the mail thread to take to blogging.
Aunt called me for some tips and tricks and I told her that unlike her articles in magazines, her blog was a medium to express her personal views on matters where she hold strong views. Tips and tricks would not help her. She was clearly looking for a medium for ego massage.
She didn’t say anything about my advice. She clearly didn’t like someone with no experience or legacy in the professional writing field advising her. Her ‘made-up’ posts continued with no responses. Finally she admitted that blogging was way too difficult for someone like her who was used to mere reporting. She had no concept of a personal view after so many years in the field.
Journalists like her are not comfortable with the new popular mediums like blogs, twitter etc. And they cannot understand how ordinary people can write on topics without formal training and evoke interest, create an interactive readership than reading people like her. She has no appreciation of popular views and is used to manipulate popular views. After a few more tries she gave up blogging.
I am not saying that journalists cannot blog. There are many who are really good bloggers. And these are people who understand the distinction between paid writing and sincere expression.
This whole episode reminds me of a once popular television (whose reputation lies in the ditch today) and her rising alarm over ordinary junta beginning to express their views on everything (including her spotless reputation) which made her go on a rampage in her insecurity to portray bloggers as some kind of underground movement that might be a threat to the society. Sadly for her, the very audience she tried to instigate turned the tables on her making her look like a fool.
While celebrity bloggers have a default readership, ordinary bloggers like us have begun to perhaps crack the hard shell of apathy that grips our nation. Having a medium to express ones views is like an outlet for people who were simmering without a voice for so long.
The new IT Act will however take care of that too by coming down hard on bloggers because we cannot be bought like the media. And that is the day I will quit blogging.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Gender imbalance of a different kind
I watched a program on Asianet recently. The subject was very interesting and I wanted to see what the modern Malayalee thought of the same. The subject in question was that women felt unsafe in buses in Kerala.
The panel consisted of a few educated, articulate young ladies one of whom was a very well spoken actress. On the opposite side were not people who held a contrary view, but men, mostly middle aged (and a few young guys too) who I observed were present only to oppose the view. Instead of this show being a discussion that concerns the entire society, it turned out to be a man vs women kind of a fight with the men opposing the view only for the sake of opposing. They had no concrete facts to support their argument and instead tried to dismiss the whole issue by trivializing it. It was almost as if, they opposed the ladies having a view point and more importantly a platform for airing it.
Not a single man sitting in the chairs behind the panel of men spoke up for their sisters, mothers, daughter, wives etc.
The debate started with the women articulating very eloquently and with a lot of clarity the experiences they had in Kerala buses. But if you think the men let them have their say, think again. The men merely shouted down the women, wouldn’t let them talk and when they expressed their opinion, it was so stupid that you wondered if they knew anything about the subject let alone any other subject worth discussing.
Then I remembered my posts on Kerala here and at other places like DOC where people landed up to defend anything written about Kerala that they did not like. They had no clue to what we were talking about but considered it their right to shout down anyone who says anything they do not endorse. It was almost as if they were afraid and angered by people having a voice.
What was surprising about this show was that there wasn’t a single man in the audience or panel who talked with some understanding of the subject or who knew how to participate or behave in a debate. Most of the men were only interested in opposing anything the women had to say and if possible making noises so that the ladies did not get to speak.
The moderator of the program can easily put Arnab Goswami to shame. Just when a lady was making a point in a clear and concise manner he would interrupt or pose another question to the men. Then the whole program would descend into pandemonium. It was the most frustrating thing to watch.
After a time I stopped watching because I just could not believe that grown up men could behave like this. One man went on to say that Kerala is the safest place in India for women. Another said that Kerala men were very decent and the fact that he wasn’t keeping his daughter as his wife was proof that he was a decent guy (believe it or not).
Then they went on to allege that women enjoyed the attention of men and that they invited it either by showing interest or by dressing provocatively. The discussion was not worth airing on a channel like Asianet. Even illiterate people from Bihar and UP know how to behave themselves better than the men from the 100% literate state that appeared in this debate!
What struck me most about this program was that the ladies participants in the program were way ahead of the men in etiquette, decorum, articulation abilities and knowledge. They took part in the discussion with dignity, stating their experiences in a matter of fact manner while the men just misbehaved as they had no point to counter the ladies and most importantly did not want the ladies to have a say.
And that is when it struck me that this was a very good spectacle of what women in Kerala go through, not only in buses but in life in general. The debate was an eye opener to the kind of people the ladies have to put up with daily.
All I got to say in conclusion is that the Kerala society seems skewed. On one hand we have the women, who are educated, progressive and intelligent, on the other hand they are dominated by men who are completely opposite to them in every aspect. A very sad situation indeed! No wonder the state is leading in divorces. How can women in such a society find partners who are their equals in every aspect!
The panel consisted of a few educated, articulate young ladies one of whom was a very well spoken actress. On the opposite side were not people who held a contrary view, but men, mostly middle aged (and a few young guys too) who I observed were present only to oppose the view. Instead of this show being a discussion that concerns the entire society, it turned out to be a man vs women kind of a fight with the men opposing the view only for the sake of opposing. They had no concrete facts to support their argument and instead tried to dismiss the whole issue by trivializing it. It was almost as if, they opposed the ladies having a view point and more importantly a platform for airing it.
Not a single man sitting in the chairs behind the panel of men spoke up for their sisters, mothers, daughter, wives etc.
The debate started with the women articulating very eloquently and with a lot of clarity the experiences they had in Kerala buses. But if you think the men let them have their say, think again. The men merely shouted down the women, wouldn’t let them talk and when they expressed their opinion, it was so stupid that you wondered if they knew anything about the subject let alone any other subject worth discussing.
Then I remembered my posts on Kerala here and at other places like DOC where people landed up to defend anything written about Kerala that they did not like. They had no clue to what we were talking about but considered it their right to shout down anyone who says anything they do not endorse. It was almost as if they were afraid and angered by people having a voice.
What was surprising about this show was that there wasn’t a single man in the audience or panel who talked with some understanding of the subject or who knew how to participate or behave in a debate. Most of the men were only interested in opposing anything the women had to say and if possible making noises so that the ladies did not get to speak.
The moderator of the program can easily put Arnab Goswami to shame. Just when a lady was making a point in a clear and concise manner he would interrupt or pose another question to the men. Then the whole program would descend into pandemonium. It was the most frustrating thing to watch.
After a time I stopped watching because I just could not believe that grown up men could behave like this. One man went on to say that Kerala is the safest place in India for women. Another said that Kerala men were very decent and the fact that he wasn’t keeping his daughter as his wife was proof that he was a decent guy (believe it or not).
Then they went on to allege that women enjoyed the attention of men and that they invited it either by showing interest or by dressing provocatively. The discussion was not worth airing on a channel like Asianet. Even illiterate people from Bihar and UP know how to behave themselves better than the men from the 100% literate state that appeared in this debate!
What struck me most about this program was that the ladies participants in the program were way ahead of the men in etiquette, decorum, articulation abilities and knowledge. They took part in the discussion with dignity, stating their experiences in a matter of fact manner while the men just misbehaved as they had no point to counter the ladies and most importantly did not want the ladies to have a say.
And that is when it struck me that this was a very good spectacle of what women in Kerala go through, not only in buses but in life in general. The debate was an eye opener to the kind of people the ladies have to put up with daily.
All I got to say in conclusion is that the Kerala society seems skewed. On one hand we have the women, who are educated, progressive and intelligent, on the other hand they are dominated by men who are completely opposite to them in every aspect. A very sad situation indeed! No wonder the state is leading in divorces. How can women in such a society find partners who are their equals in every aspect!
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
A slice of life
I like Art movies. I like art movies for its deliciously stark portrayal of real life. It’s a relief from commercial cinema that has no resemblance to real life. I find Art movies refreshing. The more stark the reality the better. It is like a purge, a purge from the one sided vista, commercial cinema brainwashes you with, whether it is patriotism, family relations, poverty, love, and relationships… anything and everything and the way it is shown.
For people like us, who live in concrete cages, Art movies are like a bite of real life.
While growing upon a steady diet of Malayalam and Hindi movies thanks to my Dads collection, I learnt to look at life through pink tinted glasses. Elders were nice. Poor people were humble, grateful and loyal to their benefactors. Boyfriends sang songs to their girlfriends and girlfriends pledge eternal troth to their boyfriends. Husbands were pillars of the family and mothers, the foundation. And lot of other blah blah.
Then came Art cinema, the next item in my Dad’s menu and I saw my first “Ankur” like swallowing a bitter pill. A very bitter pill. I didn’t like it and wanted some nice mushy movie. But Ankur fascinated me. It raised a lot of questions that my folks had to answer red faced, perhaps cursing themselves under their breath for opening a can of worms.
That movie also taught my mom to get over the reticence of her upbringing and face her metro kid and tell her what adultery was all about. What landlords of yore were and the social system that existed in villages and between upper castes and lower castes, the rich and the poor.
Reality is a bitter pill to swallow and but it makes you feel so much better after that. I mean it felt good to see people with shades of grey unlike the black and white portrayal in commercial cinema. For very love story there existed ten of betrayal, for every good husband there were ten bad ones and for every chaste woman there existed many who were not. It explained a lot of things that puzzled me from real life.
Today I relish Art movies. They are like a sneak peek into the real India. A break from the untiringly nice Moms, as portrayed by commercial cinema to the woman who has needs and a personality and frailties of her own as shown by art cinema. I would say that Art cinema has its fingers on the pulse of change that is taking place in a transitional society like ours. And keeping us in touch with it.
What we need is more Art cinema. I think the public is ripe for it.
And with this I complete 300 posts at My Think Pad . Thank you for your support and interest :)
For people like us, who live in concrete cages, Art movies are like a bite of real life.
While growing upon a steady diet of Malayalam and Hindi movies thanks to my Dads collection, I learnt to look at life through pink tinted glasses. Elders were nice. Poor people were humble, grateful and loyal to their benefactors. Boyfriends sang songs to their girlfriends and girlfriends pledge eternal troth to their boyfriends. Husbands were pillars of the family and mothers, the foundation. And lot of other blah blah.
Then came Art cinema, the next item in my Dad’s menu and I saw my first “Ankur” like swallowing a bitter pill. A very bitter pill. I didn’t like it and wanted some nice mushy movie. But Ankur fascinated me. It raised a lot of questions that my folks had to answer red faced, perhaps cursing themselves under their breath for opening a can of worms.That movie also taught my mom to get over the reticence of her upbringing and face her metro kid and tell her what adultery was all about. What landlords of yore were and the social system that existed in villages and between upper castes and lower castes, the rich and the poor.
Reality is a bitter pill to swallow and but it makes you feel so much better after that. I mean it felt good to see people with shades of grey unlike the black and white portrayal in commercial cinema. For very love story there existed ten of betrayal, for every good husband there were ten bad ones and for every chaste woman there existed many who were not. It explained a lot of things that puzzled me from real life.
Today I relish Art movies. They are like a sneak peek into the real India. A break from the untiringly nice Moms, as portrayed by commercial cinema to the woman who has needs and a personality and frailties of her own as shown by art cinema. I would say that Art cinema has its fingers on the pulse of change that is taking place in a transitional society like ours. And keeping us in touch with it.
What we need is more Art cinema. I think the public is ripe for it.
And with this I complete 300 posts at My Think Pad . Thank you for your support and interest :)
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Speak up and we will label you a slut
I have an aunt in Kerala. She fights for women's rights, encourages women who keep quiet against abusive men whether verbal or physical to get legal help and helps them stand up for their right to a dignified life. She is a much hated woman who is accused of breaking up families ( made a lady who was beaten to pulp and eyeball pushed out, several compound fractures, to divorce her husband and more such cases), influencing women to fight with husbands (helped several ladies take a firm stand on their salary packets that husbands snatched and drank) and several other “unsocial behavior” that according to the some men were “socially disruptive” activities.
When all else failed to stop her, the most powerful weapon in the men's armory came out. And what is that you may wonder. And that is …calling her a “physically frustrated woman”. This is pretty common in Kerala. If a woman even raises her hand to stop a man from beating her or defends herself in anyway and a man cannot do anything about it, then the ultimate weapon i.e. sexual innuendos are used against her to control her and make her act in a manner that is acceptable to men.
My aunt has had more than her share. Her husband, a highly supportive man is called “henpecked” which is the weapon of choice against men who do not “control” their wives and treat their wives as equals. Control here means, a man who ensures the woman toes the line drawn by him even if it violates all her rights and civil liberties. Which is why you will rarely see a Malayalee woman stand up for herself. There will be no one to support you and people in turn will blame you for bringing trouble on yourself by raising your voice against your husband/father/any other male etc. And if a woman does fight for her right, the men and to an extent some women too will go after her like a pack of hounds, calling her sexually frustrated and if she is unmarried advice her parents to get her married, which is a snide remark rather than an advice.
When I started blogging, I was amused to see that the very guys who went ROFL when I wrote something funny about Kerala at Poomanam changed colors at this blog when I wrote about social issues in Kerala. Most of the things I wrote were first hand experiences of colleagues and relations. And since they were so close to the truth and the truth themselves, there were a number of comments telling me to delete the blog because “it is a lie”. When that failed “the ultimate weapon” came out and that was to call me physically (read “sexually) frustrated and other references that I cannot mention here due to their vulgarity. The reason was obvious. I didn’t shut up and pull down the post when I was told to. And you do not do that unless you want to hear some “nice” words as they term it. Interestingly some of these comments were from guys who had blogs where they wrote about women’s issues and stood up for their rights etc. And more interesting, some of these anon commenters signed in with their blogger ID and left an appreciative comments! Appearances have to be kept up and images secured too, after all :p
Now I notice the same in Twitter too. You will typically see one guy abusing a woman and gleeful and empathic replies of approval and virtual high fives being exchanged by a number of similar people. Some of the words used are disgusting, but the reasons are obvious. Some poor unfortunate girl somewhere stood up for herself and is now being given the “treatment” she deserves.
I tweeted my opinion about one such abusive tweet recently and suddenly my inbox was full of mails from friends in blogosphere and otherwise, pointing me to people calling me “physically frustrated” without using my name. Things haven't changed much I see. Whether it is a blog or Twitter or any other media people do not tolerate what they do not like and get agitated over their lack of control and get abusive to deal with their own impotency. And what is amusing is that these very same people will tweet every story on women or children being abused with sympathetic murmurs or women fighting for their rights with high fives to carefully craft an image and gain more followers. It is really scary when you think about it.
It is a cut and paste world today and creating an image is not very difficult. I know people who lift music links from my blog to appear knowledgeable plus discussions about that particular piece in comment boxes and pass them off as theirs in tweets. Oh yes, all this happens and more here. Sab dhandha hai bhai :))
If online writing has taught me one thing, it is that you cannot carry on a charade or a facade here for too long. And I am heartened to see so many pseudos being kicked out of the closet by the very word they punch on their keyboards.
When all else failed to stop her, the most powerful weapon in the men's armory came out. And what is that you may wonder. And that is …calling her a “physically frustrated woman”. This is pretty common in Kerala. If a woman even raises her hand to stop a man from beating her or defends herself in anyway and a man cannot do anything about it, then the ultimate weapon i.e. sexual innuendos are used against her to control her and make her act in a manner that is acceptable to men.
My aunt has had more than her share. Her husband, a highly supportive man is called “henpecked” which is the weapon of choice against men who do not “control” their wives and treat their wives as equals. Control here means, a man who ensures the woman toes the line drawn by him even if it violates all her rights and civil liberties. Which is why you will rarely see a Malayalee woman stand up for herself. There will be no one to support you and people in turn will blame you for bringing trouble on yourself by raising your voice against your husband/father/any other male etc. And if a woman does fight for her right, the men and to an extent some women too will go after her like a pack of hounds, calling her sexually frustrated and if she is unmarried advice her parents to get her married, which is a snide remark rather than an advice.
When I started blogging, I was amused to see that the very guys who went ROFL when I wrote something funny about Kerala at Poomanam changed colors at this blog when I wrote about social issues in Kerala. Most of the things I wrote were first hand experiences of colleagues and relations. And since they were so close to the truth and the truth themselves, there were a number of comments telling me to delete the blog because “it is a lie”. When that failed “the ultimate weapon” came out and that was to call me physically (read “sexually) frustrated and other references that I cannot mention here due to their vulgarity. The reason was obvious. I didn’t shut up and pull down the post when I was told to. And you do not do that unless you want to hear some “nice” words as they term it. Interestingly some of these comments were from guys who had blogs where they wrote about women’s issues and stood up for their rights etc. And more interesting, some of these anon commenters signed in with their blogger ID and left an appreciative comments! Appearances have to be kept up and images secured too, after all :p
Now I notice the same in Twitter too. You will typically see one guy abusing a woman and gleeful and empathic replies of approval and virtual high fives being exchanged by a number of similar people. Some of the words used are disgusting, but the reasons are obvious. Some poor unfortunate girl somewhere stood up for herself and is now being given the “treatment” she deserves.
I tweeted my opinion about one such abusive tweet recently and suddenly my inbox was full of mails from friends in blogosphere and otherwise, pointing me to people calling me “physically frustrated” without using my name. Things haven't changed much I see. Whether it is a blog or Twitter or any other media people do not tolerate what they do not like and get agitated over their lack of control and get abusive to deal with their own impotency. And what is amusing is that these very same people will tweet every story on women or children being abused with sympathetic murmurs or women fighting for their rights with high fives to carefully craft an image and gain more followers. It is really scary when you think about it.
It is a cut and paste world today and creating an image is not very difficult. I know people who lift music links from my blog to appear knowledgeable plus discussions about that particular piece in comment boxes and pass them off as theirs in tweets. Oh yes, all this happens and more here. Sab dhandha hai bhai :))
If online writing has taught me one thing, it is that you cannot carry on a charade or a facade here for too long. And I am heartened to see so many pseudos being kicked out of the closet by the very word they punch on their keyboards.
Sunday, September 05, 2010
Love in the times of prejudice
They walked in hand in hand, and looked around in wonderment. The opulence of the mall seemed to overwhelm them. They looked like kids from the lower middle class. Their clothes tailored and out of place. They clung together, a little intimidated by the mall. They were in their teens I could make out. They walked in hand in hand. Their trust and reliance in each other was heartwarming. This was no ordinary romance. They looked so comfortable in the silence that enveloped them as they gazed around.
I fiddled with my coffee. I was waiting for the office gang to land up for a birthday treat. My eyes wandered to the couple. They were going around the mall, looking with awe at the shops, displays, colors and general branding merriment. Their eyes enthralled by the atmosphere, soaking in the sights.
Just as I was taking the last sip of my coffee, I saw them walking out. They had an air of people who had a wonderful day at the circus or zoo. They walked out hand in hand. People looked at them curiously. I was lost in the warmth of the moment to notice... that they were both guys.
Love has no borders or colors. It just takes two people to love. Whatever their gender.
I fiddled with my coffee. I was waiting for the office gang to land up for a birthday treat. My eyes wandered to the couple. They were going around the mall, looking with awe at the shops, displays, colors and general branding merriment. Their eyes enthralled by the atmosphere, soaking in the sights.
Just as I was taking the last sip of my coffee, I saw them walking out. They had an air of people who had a wonderful day at the circus or zoo. They walked out hand in hand. People looked at them curiously. I was lost in the warmth of the moment to notice... that they were both guys.
Love has no borders or colors. It just takes two people to love. Whatever their gender.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Ritu
I watched the Malayalam movie “Ritu” at a friend’s home last week. The movie is ostensibly a new genre of Malayalam movie. What I saw left me disappointed and annoyed. Disappointed, because the story is a contemporary retelling of an old tale i.e. the Malayalee returning to the homeland to start a business venture etc. Annoyed, because the story is written by someone who has no knowledge of the subject in the modern/IT context and panders to the misconceptions that people in Kerala have (specially the older generation) about IT professionals and their lifestyle in Bangalore. The story is written to touch the raw areas and sweet spots of its audience. Nothing sells like misconception that people hold dear because it gives them a sense of security of knowledge.
If this is the new cinema of Kerala then I am deeply disturbed. The movie doesn’t understand its characters or even tries to understand. It is written on wrong surmises and hearsay. The story is so clichéd that one wonders if it is written by a person who has never stepped outside Kerala or ever met an IT professional. Most of the understanding of the young people working in IT companies are derived from reading blogs and the movie has lots of bloopers, like Sunny ( a Kerala Malayalee as opposed to an NRK) who keeps saying “I hate these bloody mallus!” for no apparent reason. It seems to be like a trendy slang the scriptwriter latched onto for the hip effect.
Another blooper is Sharath’s colleague who discovers that Sunny is selling sensitive information by breaking the news to Sharath with this line “That Sunny is gay!!!”
Derogatory usage of the word “mallu’ is restricted to people who have had bad experiences with Kerala Malayalees and to a large extent by NRK's (Malayalee born and brought up outside Kerala to parents who hail from Kerala). The reasons for this will be explained in another blog post. Let me talk about the movie here.
The story is very similar to Varavelpu, where Sharath the protagonist, returns to Kerala after a stint in the US (apparently forced by brother in law) to start a project in Kerala. He is banking on the support of his old friends, Varsha and Sunny. The three were thick friends before Sharath left for the US.
Soon Sharath finds out that his friends have changed. Varsha keeps getting calls from guys in Bangalore and Sunny even hints at a promiscuous life she got into in Bangalore. At times you get the feeling that the movie is slyly trying to portray Bangalore as the Sin City of India. The connection is cleverly pushed, as Bangalore is the IT capital with most IT professionals working here. A naïve viewer would think that all that a girl needs to get laid is go to Bangalore, which is peopled by strapping young male IT professionals who speak only English and party all the time and live a very happening life. And what’s more they keep calling Varsha throughout the day telling her they “miss her”. Err… boys in the fast lanes missing their one night stands? Something doesn’t add up here.
Varsha's dialogues are restricted to "I want to go to Bangalore!" which she says over and over again to convey that she is addicted to Bangalore and its 'charms'. And parties as suggested in the movie happen only on Page Three of Bangalore Times where potbellied Uncles and Aunties and rich kids smile at cameras and pose like they are having a good time.
Guy friends who watched the movie with us were laughing at the portrayal of Bangalore and wondered if the filmmakers knew that the standard Bangalore social life constituted of going to the nearest booze shop every weekend to pick up booze to drink with friends and roomies ( all male) in two bedroom apartment shared by four guys.
The movie progresses with more clichés, like the successful lady entrepreneur who has reached the pinnacle of success not through hard work but by refusing to have kids to concentrate on her career. Or Varsha cleaning up her act by discarding western clothes and wearing salwars and pottu like a "good girl".
I won’t spoil the movie for you, but if it is trying to reiterate misconceptions and preying on people, especially parents fears, then it has done a good job. In the long run, movies like these only makes life difficult for Malayalees working in the IT industry with frantic parents and taunting relations having the justification to diss Bangalore as a trap waiting to swallow their unsuspecting young IT professionals.
If this is the new cinema of Kerala then I am deeply disturbed. The movie doesn’t understand its characters or even tries to understand. It is written on wrong surmises and hearsay. The story is so clichéd that one wonders if it is written by a person who has never stepped outside Kerala or ever met an IT professional. Most of the understanding of the young people working in IT companies are derived from reading blogs and the movie has lots of bloopers, like Sunny ( a Kerala Malayalee as opposed to an NRK) who keeps saying “I hate these bloody mallus!” for no apparent reason. It seems to be like a trendy slang the scriptwriter latched onto for the hip effect.
Another blooper is Sharath’s colleague who discovers that Sunny is selling sensitive information by breaking the news to Sharath with this line “That Sunny is gay!!!”
Derogatory usage of the word “mallu’ is restricted to people who have had bad experiences with Kerala Malayalees and to a large extent by NRK's (Malayalee born and brought up outside Kerala to parents who hail from Kerala). The reasons for this will be explained in another blog post. Let me talk about the movie here.
The story is very similar to Varavelpu, where Sharath the protagonist, returns to Kerala after a stint in the US (apparently forced by brother in law) to start a project in Kerala. He is banking on the support of his old friends, Varsha and Sunny. The three were thick friends before Sharath left for the US.
Soon Sharath finds out that his friends have changed. Varsha keeps getting calls from guys in Bangalore and Sunny even hints at a promiscuous life she got into in Bangalore. At times you get the feeling that the movie is slyly trying to portray Bangalore as the Sin City of India. The connection is cleverly pushed, as Bangalore is the IT capital with most IT professionals working here. A naïve viewer would think that all that a girl needs to get laid is go to Bangalore, which is peopled by strapping young male IT professionals who speak only English and party all the time and live a very happening life. And what’s more they keep calling Varsha throughout the day telling her they “miss her”. Err… boys in the fast lanes missing their one night stands? Something doesn’t add up here.
Varsha's dialogues are restricted to "I want to go to Bangalore!" which she says over and over again to convey that she is addicted to Bangalore and its 'charms'. And parties as suggested in the movie happen only on Page Three of Bangalore Times where potbellied Uncles and Aunties and rich kids smile at cameras and pose like they are having a good time.
Guy friends who watched the movie with us were laughing at the portrayal of Bangalore and wondered if the filmmakers knew that the standard Bangalore social life constituted of going to the nearest booze shop every weekend to pick up booze to drink with friends and roomies ( all male) in two bedroom apartment shared by four guys.
The movie progresses with more clichés, like the successful lady entrepreneur who has reached the pinnacle of success not through hard work but by refusing to have kids to concentrate on her career. Or Varsha cleaning up her act by discarding western clothes and wearing salwars and pottu like a "good girl".
I won’t spoil the movie for you, but if it is trying to reiterate misconceptions and preying on people, especially parents fears, then it has done a good job. In the long run, movies like these only makes life difficult for Malayalees working in the IT industry with frantic parents and taunting relations having the justification to diss Bangalore as a trap waiting to swallow their unsuspecting young IT professionals.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monsoon memories...
My paternal grandparents’ house was made entirely of wood. It still is. Only the four walls of the home are made of brick, unlike the imposing structure I call my maternal grandparents home. The house is very old, built by my great grandfather, who was into the wood business too. He was a pioneer of sorts, who knew that wood would be worth its weight in gold, in a few years to come. People laughed at him when he started a small wood shop as a side business. They laughed louder when he loaded the wood into Lorries and sent them off to far off markets. They stopped laughing when he leased his own fleet of Lorries that took wood from Kerala to Chennai and from there on to, buyers distributed it around the country. Perhaps they went out of the country too. I am not sure.
The results of his travels were the impeccable house he built, from prime wood he kept for himself and a fully wooden cow shed complete with a wooden loft to keep hay! Every stair in the house is made of wood. Stair landings are made of wood and even the floor at most places are made of wood. The wood is old and cured now, cured by time and people. It has mellowed like fine wine and gives out an aroma that I can only describe as “home”. For some strange reason, the humid and wet weather of the place has had no effect on the wood.
The rooms in this house are cavernous and one can hear ones echoes at times. Space, I guess was not a constraint in the old days.
This post is not about wood, but the wood takes on significance in my life as I spent all my holidays in my wooden paternal grandfather’s home.
Every stair landing in this house has a small cupboard and after we were born, coir mats were laid, so that we did not slip on the shiny wood. Every landing has a window, and I spent considerable time in these spaces, reading, sleeping, watching the rain or just staring out. I felt very secure here for some strange reason.
The stair landing gave me hours of contended time just sitting and watching the dense forest, rubber plantations and from some windows glimpses of rice fields nestled in valleys in between imposing mountains. The terrace of the house was useless as nothing could be seen from here. Only canopies of coconut and mountains. The terrace bustles with activity and clinks of glasses in the evening after the rosary and I did not feel afraid to go and look at the pitch darkness around the house. At other times I avoided the place like the plague.
Sitting at the landing looking at the rain, is and will be my most persistent and pleasant childhood memory. The water pours from the awning and the whole landscape took on silvery hues. I watched the sand around the house taking the ritualistic beating during monsoons and felt the tremor of the thunder claps making the house shiver like a scared child. The rain fell in cascades, as in this part of Kerala the rains are not like I have seen anywhere.
The wooden floors were immaculately kept and sitting on the bare floor and reading and falling asleep was routine. For some reason the wood bonded me to the house like brick and cement can never. I still don’t feel the bond with my home in Bangalore, like the bond that I have with that house in Kerala. The house seems to be a living breathing entity. Every nook and cranny is home and unlike tiled floors, you can sit anywhere.
The house has an attic. This is a wonderland that I finished exploring only recently. A section of the attic is above the outer kitchen where wood is still used. I suspect this is to smoke several stuff kept on top over the grill like floor. We never ventured there as we were told that we would fall into the boiling cauldrons below. Besides the floor here was frail with wooden rods laid at a certain distance to from each other to allow the smoke to filter through. Next to this section is the place where bunches of ethaka (banana) hang to ripen. This is the very ethnic Kerala variety and not the type you get in market. Tasteless and bulky. Exhortation to eat the bananas fell on deaf ears and my grandparents’ watched in despair when they were loaded into the jeep to market. There is only one way I eat them till today, and that is steamed.
During the rains the attic was an enchanting place. Many of the tiles of the roof were made of glass to let light through. It felt good to see the rain drops splattering on the tile, leaving me dry. In the mornings, the slanting rays of sunlight fell into the attic amidst swirls of smoke from the wood kitchen. It was a magical sight. One day I plan to take a professional photographer and make him record my living memories.
Sitting in the attic, with the rain hitting the tiles above and reading or just lying on the wooden floor watching the sky through the glass tiles is an experience I cannot describe.
When monsoon begins, the days turn dark and sunlight is a distant memory. But there is nothing gloomy about this darkness. The cozy wood ensconcing the house ensured that my memories of monsoons past were magical in my paternal grandparent’s house.
The results of his travels were the impeccable house he built, from prime wood he kept for himself and a fully wooden cow shed complete with a wooden loft to keep hay! Every stair in the house is made of wood. Stair landings are made of wood and even the floor at most places are made of wood. The wood is old and cured now, cured by time and people. It has mellowed like fine wine and gives out an aroma that I can only describe as “home”. For some strange reason, the humid and wet weather of the place has had no effect on the wood.
The rooms in this house are cavernous and one can hear ones echoes at times. Space, I guess was not a constraint in the old days.
This post is not about wood, but the wood takes on significance in my life as I spent all my holidays in my wooden paternal grandfather’s home.
Every stair landing in this house has a small cupboard and after we were born, coir mats were laid, so that we did not slip on the shiny wood. Every landing has a window, and I spent considerable time in these spaces, reading, sleeping, watching the rain or just staring out. I felt very secure here for some strange reason.
The stair landing gave me hours of contended time just sitting and watching the dense forest, rubber plantations and from some windows glimpses of rice fields nestled in valleys in between imposing mountains. The terrace of the house was useless as nothing could be seen from here. Only canopies of coconut and mountains. The terrace bustles with activity and clinks of glasses in the evening after the rosary and I did not feel afraid to go and look at the pitch darkness around the house. At other times I avoided the place like the plague.
Sitting at the landing looking at the rain, is and will be my most persistent and pleasant childhood memory. The water pours from the awning and the whole landscape took on silvery hues. I watched the sand around the house taking the ritualistic beating during monsoons and felt the tremor of the thunder claps making the house shiver like a scared child. The rain fell in cascades, as in this part of Kerala the rains are not like I have seen anywhere.
The wooden floors were immaculately kept and sitting on the bare floor and reading and falling asleep was routine. For some reason the wood bonded me to the house like brick and cement can never. I still don’t feel the bond with my home in Bangalore, like the bond that I have with that house in Kerala. The house seems to be a living breathing entity. Every nook and cranny is home and unlike tiled floors, you can sit anywhere.
The house has an attic. This is a wonderland that I finished exploring only recently. A section of the attic is above the outer kitchen where wood is still used. I suspect this is to smoke several stuff kept on top over the grill like floor. We never ventured there as we were told that we would fall into the boiling cauldrons below. Besides the floor here was frail with wooden rods laid at a certain distance to from each other to allow the smoke to filter through. Next to this section is the place where bunches of ethaka (banana) hang to ripen. This is the very ethnic Kerala variety and not the type you get in market. Tasteless and bulky. Exhortation to eat the bananas fell on deaf ears and my grandparents’ watched in despair when they were loaded into the jeep to market. There is only one way I eat them till today, and that is steamed.
During the rains the attic was an enchanting place. Many of the tiles of the roof were made of glass to let light through. It felt good to see the rain drops splattering on the tile, leaving me dry. In the mornings, the slanting rays of sunlight fell into the attic amidst swirls of smoke from the wood kitchen. It was a magical sight. One day I plan to take a professional photographer and make him record my living memories.
Sitting in the attic, with the rain hitting the tiles above and reading or just lying on the wooden floor watching the sky through the glass tiles is an experience I cannot describe.
When monsoon begins, the days turn dark and sunlight is a distant memory. But there is nothing gloomy about this darkness. The cozy wood ensconcing the house ensured that my memories of monsoons past were magical in my paternal grandparent’s house.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Educating the educators
Corporal punishment is in the news again. We are a country that needs laws to curb grown up men and women from hitting kids. In fact we need laws to ensure we behave like a civil society. But let us not go there for now. Right now, I want to talk about teachers hitting kids.
I remember as a kid waiting at the Cubbon Park to get on a peculiar type of carousel. There was a family already on the carousel and they ensured that when a child got off they would put another from their family onto the carousel. I waited patiently for the nice Uncle to give me a chance and then from somewhere, my Dad walked up stopped the carousel and told the head of the family manning the carousel to give me a seat. The man realized that he was monopolizing the play equipment and obliged. This more or less sums up us Indians. Here was a 8 year old kid waiting patiently for her turn play on the carousel but this man was not man enough to ensure that the kid also got a chance.
If you remember your childhood, you will remember that the only adults who ever cared for you were your parents, family members and family friends. You could never hope to be treated kindly by even parents of kids who did not know you. We are a selfish society.
And our teachers are not any different. Teaching is a vocation, but in a country like ours it becomes another job, another meal ticket. Therefore expecting our teachers to be nice to kids that are not their own is asking a bit too much.
I studied in a school where teachers were nurtured. Yes, you heard it right. Teachers were nurtured to be teachers. The others were let go. The nuns who run this school, created such an environment, that only genuine aspirant dared apply for a job in the school. The school still continues the tradition. Please don’t misunderstand me here. Teachers are not intimidated here. But guided. And most were willing to change their mindset and become teachers’ a.k.a imparters of education and not mere roll callers and home work and class work checkers.
My niece recently passed out of the same institution. She was doing poorly since 8th std due to tensions in the home between her parents. The teachers zeroed into the root cause of the decline in marks and rectified the same. After failing in 8 subjects from 8th std, she recently passed with a first class in ICSE without repeating a year.
What I am trying to say is that, teachers, like students need to be taught that a B.Ed is not enough qualification enough to be a teacher. A sympathetic attitude towards students and a genuine desire in their welfare and above all a genuine desire to impart learning is paramount. And it starts with the school management.
If a teacher is caught hitting a child, punishing him/her or removing him from the job will in no way deter future kid beaters. What will deter them however is the practice of evaluating teachers not only in teaching, but a whole lot of other parameters that would indicate if a person is suitable to continue in the post.
Thanks to Blogbharati for linking this post.
I remember as a kid waiting at the Cubbon Park to get on a peculiar type of carousel. There was a family already on the carousel and they ensured that when a child got off they would put another from their family onto the carousel. I waited patiently for the nice Uncle to give me a chance and then from somewhere, my Dad walked up stopped the carousel and told the head of the family manning the carousel to give me a seat. The man realized that he was monopolizing the play equipment and obliged. This more or less sums up us Indians. Here was a 8 year old kid waiting patiently for her turn play on the carousel but this man was not man enough to ensure that the kid also got a chance.
If you remember your childhood, you will remember that the only adults who ever cared for you were your parents, family members and family friends. You could never hope to be treated kindly by even parents of kids who did not know you. We are a selfish society.
And our teachers are not any different. Teaching is a vocation, but in a country like ours it becomes another job, another meal ticket. Therefore expecting our teachers to be nice to kids that are not their own is asking a bit too much.
I studied in a school where teachers were nurtured. Yes, you heard it right. Teachers were nurtured to be teachers. The others were let go. The nuns who run this school, created such an environment, that only genuine aspirant dared apply for a job in the school. The school still continues the tradition. Please don’t misunderstand me here. Teachers are not intimidated here. But guided. And most were willing to change their mindset and become teachers’ a.k.a imparters of education and not mere roll callers and home work and class work checkers.
My niece recently passed out of the same institution. She was doing poorly since 8th std due to tensions in the home between her parents. The teachers zeroed into the root cause of the decline in marks and rectified the same. After failing in 8 subjects from 8th std, she recently passed with a first class in ICSE without repeating a year.
What I am trying to say is that, teachers, like students need to be taught that a B.Ed is not enough qualification enough to be a teacher. A sympathetic attitude towards students and a genuine desire in their welfare and above all a genuine desire to impart learning is paramount. And it starts with the school management.
If a teacher is caught hitting a child, punishing him/her or removing him from the job will in no way deter future kid beaters. What will deter them however is the practice of evaluating teachers not only in teaching, but a whole lot of other parameters that would indicate if a person is suitable to continue in the post.
Thanks to Blogbharati for linking this post.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Stepping down and stepping up!
Shashi Tharoor returned to Trivandrum, last week to a rousing welcome. People cutting across party lines were there to greet him. If he were to resign from the Congress today, and contest as an independent, then the capital city may be lost forever to both the UDF and LDF.
Shashi Tharoor maybe the answer to Kerala’s professional politicians and their tight grip on the state. He has the potential in terms of popularity to lead Kerala out of the peat bog, to unfetter its feet and lead the people from indifference to participation.
He has the potential as he has the people’s backing. The apathy that the people felt at the choices before them seem to vanish when it comes to Tharoor. There is definitely a resurgence of hope in the embittered populace after Tharoor entered politics. Which might explain the bitter attacks on him for anything and everything.
Now if only Tharoor realizes his potential and seizes the moment, he can make history. He is the man who can turn the tide for Keralites.
If however he is risk averse, then he can do a lot as a sitting MP too.
Kerala voters seem to say, “If you have the inclination, you have our vote, all of it.” (Sorry HMT for lifting your tagline).
Shashi Tharoor maybe the answer to Kerala’s professional politicians and their tight grip on the state. He has the potential in terms of popularity to lead Kerala out of the peat bog, to unfetter its feet and lead the people from indifference to participation.
He has the potential as he has the people’s backing. The apathy that the people felt at the choices before them seem to vanish when it comes to Tharoor. There is definitely a resurgence of hope in the embittered populace after Tharoor entered politics. Which might explain the bitter attacks on him for anything and everything.
Now if only Tharoor realizes his potential and seizes the moment, he can make history. He is the man who can turn the tide for Keralites.
If however he is risk averse, then he can do a lot as a sitting MP too.
Kerala voters seem to say, “If you have the inclination, you have our vote, all of it.” (Sorry HMT for lifting your tagline).
Sunday, March 14, 2010
The invisible gifts in our lives...
The car was traveling fast through the familiar country side. As soon as we left Kottayam, it felt like we had entered the home stretch. Familiar buildings, trees and fields flashed by like wave upon wave of soothing familiar-ness. I knew I was enjoying the scenery due to the air conditioning in the car. It wouldn’t be so comfortable outside.
We took a bypass and were on a narrow road. I used to come this way as a kid very often. My favorite grand aunt lived here. She was called Ellaimma (because she was junior to other aunts), the youngest sister of my grandfather.
I remember walking up the pathway to her house every holidays and watching her standing at the door with a delighted expression as she saw us coming. Her white mundu and chatta would be stained with turmeric and chili powder stains. Then she would bend down and ask.
Idhaara? Enne ariyamo? (Who is this? Do you recognize me?)
And I said the most famous lines ever uttered in my family’s history.
Idhu Kadanad Kochuthressia alle? (Aren’t you Kochuthressia from Kadanad?)
I was six years old and created history with that remark. As a kid who grew up in Bangalore I wasn’t too familiar with our family protocol and unwittingly called my grand aunt by her name. She was called Kadanad Kochuthressia to distinguish her from the other Kochuthressia's in my large extended family. But my bloopers were always received with much laughter. We are family with a good sense of humor.
Then I would wait impatiently for her to change and emerge in spotless white mundu and chatta with the elegant hand embroidered shawl over her shoulders pinned down with an exotic brooch. There is a tradition in my part of Kerala. Relations drop in when there are more hands needed in a house and stay till they are needed.
I asked the driver to stop the car. My mom looked at me and said that there was no one in my grand aunts house now. It would be no use going there. I told her that I would be back quickly and got out of the car. From the main road I took the tiny road dug out from laterite and reached the main gate. The once elegant home was now in ruins. Antique contractors had ripped the hand crafted woodwork, doors and a whole lot of other ornate stuff from this ancient house. Ellaimma's children had sold the house after her death and settled in Bangalore where they worked.
I walked in through the open rusted gates and memories washed over me. Memories of going to the parambu to pick up betel nut that had fallen from the tree and running to Ellaimma, excitement written on my face. Ellaimma loved chewing betel nut. She rewarded me with some black coffee sweetened with jaggery, a favorite of mine. I wasn’t allowed to drink coffee or tea. It was a secret between us.
Every year the cycle repeated itself. Ellaimma our favorite aunt, kept an eye on us as we ran all over the huge parambu and rubber estates and the mountains that flanked the house. Her energy was boundless and she loved trailing behind us outdoors. In the evening, she bathed us and got us ready for rosary. Rosary was said sitting on her lap in the verandah looking at the thousands of fireflies that adorned the pitch black tapestry of night. If it wasn’t for the fireflies, her soothing droning would have put me to sleep.
One day we got the news that Ellaimma was dying. She had mouth cancer. We were in Kerala within hours of receiving the news. When I saw her, she looked anything but the Ellaimma I loved so much. Cancer had eaten half her face away. She had only half a face and pain killers ensured that she never knew that her grandniece had come to visit her. I was devastated.
Years later in a science class I learned with tearing eyes that betel nut chewing causes Mouth Cancer. That day my parents had a hard time convincing me that it was not me who killed Ellaimma.
Today, the cancer eaten face is forgotten. But Ellaimma is etched in my memory forever. Her kind face, twinkling eyes, ready laughter, fantastic sense of humor and an enormous amount of affection for children.
I walked back to the gate and towards the car, after staring at the house for a long time. I hoped the new owners would take good care of the place.
As we drove away, I silently thanked God for the gift of people like Ellaimma in my life.
We took a bypass and were on a narrow road. I used to come this way as a kid very often. My favorite grand aunt lived here. She was called Ellaimma (because she was junior to other aunts), the youngest sister of my grandfather.
I remember walking up the pathway to her house every holidays and watching her standing at the door with a delighted expression as she saw us coming. Her white mundu and chatta would be stained with turmeric and chili powder stains. Then she would bend down and ask.
Idhaara? Enne ariyamo? (Who is this? Do you recognize me?)
And I said the most famous lines ever uttered in my family’s history.
Idhu Kadanad Kochuthressia alle? (Aren’t you Kochuthressia from Kadanad?)
I was six years old and created history with that remark. As a kid who grew up in Bangalore I wasn’t too familiar with our family protocol and unwittingly called my grand aunt by her name. She was called Kadanad Kochuthressia to distinguish her from the other Kochuthressia's in my large extended family. But my bloopers were always received with much laughter. We are family with a good sense of humor.
Then I would wait impatiently for her to change and emerge in spotless white mundu and chatta with the elegant hand embroidered shawl over her shoulders pinned down with an exotic brooch. There is a tradition in my part of Kerala. Relations drop in when there are more hands needed in a house and stay till they are needed.
I asked the driver to stop the car. My mom looked at me and said that there was no one in my grand aunts house now. It would be no use going there. I told her that I would be back quickly and got out of the car. From the main road I took the tiny road dug out from laterite and reached the main gate. The once elegant home was now in ruins. Antique contractors had ripped the hand crafted woodwork, doors and a whole lot of other ornate stuff from this ancient house. Ellaimma's children had sold the house after her death and settled in Bangalore where they worked.
I walked in through the open rusted gates and memories washed over me. Memories of going to the parambu to pick up betel nut that had fallen from the tree and running to Ellaimma, excitement written on my face. Ellaimma loved chewing betel nut. She rewarded me with some black coffee sweetened with jaggery, a favorite of mine. I wasn’t allowed to drink coffee or tea. It was a secret between us.
Every year the cycle repeated itself. Ellaimma our favorite aunt, kept an eye on us as we ran all over the huge parambu and rubber estates and the mountains that flanked the house. Her energy was boundless and she loved trailing behind us outdoors. In the evening, she bathed us and got us ready for rosary. Rosary was said sitting on her lap in the verandah looking at the thousands of fireflies that adorned the pitch black tapestry of night. If it wasn’t for the fireflies, her soothing droning would have put me to sleep.
One day we got the news that Ellaimma was dying. She had mouth cancer. We were in Kerala within hours of receiving the news. When I saw her, she looked anything but the Ellaimma I loved so much. Cancer had eaten half her face away. She had only half a face and pain killers ensured that she never knew that her grandniece had come to visit her. I was devastated.
Years later in a science class I learned with tearing eyes that betel nut chewing causes Mouth Cancer. That day my parents had a hard time convincing me that it was not me who killed Ellaimma.
Today, the cancer eaten face is forgotten. But Ellaimma is etched in my memory forever. Her kind face, twinkling eyes, ready laughter, fantastic sense of humor and an enormous amount of affection for children.
I walked back to the gate and towards the car, after staring at the house for a long time. I hoped the new owners would take good care of the place.
As we drove away, I silently thanked God for the gift of people like Ellaimma in my life.
Saturday, March 06, 2010
The vacuum within
The Swami Nithyananda scandal has ripped the society apart. On one side we have people who say that he has every right to sleep with women and on the other side there are people who say that having taken the vow of brahmacharyam or celibacy and exhorting his followers to do the same, he should not have cheated on their faith and belief in him.
I am not here to defend him or run him down. But I feel that religion has become big business now and mega bucks are for the taking if you know a few prayers; posses’ good oratory skills and tones of hypocrisy and know how to harvest people’s insecurities and weaknesses. Reminds me of catechism classes where we were told that God listens to us if we pray to him and if he doesn’t, then He thinks that is best for us. Absolutely no scope for further argument here. :p
Whichever the religion the “holy man” professes , what the people are forgetting is that holy men of yore were people who were acknowledged for their piety and saintliness after a long life led by practicing what they preached. Today those very men have become role models for crooks and con men out to make the mega bucks available for the taking. Whatever the garb, all have their private agendas. Some want to increase followers, some to increase their coffers.
With so many scandals coming to forth involving Swamiji’s and Godmen, one would think that people will think twice before they trust anyone. But the sad truth is, most people would rather listen and be led than think for themselves. This is a weakness that seems to grip our nation. We have this inherent need to pay obeisance to someone and be led like a herd. I do not know why we have this vacuum within us that makes us easy targets for people more than willing to offer us that feeling of being in control of “our” lives.
I am not here to defend him or run him down. But I feel that religion has become big business now and mega bucks are for the taking if you know a few prayers; posses’ good oratory skills and tones of hypocrisy and know how to harvest people’s insecurities and weaknesses. Reminds me of catechism classes where we were told that God listens to us if we pray to him and if he doesn’t, then He thinks that is best for us. Absolutely no scope for further argument here. :p
Whichever the religion the “holy man” professes , what the people are forgetting is that holy men of yore were people who were acknowledged for their piety and saintliness after a long life led by practicing what they preached. Today those very men have become role models for crooks and con men out to make the mega bucks available for the taking. Whatever the garb, all have their private agendas. Some want to increase followers, some to increase their coffers.
With so many scandals coming to forth involving Swamiji’s and Godmen, one would think that people will think twice before they trust anyone. But the sad truth is, most people would rather listen and be led than think for themselves. This is a weakness that seems to grip our nation. We have this inherent need to pay obeisance to someone and be led like a herd. I do not know why we have this vacuum within us that makes us easy targets for people more than willing to offer us that feeling of being in control of “our” lives.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Making it big while staying small
If there were an award for a city that has remained static, despite the massive changes it has undergone, in terms of demography, industry and social culture, then the award should go to Bangalore. The last two decades has bought sweeping changes to Bangalore. IT has become an important part of the landscape both economic and social. Thousands of people have settled here, displacing the older population by 7 to 1. Yet the city has held firm. Not a single new road has been created. Nor a single gully carved out of its stubborn landscape, all thanks to a recalcitrant administration, that seem to have gone berserk collecting the windfall on the city.
Yesterday I witnessed a funny sight. An Innova carrying lots of expats was waiting by the side on Commercial Street. A traffic inspector came and started shouting abuses, typical Bangalore cop style at the driver. He was loud and rude and unnecessarily harsh. From behind the Innova, out popped a plump lady and pointed to the cop and shouted “Hey! We are waiting for someone. We are not blocking traffic.”
The cop shamelessly shouted back “Shut up you hag. Shut your bloody mouth”. If you think the lady was intimidated, she was not. She stood her ground and suddenly the cop realized that it was he who was losing face. He grumbled and asked the driver not to linger too long. What bought about the change in the cop, was the people staring at him in disgust and disbelief. Two decades ago, he would have got away with it. Bangalore can truly call itself a cosmopolitan city now.
However I noticed that Commercial Street has not grown an inch. It handles the increased number in shoppers by just slowing down. Everything is slow here. I waited for 45 minutes to swipe my card at the Levi’s showroom as the machine was busy due to the peak shopping time. Next time I take cash. Walking about the street, we noticed that all of us were totally exhausted. After three hours of browsing and shopping, we decided to call it a day. There was a time we could hang around this place the whole day. Now it is next to impossible.
As a last port of call, we decided to go to KFC. Wrong choice. The crowd of hungry shoppers was immense and we got to the counter after 30 minutes of leg aching, shin shaking minutes. I was so tired that I don’t even remember eating my Zinger. Got into the car, and thanked my lucky stars that I bought along the driver. Slept all the way home, hauled my carcass out of the car and crashed out to get up only today.
Now I don’t know whether to be happy or sad at the situation. The overcrowding of Bangalore, has strangely bought a semblance of dignity to this city, which was in the grip of parochial maniacs for a long time, who looked at you with contempt and told you at every instance that you were drinking “their” water, living on “their” land and so should shut up and or speak only in the native tongue.
Yesterday I witnessed a funny sight. An Innova carrying lots of expats was waiting by the side on Commercial Street. A traffic inspector came and started shouting abuses, typical Bangalore cop style at the driver. He was loud and rude and unnecessarily harsh. From behind the Innova, out popped a plump lady and pointed to the cop and shouted “Hey! We are waiting for someone. We are not blocking traffic.”
The cop shamelessly shouted back “Shut up you hag. Shut your bloody mouth”. If you think the lady was intimidated, she was not. She stood her ground and suddenly the cop realized that it was he who was losing face. He grumbled and asked the driver not to linger too long. What bought about the change in the cop, was the people staring at him in disgust and disbelief. Two decades ago, he would have got away with it. Bangalore can truly call itself a cosmopolitan city now.
However I noticed that Commercial Street has not grown an inch. It handles the increased number in shoppers by just slowing down. Everything is slow here. I waited for 45 minutes to swipe my card at the Levi’s showroom as the machine was busy due to the peak shopping time. Next time I take cash. Walking about the street, we noticed that all of us were totally exhausted. After three hours of browsing and shopping, we decided to call it a day. There was a time we could hang around this place the whole day. Now it is next to impossible.
As a last port of call, we decided to go to KFC. Wrong choice. The crowd of hungry shoppers was immense and we got to the counter after 30 minutes of leg aching, shin shaking minutes. I was so tired that I don’t even remember eating my Zinger. Got into the car, and thanked my lucky stars that I bought along the driver. Slept all the way home, hauled my carcass out of the car and crashed out to get up only today.
Now I don’t know whether to be happy or sad at the situation. The overcrowding of Bangalore, has strangely bought a semblance of dignity to this city, which was in the grip of parochial maniacs for a long time, who looked at you with contempt and told you at every instance that you were drinking “their” water, living on “their” land and so should shut up and or speak only in the native tongue.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
The futileness of hypocrisy
While we condemn the attack on Indians and lately on a Gurudwara in Australia, aren’t we conveniently forgetting that attacks on Churches, Mosques and Temples are routine in our country with hundreds of people dying over these buildings every year?
We protest over Indian students being attacked, while we conveniently forget that Graham Staines and his two sons were burnt alive in our country and thousands of people lose their lives every year in communal and caste clashes.
We condemn racist taunts conveniently forgetting that we attack pubs and beat up women and harass young couples who dare to walk together in broad daylight and impose silly restriction on people due to our inherent intolerant nature!
What a bunch of hypocrites we are!!
We are the most intolerant people in the world, yet we shamelessly raise our voice when an Indian abroad is treated the same way that we treat our fellow countrymen and women everyday!
It is time to introspect and look at ourselves long and hard before we point fingers at others. It is time we set our own house in order before we ask others to clean up their act. Then and only then will we be taken seriously.
We have to remember that we live in an ever shrinking world, where everyone knows what is happening in everyone’s backyard. So let us not call the kettle black and think we can get away with the moral posturing!
We protest over Indian students being attacked, while we conveniently forget that Graham Staines and his two sons were burnt alive in our country and thousands of people lose their lives every year in communal and caste clashes.
We condemn racist taunts conveniently forgetting that we attack pubs and beat up women and harass young couples who dare to walk together in broad daylight and impose silly restriction on people due to our inherent intolerant nature!
What a bunch of hypocrites we are!!
We are the most intolerant people in the world, yet we shamelessly raise our voice when an Indian abroad is treated the same way that we treat our fellow countrymen and women everyday!
It is time to introspect and look at ourselves long and hard before we point fingers at others. It is time we set our own house in order before we ask others to clean up their act. Then and only then will we be taken seriously.
We have to remember that we live in an ever shrinking world, where everyone knows what is happening in everyone’s backyard. So let us not call the kettle black and think we can get away with the moral posturing!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
The last post....for this year and New Year Wishes!
From a seedy cyber cafe in Goa (lappie left at home) here's wishing the readers of My Think Pad, warm wishes for a Happy New Year!!
Thank you for dropping by to read my rather judgmental, generalized and highly opinionated posts, and being patient and counting to ten before posting your comments. Thanks for dropping by even if I haven't posted for weeks. The visitor count to this blog never ebbs even in dry spells. Thank you so much for that. I cannot tell you how good it feels to be remembered...feels like friends keeping an eye on me and that makes me feel all warm inside. And now...I thank Almighty God, my parents....okay that is taking it too far :p
Here's wishing that the hippie sitting next to me takes a New Year resolution to take a bath. Phew! And that the Hippie next to him stops scratching his crotch ( note to self- disinfect hands after this post) and that the old British couple sitting together in one cubicle, sending New Year wishes do not mind my awwwww and that the stupid guy who runs this shady joint stops peeping into my mail box brrr.
Kidding folks...here is what I actually wish for you this New Year... (author of this unconventional message is unknown) :)
My New Year's Wishes for you
May you get a clean bill of health from your dentist, your cardiologist, your gastro-enterologist, your urologist, your proctologist, your podiatrist, your psychiatrist, your plumber and the I.R.S.
May your hair, your teeth, your face-lift, your abs and your stocks not fall; and may your blood pressure, your triglycerides, your cholesterol, your white blood count and your mortgage interest not rise.
May New Year's Eve find you seated around the table, together with your beloved family and cherished friends. May you find the food better, the environment quieter, the cost much cheaper, and the pleasure much more fulfilling than anything else you might ordinarily do that night.
May what you see in the mirror delight you, and what others see in you delight them. May someone love you enough to forgive your faults, be blind to your blemishes, and tell the world about your virtues.
May the telemarketers wait to make their sales calls until you finish dinner, may the commercials on TV not be louder than the program you have been watching, and may your check book and your budget balance - and include generous amounts for charity.
May you remember to say "I love you" at least once a day to your spouse, your child, your parent, your siblings; but not to your secretary, your nurse, your masseuse, your hairdresser or your tennis instructor.
And may we live in a world at peace and with the awareness of God's love in every sunset, every flower's unfolding petals, every baby's smile, every lover's kiss, and every wonderful, astonishing, miraculous beat of our heart.
Thank you for dropping by to read my rather judgmental, generalized and highly opinionated posts, and being patient and counting to ten before posting your comments. Thanks for dropping by even if I haven't posted for weeks. The visitor count to this blog never ebbs even in dry spells. Thank you so much for that. I cannot tell you how good it feels to be remembered...feels like friends keeping an eye on me and that makes me feel all warm inside. And now...I thank Almighty God, my parents....okay that is taking it too far :p
Here's wishing that the hippie sitting next to me takes a New Year resolution to take a bath. Phew! And that the Hippie next to him stops scratching his crotch ( note to self- disinfect hands after this post) and that the old British couple sitting together in one cubicle, sending New Year wishes do not mind my awwwww and that the stupid guy who runs this shady joint stops peeping into my mail box brrr.
Kidding folks...here is what I actually wish for you this New Year... (author of this unconventional message is unknown) :)
My New Year's Wishes for you
May you get a clean bill of health from your dentist, your cardiologist, your gastro-enterologist, your urologist, your proctologist, your podiatrist, your psychiatrist, your plumber and the I.R.S.
May your hair, your teeth, your face-lift, your abs and your stocks not fall; and may your blood pressure, your triglycerides, your cholesterol, your white blood count and your mortgage interest not rise.
May New Year's Eve find you seated around the table, together with your beloved family and cherished friends. May you find the food better, the environment quieter, the cost much cheaper, and the pleasure much more fulfilling than anything else you might ordinarily do that night.
May what you see in the mirror delight you, and what others see in you delight them. May someone love you enough to forgive your faults, be blind to your blemishes, and tell the world about your virtues.
May the telemarketers wait to make their sales calls until you finish dinner, may the commercials on TV not be louder than the program you have been watching, and may your check book and your budget balance - and include generous amounts for charity.
May you remember to say "I love you" at least once a day to your spouse, your child, your parent, your siblings; but not to your secretary, your nurse, your masseuse, your hairdresser or your tennis instructor.
And may we live in a world at peace and with the awareness of God's love in every sunset, every flower's unfolding petals, every baby's smile, every lover's kiss, and every wonderful, astonishing, miraculous beat of our heart.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Epiphany
I attended a wedding today in Kottayam. It was a wedding in the church of some vague Christian denomination. The wedding service was sweet and simple, but people like us were seen bolting for the door in panic when the sermon began. The preacher petrified everyone to their seats with his blazing sermon about God and his wrath. Apparently, if we do not repent and read the Bible and call His name every few second, serious repercussions would fall on us. He made God out to be a monster; a deadly creature stalking you evilly, ready to smite you if you were not shivering in your pants at the thought of His wrath and praying continuously.
I wanted to throw my shoes at him. I am so fed up of people like him and the chain mails I get with the picture of Our Lady/Jesus, asking me to forward it to 15 people or die like the Brazil presidents wife, or be maimed like the American Senator’s daughter, or lose my eyesight like the Inca lady in South America, who had probably not heard about a computer, let alone chain mails.
Try as I might, I can never understand these people and their message. What are they trying to say? Every time you hear them it is the same message.
Jesus is the Lord
You are a sinner
You will die
And that will be a big loss to you, let me remind you!
If you want to be saved (Of what? You will die anyway) then say the Lords name!
What about the teachings of Christ, buddy? About love and compassion, especially to sinners. Of being kind to the prodigal son and treating women of bad repute like Mary Magdalene with respect and dignity. And most importantly of not pointing fingers unless you have not sinned yourself! I feel sad for Christ and Christianity, that these self appointed spokespersons of Christ are doing so much damage to His legacy with their own interpretations of the Bible, convoluted, narrow minded thinking and private agendas.
When the service was over, I realized for the first time, that there was so much dignity, piety and humility in a Catholic Mass. A reality check, that was long overdue! But I am glad it happened.
Happy New Year dear friends!
I wanted to throw my shoes at him. I am so fed up of people like him and the chain mails I get with the picture of Our Lady/Jesus, asking me to forward it to 15 people or die like the Brazil presidents wife, or be maimed like the American Senator’s daughter, or lose my eyesight like the Inca lady in South America, who had probably not heard about a computer, let alone chain mails.
Try as I might, I can never understand these people and their message. What are they trying to say? Every time you hear them it is the same message.
Jesus is the Lord
You are a sinner
You will die
And that will be a big loss to you, let me remind you!
If you want to be saved (Of what? You will die anyway) then say the Lords name!
What about the teachings of Christ, buddy? About love and compassion, especially to sinners. Of being kind to the prodigal son and treating women of bad repute like Mary Magdalene with respect and dignity. And most importantly of not pointing fingers unless you have not sinned yourself! I feel sad for Christ and Christianity, that these self appointed spokespersons of Christ are doing so much damage to His legacy with their own interpretations of the Bible, convoluted, narrow minded thinking and private agendas.
When the service was over, I realized for the first time, that there was so much dignity, piety and humility in a Catholic Mass. A reality check, that was long overdue! But I am glad it happened.
Happy New Year dear friends!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Ungoogle
I was searching for a pals Flickr account having conveniently forgotten to bookmark it when she gave it to me over gchat. Faced with the prospect of quiz questions on the same by her in exactly one hour when she logs in from the US, I tried to search for her album using her name in the Flickr search tool.
The result was interesting. (see text in the red 'rectangle')
Face it Yahoo, you can never do a Google.
p.s. Friends account was not on Flickr. So I got some tarty comments about having no time to go through her neighbors puppies mundan ceremony. Apparently he had a skin problem and had to be shaved.
Friend is right! I am a bad bad girl who does not deserve a pal like her! *sniff*
The result was interesting. (see text in the red 'rectangle')
Face it Yahoo, you can never do a Google.
p.s. Friends account was not on Flickr. So I got some tarty comments about having no time to go through her neighbors puppies mundan ceremony. Apparently he had a skin problem and had to be shaved.
Friend is right! I am a bad bad girl who does not deserve a pal like her! *sniff*
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Clipping their wings
A week back I walked into this electronics showroom and spotted a familiar face behind the counter that displayed laptops and computers. After racking my brain wondering where I had seen this girl, it struck me. She was my classmate in school!! I never saw her after board exams and later we heard that she had got married and quit studies after her 12th. I was accompanying a friend who is purchasing her first computer and since I know a little about the same, she asked me come along with her.
My classmate let call her FM, recognized me instantly and shook my hands warmly. Then she attended to us and I was amazed at her knowledge of computers, configurations and other things I didn’t even know existed. Pretty soon she had got us what we wanted and we parted ways, after giving each other our contact numbers.
I have come across many such girls. They belong to a minority community that does not allow girls to study too much as parents want to marry them off quickly as per tradition and also because they feel that they will not get grooms if they were too educated. The girls get married and soon the couple realizes that one income is not enough and the girl is allowed to look for a job. Because of their low qualifications, they end up being sales girls or cashiers. They do not complete their studies after marriage due to kids and other domestic hassles. But most of them were good students, and if allowed to complete their studies, would have been in better positions professionally.
The injustice and irony of this situation is just too frustrating. This is like deliberately maiming a healthy individual to a handicapped life. Wish the parents have the vision to see that their daughters would have to work to support the family like others girls in their community and educate these girls and I wish their prospective grooms realize the potential of an educated wife and do not hesitate to marry educated girls due to ego or inferiority complexes.
Thousands of girls like FM are working as lowly paid workers, all because their parents did not allow them to complete their studies, not knowing that they will invariably have to go to work after marriage due to financial compulsions. This is so unjust that just writing this post has put me in a bad mood!!
My classmate let call her FM, recognized me instantly and shook my hands warmly. Then she attended to us and I was amazed at her knowledge of computers, configurations and other things I didn’t even know existed. Pretty soon she had got us what we wanted and we parted ways, after giving each other our contact numbers.
I have come across many such girls. They belong to a minority community that does not allow girls to study too much as parents want to marry them off quickly as per tradition and also because they feel that they will not get grooms if they were too educated. The girls get married and soon the couple realizes that one income is not enough and the girl is allowed to look for a job. Because of their low qualifications, they end up being sales girls or cashiers. They do not complete their studies after marriage due to kids and other domestic hassles. But most of them were good students, and if allowed to complete their studies, would have been in better positions professionally.
The injustice and irony of this situation is just too frustrating. This is like deliberately maiming a healthy individual to a handicapped life. Wish the parents have the vision to see that their daughters would have to work to support the family like others girls in their community and educate these girls and I wish their prospective grooms realize the potential of an educated wife and do not hesitate to marry educated girls due to ego or inferiority complexes.
Thousands of girls like FM are working as lowly paid workers, all because their parents did not allow them to complete their studies, not knowing that they will invariably have to go to work after marriage due to financial compulsions. This is so unjust that just writing this post has put me in a bad mood!!
Saturday, December 05, 2009
State victims
Yesterday night while we were returning from a party, we saw a remarkable thing. Two cops were kicking and beating up a teenager. He seemed to be from a good family and kept fending them off by saying “Sorry Sir”. He cops kept hitting and kicking and punching him. So what was remarkable about this sight? They were traffic cops!
Since the State government has banned random checking of licenses,(which was rigorously implemented due to the wads of cash it yielded),it has become impossible for these guys to make money. Since only traffic violators can be pulled up, they now milk them for all they are worth. A colleague’s son was caught when he had just cleared a signal before it turned red and accused of being drunk. He was asked to shell out 1K or face a formal fine of 3K. He refused as he was not drunk. When intimidation did not work, they subjected him to an alcohol test and released him after cursing him. Such instances are on the rise now as the men in uniform, find fewer ways to extort money from drivers.
What has State machinery like traffic policing become? A mere tool to extort money! Disturbing isn’t it that most State machineries in this country are devices to extort money from citizens! What do you call this? New age mafia? Democracy be damned. Every State machinery in this State is a money making machine for the politicians. Even the huge sums collected for flood relief, went for Ministerial relief.
The final nail in the coffin was, colleagues advising me not to donate money for flood relief. Give food, clothes but never money they advised. Else it will go to politician’s bank accounts. When I put the packet of clothes in the box provided for flood relief work, I couldn’t help pitying the victims of not only floods, but all of us, who are victims of State sponsored extortion.
And we take it without a whimper!
Since the State government has banned random checking of licenses,(which was rigorously implemented due to the wads of cash it yielded),it has become impossible for these guys to make money. Since only traffic violators can be pulled up, they now milk them for all they are worth. A colleague’s son was caught when he had just cleared a signal before it turned red and accused of being drunk. He was asked to shell out 1K or face a formal fine of 3K. He refused as he was not drunk. When intimidation did not work, they subjected him to an alcohol test and released him after cursing him. Such instances are on the rise now as the men in uniform, find fewer ways to extort money from drivers.
What has State machinery like traffic policing become? A mere tool to extort money! Disturbing isn’t it that most State machineries in this country are devices to extort money from citizens! What do you call this? New age mafia? Democracy be damned. Every State machinery in this State is a money making machine for the politicians. Even the huge sums collected for flood relief, went for Ministerial relief.
The final nail in the coffin was, colleagues advising me not to donate money for flood relief. Give food, clothes but never money they advised. Else it will go to politician’s bank accounts. When I put the packet of clothes in the box provided for flood relief work, I couldn’t help pitying the victims of not only floods, but all of us, who are victims of State sponsored extortion.
And we take it without a whimper!
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Time to introspect
The offices of a prominent News Channel was attacked and vandalized this week. Doesn't it make you think Mr. Managing Director of the Channel, that in your greed for TRP ratings, you made a molehill of a man into a mountain? So why are you surprised that the illusionary mountain dared to take on you now?
Hope this is a lesson to you and your kinsmen in the media, that for your good health exercising a lot of discretion while covering certain elements would be a good idea.
Hope this is a lesson to you and your kinsmen in the media, that for your good health exercising a lot of discretion while covering certain elements would be a good idea.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
The Tiffin People
Sorry friends if I am writing a bit too much about office these days. But it looks like ‘tis the season to be annoying' for some people. My team in office is pretty close and we sit together for lunch and go for coffee breaks together. We even go for movies together during weekends! Lunch at office is a simple affair; everyone tastes a little bit from everyone’s tiffin and then gets back to demolishing their own tiffins.
We are also a friendly and jovial lot and so we have a lot of people from other teams befriending us. Sometimes these people come and sit with us for lunch, for the sheer joy of sitting with a bubbly group of people. Over a period of time we noticed that there is a particular guy and girl who are almost always sitting with us for lunch.
Yesterday someone remarked that he was hungry. I joined in saying that I was too. So did the others. It was 4 p.m. and we went to this Sagar to grab some bites. That is when we realized that we were pretty hungry these days. One guy remarked absentmindedly that we would not be so hungry if we got to eat our tiffins. Suddenly it dawned on all of us that we were indeed getting very little to eat at lunch. The reason was embarrassingly obvious. The new joinees at our table were helping themselves to our food even after the sampling session was over. And we, i.e. the tiffin people were left with not much to eat.
Now how do we tackle this delicate problem? It is not nice to not share food. But they had their tiffins too. Besides we felt that they were not realizing what they were doing. We tried everything to tackle our hunger problem. I bought extra food, but it was to no avail. One guy got up and went and sat at another table, but the guy and gal merely wandered to his table and helped themselves to the food. We went for lunch early, late, very late, but the duo was always onto us. It was an embarrassing situation and none of us knew what to do.
Finally, we decided to stop bringing lunch and eat at this Sagar. That helped but when we started brining our tiffin, the duo was back. Finally a senior colleague saw us playing musical chairs with the various cafeterias and put a stop to the game. He came and sat down with us for lunch and told the offending duo politely but firmly that sampling meant sampling and not gorging. They got the hint, but their crestfallen faces made us feel so bad for days. We felt like really horrible people who cannot even share a “little” food with their colleagues.
The senior colleague, who told them off, is amazed that we are so pathetic and that we cannot stand of ourselves when bullied and feel bad for the bully when they are told off. He feels that he hasn’t seen such a bunch of losers in his life.
Now we are all suffering from dual personalities. One that feels bad for what we did to the duo and another weaker personality that feels that what we did was right. :p
This has to be my most embarrassing post here.
We are also a friendly and jovial lot and so we have a lot of people from other teams befriending us. Sometimes these people come and sit with us for lunch, for the sheer joy of sitting with a bubbly group of people. Over a period of time we noticed that there is a particular guy and girl who are almost always sitting with us for lunch.
Yesterday someone remarked that he was hungry. I joined in saying that I was too. So did the others. It was 4 p.m. and we went to this Sagar to grab some bites. That is when we realized that we were pretty hungry these days. One guy remarked absentmindedly that we would not be so hungry if we got to eat our tiffins. Suddenly it dawned on all of us that we were indeed getting very little to eat at lunch. The reason was embarrassingly obvious. The new joinees at our table were helping themselves to our food even after the sampling session was over. And we, i.e. the tiffin people were left with not much to eat.
Now how do we tackle this delicate problem? It is not nice to not share food. But they had their tiffins too. Besides we felt that they were not realizing what they were doing. We tried everything to tackle our hunger problem. I bought extra food, but it was to no avail. One guy got up and went and sat at another table, but the guy and gal merely wandered to his table and helped themselves to the food. We went for lunch early, late, very late, but the duo was always onto us. It was an embarrassing situation and none of us knew what to do.
Finally, we decided to stop bringing lunch and eat at this Sagar. That helped but when we started brining our tiffin, the duo was back. Finally a senior colleague saw us playing musical chairs with the various cafeterias and put a stop to the game. He came and sat down with us for lunch and told the offending duo politely but firmly that sampling meant sampling and not gorging. They got the hint, but their crestfallen faces made us feel so bad for days. We felt like really horrible people who cannot even share a “little” food with their colleagues.
The senior colleague, who told them off, is amazed that we are so pathetic and that we cannot stand of ourselves when bullied and feel bad for the bully when they are told off. He feels that he hasn’t seen such a bunch of losers in his life.
Now we are all suffering from dual personalities. One that feels bad for what we did to the duo and another weaker personality that feels that what we did was right. :p
This has to be my most embarrassing post here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)