The Paper Estate Boom

There was a time when newspapers not only broke news; they even linked people and freed nations. For example, Sri Aurobindo Ghose, one of India's greatest sons, channelised his nationalist sentiments towards the greater cause of Indian Independence through the daily and weeklies he edited. What he wrote was of so much concern to the British that, even when he was long out of the extremism he had embraced earlier, Lord Minto went on record saying - "I can only repeat that he is the most dangerous man we have to reckon with."

It is said that editors and columnists were responsible for their positions and newspapers led the societal evolution. I am not sure whether it is after the permeation of the television and the internet with, so to say, the human bloodstream, or this being the time where only sensationalism sells - but newspapers today are defnitely not even the shadow of what they used to be in their responsibilities.

Each morning (well, you know it's almost afternoon when I get up, but I have a look at it the first thing each day) when I have a cursory glance through the pages of the Times of India, I know I am not missing much. More often than not, just browsing through the front page, the sports pages, the international page and the comic strips are what I do with the TOI. I hardly recall a really thought-provoking article or series being printed there. Even their seemingly patriotic 'Lead India' campaign is basically a means to fill the coffers through strategic marketing and publicity. Their sports page has also lost valuable space to what the wives and girlfriends (they actually use the word 'WAGs' for this!) of our sporting heroes are upto. I remember around fifteen years ago, when The Asian Age was launched - MJ Akbar resorted to bringing a tabloid in the size of a newspaper daily at your doorstep.

It was only yesterday - I fetched the TOI to read about Benazir Bhutto's assassination, her life and her times. The coverage was decent but on a day when Dhirubhai Ambani was born 'to change the face of India', she had to be pushed to start from Page 3. The first two pages were bought out well ahead - and we had to see a full-blown, smiling Dhirubhai on the cover. Again, in an attempt to showcase him as the messiah of the masses when honestly I feel whatever he had done was only to build a business empire with an acumen that was so much ahead of his times - his lifetime was written, ludicrously, as 28.12.1932 - Eternity. I don't think someone wrote like that even for Jesus Christ.

"Add the colours and spice it up
Sure, then, it is to sell."
"What about the reader, Mr. Editor?"
"Just ask him to go to hell!"

A near-fatal tread

"Hello, so you are back again?" I neglected the sarcasm in its voice and the sneer in its face, pressed the 'Quick Start' button and looked up. I was determined today - and decided not to fall prey to these rather caustic remarks the treadmill was making. It was perhaps speaking out for about a dozen of its brothers in Hyderabad, Chennai, New Jersey and New York - who had to uneasily bear my weight (pun intended) over the last 3 years. But never for more than 6 weeks at a stretch - and once, even for just a single day.

If you plot my appetite versus my exercise routine on a graph, you would surely come up with the solution for my staggering weight increase. Just today, someone - though a bit more on zeal than reason - called me a "200 pound godown of flesh". I need to get back to this person sooner than later. Hence, there was more reason for me to ignore the treadmill.

Anyways, the last time I went to a gym was in May and I tried to repeat something close to what I used to do then, in my first day today. So, there I was, panting my heart out after running for 10 minutes continuously at 10 kmph. I could not - despite taking 5-minute breaks in between exercises - complete either the cycle or the cross-trainer. One minute into them, my heart was fighting for space with my tonsils and I had to give up. It was not before a full ten minutes of sitting flat on the floor that I could regain my composure.

I was in luck. In this gym, the cardio and weight sections are in different rooms altogether and the trainer stays in the latter room. So when I, still breathing heavily, entered the room and he asked me if I was done, I could conveniently nod a yes before saying I had a call in 10 minutes and, unfortunately, had to leave. "See you tomorrow," I told him.

While coming out of the gym, I closed my ears tight and ran across the length of the cardio room. I did not want to hear the treadmill speak again. Knowing it and its like, I was sure it was bidding me farewell already.

Itni Haseen, Itni Jawan Raat Kya Kare?

I was tempted to post the photographs of a host of actors who came, or lingered longer, in the limelight largely due to a voice that they merrily lip-synced to. As I now browse through my collection and play from it randomly, the voice adapts and modulates effortlessly - bringing these faces up in memory. I shake my head, once more, in desbelief and look at the photo I posted instead. He smiles at me, as if knowingly.

I prefer not to write about his achievements in this post, least so assert why he was the best. If he were present he would have definitely not liked any of it. It was this love I, and countless other people in this world, have for him that he aspired for. Maybe it's just a coincidence that at this precise moment, he whispers - 'Saanson mein ghul rahi hai, kisi saans ki mahek'. The mind wanders, but he puts it in its place as he tells me its just a song - 'Daaman ko chhuu raha hai, koi hath kya kare?' He reads my mind, wraps the unexplained feelings in the most melodious way - "Jaage hai kuchh ajeeb se jasbaat kya kare?" Indeed, the emotions running inside spoil all efforts I make to write something coherent. I smile, pause the song and complete it myself - "Shayad tumhare aane se, ye bhed khul sake - hairaan hain, ki aaj nayi baat kya kare?"

If God was not so selfish, Mohammad Rafi would have celebrated his birthday with us today. He would have known that superlatives used for him in his lifetime were not mere words to extol his virtues. His voice, indeed, pervades time like time itself.

Mesmerising voice, a divine soul -
One who left, but never could go
How could we? When what you gave
Draws us close, closer than you know.

Remain you will, like this forever
All you've done will get back to you
For, each life you sustained, enriched
Is adding its years to yours, anew.

Taare Zameen Par

This is the second movie that I watched on the day of release. The only other one I remember watching - that is, when I managed to stay awake - on the first day was Koyla, way back in 1997. While that day burns in memory like smouldering ember even after a decade, this day is sure to shine in starry luminance in the future. Taare Zameen Par is, in one word, superb. But this is one movie that deserves more than this single-word encomium.

I am no expert in film-making and its technical details. So, I cannot even try to write a review on it. I'd rather try to present a 'view' of this film from an absolutely uninitiated, end-user perspective. From the first scene till the last - through a series of gripping, yet simple, trails - the movie keeps you captivated. Pause on this for a moment, and you would probably agree that a film that is not complete in all aspects - story, acting, screenplay, direction, dialogue, lyrics, music, cinematography and so on - would not extract complete attention from its audience.

Talking of the audience, it was pathetic to hear many people burst into laughter at completely poignant scenes. This is making me think as much as the message left by the film.

Powerful is the word that comes to the mind for the acting; lucid for the direction. Segments, like the aimless promenade of a boy who takes a day off to absorb all he can see in the streets of the city, while his classmates are made to extract definitive knowledge from their chapters - leave just about enough space that can accommodate exact, no-frills performances. How often would we want to let go of all the restraints that come packaged with our 'normal' minds and give vent to our feelings like the uncontrolled, animalistic laps around the basketball court? How often are we made to feel belittled and retract in a shell? I am sure once we can bring out the cause out of the context, the film would leave us with challenges that we all can identify with. Challenges which could be overwhelmed when confidence combines with character. Taare Zameen Par wraps these simple pieces in highly attractive performances and ties it with a taut direction.

You might resort to the scientific studies to show the actual ordeals one has to go through to overpower the grip of something like Dyslexia and say that film offered an easy way out for Ishaan. Do so at your own risk - and prove that you are still too bookish to accept the creative output of our capabilities. This is a film where the filmmaker presents us a story to assimilate, not a case study to showcase our analytical prowess. Hence the outcome of the painting competition where the pupil pips the teacher is more symbolic of his moving out of the latter's shadow than being the playground of logic and practicality. There was, perhaps, just one part - where Aamir Khan confesses to the boy that he had also suffered from the same problem - that could have been done away with. This would have given us more reason to think that an absolutely perfect person could be compassionate and make a difference as well.

Each person involved in the movie deserves a loud round of applause. In my opinion, the protagonist and his mother gave two of the best performances in the movie. I mean, let us not talk about Aamir Khan here. His performance, for the first time that behind the camera as well, conclusively proves the existence of the unbridled passion and undiluted commitment that characterizes both the professional and person in him. I strongly believe that he is the only one to have his feet placed firmly - among all other stars - on the ground.

Smilestone

Stumped! That's exactly what I felt today. There are times when you think you are doing a great job of something when you are brought down with a thud. Here I was, telling a friend how different a person I am for the world. 'I am another person altogether you see. People think I am extremely reserved and talk only when required,' I said. This notion is actually wrong - if I talked only when required, then I would not have blabbered these to her in the first place.

Anyways, I completed many sentences on these lines and waited for her reply - as if she would feel privileged to know that she exists in that select group of people and thank me profusely for that. Well, she did none of it. She did what a good friend would have done - put me to my place. So, as I was waiting to hear some neat words, she replied - "Yeah yeah.. i know that side of you! for me it was the first 3 months of knowing you."

Stumped off a wide ball, you can say.

Needless to say, she's a great friend and a perfect case-study for 'time is not an indicator of friendship'. She might not know what exactly I work on and I definitely don't know her sister's name. But we are definitely at ease when we talk and that is what matters. I would assume she is among the more patient people I know. She bears me - and an equally irritating friend she came to know through me - with a smiling face and a uncreased heart. She was very excited to tell me that she is preparing rotis at home these days. "My new roommate has got one," she said. Obviously I knew that by 'one' she meant the ubiquitous thing in the Indian kitchen - the chakla-belan. But I, feigning ignorance that was never there, asked - "Got one what? Roti-maker?" :D

No matter what she might have thought about me in the first three months, I am sure now she knows that there can hardly be a more pestering person she's going to meet in her lifetime. But I have not faced any such change of mind with her. She smiled when I knew her first, she smiles when I trouble her now. And this, among other things, has always bowled me over each time I think about it.

What else?

I call it the WES - 'What Else Syndrome'. (Ok, honestly I don't call it that - just felt that this might be a good opening sentence for this piece.)

Surely not something that has been discussed much, but this has been keeping me on thoughts for quite sometime now. I remember, when in school or college, I used to have a lot of friends. 'Friends' has been used in the loose sense of the term, because I am in touch with or think about barely a few of them now. And, as we know, real friends are for life. Anyways, with these friends would pass almost each day during and after classes. I remember our house was the hub of meetings during weekends and vacations - even in evenings. The point I am trying to make is whenever we met, in groups of anything from 2 to 12, we would always make a boisterous group - and the portion of discussions on serious topics started cropping up with age. But never, and I mean without exception, did it happen that we would sit idle or think about what to talk about.

Years on, now it's a different story altogether. I get to spend time with people who I am sure are very good friends. Its still fun of the highest degree when we are together - still in groups of anything from 2 to 12. But keeping the jokes, banter and laughter aside - there is very little that we talk. I mean, no discussions - only incidents. I was there, he did that, you know what happened, etc. But once these dry out - there is not much else. (This is not always apparent because we are more than capable of going on with the frivolousness for days on end. I talk to one of my friends over chat almost everyday - and we just keep laughing recycling around 50-odd funny incidents in our stock.)

This is more evident when there is a one-on-one meeting with my friends, either in person, over phone or on chat. No one has anything to discuss other than updates on the happenings. No music, sports or other interests discussed at all. A typical chat even with one of my closest friends would go like this -

I: Hi
He: Hello, what's up?
I: Not much, you say.
He: Going on..
I: Ok...
He: What else?
I: Nothing much, just the usual.
He: O, ok.
I: So, what else?
...

There is something seriously wrong. Is it with growing up? Is it with the so-called maturity or responsibilities? Is it something with our profession? Or is it something with me - do you find my feeling like this just an isolated observation? Let me know.

Simple Questions, But What Answers!

Whether it is an urge to talk more, or to show that we are witty, even to unwantedly display our knowledge - sometimes we really talk more than what is needed. Believe me, there are people who - if you ask them about what they are wearing - might end up telling you why Lalu Prasad is the best manager in the world. Time and again it is proved that there is a hidden Basanti in most of us.

There was this boy in my class, back in the school days. The instructions would clearly say - State whether the following statements are TRUE or FALSE. And he would go on to explain why a given statement was false. Worse, he would substantiate what was true and also mention what could have made it a false statement. So, for a question, asking whether rice would get cooked faster in a pressure cooker, there would also be an assertion that it would take more time in Darjeeling.

I keep hearing about this person in a friend's office - who is dreaded by the whole lot in the floor for his verbal assault. It is just a coincidence that his initials are AK and the postfix 47 was but a natural inclusion. Someone asked him the directions from point A to point B. And when that same friend came to my place after office that day, it took me some time to grasp why he was telling me the route to point B from at least twenty places in Hyderabad.

As always, there is a reason why I am writing this now. Of late I have heard a couple of weird answers to a very common question asked in any restaurant. Here is how two cool souls fared in bringing out their best in a seemingly commonplace situation -

Act 1

Waiter: Regular or bottled water for you Madam?

Madam (surprisingly, too cool for her 40+ years): Aquaguard water would do for me.

Act 2
Waiter: Regular or bottled water Sir?

Sir (cool, and cooler in the company of his female companions): What water do you use for cooking stuff here?

Waiter: smiles, looking confused.

Sir: I said, what water do you use for cooking?

Waiter: Regular water, sir.

Sir: So, get us that! (Turns towards his giggling companions and shrugs)

What can you tell in a situation like this? Laugh? Get angry? Or smile away? For me, on each of these occasions, the broth was not the only thing boiling in the restaurant after that. But let's not end on this vitriolic note. I just remembered something amusing in the same context which would be a fitting end to this tale. We had just settled down to eat that day. One of my very good friends thought he was going to be asked to place the order when the waiter came over and asked the same question about our preference for the water. It was too late to change the pre-meditated answer he had framed in his mind. And so, he replied - "Please give us some time, we will discuss and let you know."

I just asked her where she got her dress
Now Britannica will sell one copy less.

Brutal - Merciless Viv

Adding three short videos for quick viewing. How many batsmen can say they have scored 16 runs like these in their careers?

Incredible six off Imran.



A six and a four. If you were the bowler, you would have ducked as well.



This is what Richie Benaud says about the 'most quelling sight for any bowler'



The best in the business.