Friends indeed?

Pranks make for some serious business. Someone, sometime must have been really good at it and made it look very simple - and we still have to 'play' a prank. But I can assure you it is no easy task. It is not at all easy to rise up the ranks in pranks. I can easily write something like 'The best hundred' - courtesy the company I keep. But I'd rather just write on why I said it's a serious business and requires real hard work.

I am having a bad headache today. And when five of us went out for dinner today, two of my friends had a stint at the bar earlier in the evening. Being a bit tipsy from their drinks, it was only natural for one of them to leave his bike keys on his side-plate. The three sober pair of eyes glowed at such an opportunity and the bunch was flicked in a flash. We were happier because this was going to be a lengthy affair - all five of us were spending the night together as well.

He realised it on the way back home. "Did I leave my keys on the table?"

"No." Three sober voices spoke at once. And, kept on convincing him that he must have left it at home. The prospect got more interesting when he said that the bunch had his house-keys as well. The intoxication was done for already - we, the good friends that we are, ensured he does not get up with a hangover on a Monday morning.

The house was ransacked and speculations were rife. But no sign of the keys. And so, the natural course of action was decided upon - he would go to all places (the bar, a paan shop and the restaurant) he visited since the evening and enquire. Someone even suggested to keep tracing the same path with an alert look on the roads as well. And, to make it really look real - I accompanied him on this trail despite the headache. Three no's and half an hour later, we were back home. I was trying hard to keep my lips straight while he did the same with his brows.

"I thought of going to the temple today, but I did not and instead went for a drink. That's why this happened to me." This was his last take on karma before he slept off.

A very satisfying night to say the least. But before you think we are rather mean, let me tell you that all these are done only in a very close group of friends. He is going to find the keys under his pillow when he wakes up in the morning. Maybe, he'd start the day cursing Santa for coming thirteen days late.

Shine Time

There is something about polishing shoes. I had mentioned earlier about how I, in my absent-mindedness, had stroked my cellphone on my shoes keeping the brush aside. I did something today in office that reminded me of this incident. And then, I remembered a few more.

First, what I did today. There is this automated machine for shoe polishing in office (the manufacturer has very aptly named it 'Handsoff'). Most of you must have seen them somewhere. In case you have not, the machine runs on electricity and has three sections - a cream polish dispenser, a brush for black shoes and one for brown. In Hyderabad, moving feet gather a lot of dust and so, I use the brush once I am in office. Lost in my own world, probably thinking about the lack of work in office, I went for it today as well - completely forgetting it was Friday and I was wearing my sports shoes. I realised what I was doing once I looked down to check the shine. I did the first thing I do in such a situation - looked around. I guess my luck was also closing down like the week. Here he was, someone from the floor who would have probably died if he did not come for a shine at that precise time of the day, dying to control his laughter but unable to stop the grin. I did my best to hide my face - I did not want him to remember me as the 'shoe-polish guy'.

Circa 2004. My office in Chennai had this machine as well. One day, with a luck like today, I went ahead and, still unaware of what was lying ahead, collected the cream on my left shoe - only to realise that Mr. Handsoff was having an off day and refused to work. All that the rubbing against the static brush did was to smudge the white of the cream onto the black leather. After a few, futile minutes, I gave up. The public embarrassment could not be avoided that day either as a 'friend' in the restroom made public the news of me rubbing my shoe with hand-tissues. Now you know why, after that day, I always follow the sequence of brush (read check usability), cream and brush-again.

It's not that I have always had this rotten luck when it came to polishing shoes. I decided to save the one satisfying experience (surely qualifies as one of the most fulfilling days of my life) for the last. Once when in college, three of us were staying at a friend's place which was our usual den for enjoyment in the name of studies. The next morning, we were to go to a friend's place for her birthday. And as I got up, late as usual, little did I realise it was to one of my best mornings. So eager was my friend to put his best foot forward, that he actually polished his shoes for a full 30 minutes. Only, we had bought identical shoes which just differed in size. And he, with all his energy, mistakenly went on buffing my pair. The joy welling up, the laughter gaining uncontrollable force, the superhuman efforts to stay nonchalant at such a moment of glory; remembering these feelings that can sustain me in the most difficult of times. If I could click the the look on his face when the truth dawned on him, I would be more than happy to carry that photo and smile the way to my grave.

2008

I just realised that ringing in the New Year can hardly get better than being with an old friend after a long time. I had decided not to go for any 'New Year Party' this time around - a decision that I think I will stick to for some years on. I do like being in our group where some people make me admire their dancing skills while I give them something to laugh about with my vigourous, uneasy movements. But the biggest deterrant in such a setting has always been the crowd that one cannot possibly ignore. While "party animals groove and jam to the tunes (sic) of the DJ," it gets really difficult to look the other way. The floor is thronged with similar animals showing off their stuff under the multi-coloured lights. And, with clubs charging abysmally high cover charges on New Year's Eve, this decision went easy on both my mind and wallet.

One of my closest friends from college was visiting with some of his friends and we spent the last 3 days of 2007 amidst a lot of fun, feasting and jokes. (On this, must admit that the Chowmahalla Palace at night and the Biryani at Shadab are two things no one in Hyderabad should give a miss.) I got to learn a few card games and did horribly bad at them. After we called off the night, my friend and I would start afresh till the early hours of the morning - revisiting the past and planning for the future. Those quieter hours were definitely the best time for me - where the happiness is more felt than expressed.

So the new year dawned in a quiet manner this year - a year when I want to quietly tick a few items hanging in my checklist for a long time now.


P.S. I could not give the boisterous revelry a miss altogether, however much I tried by staying indoors at a common friend's place. When returning home late at night, it was the return of the same dreaded animals that made the roads an eyesore. Just as I was telling the friend whose bike I was on that this New Year's eve was one that really went well, bikes were all around us with people shouting 'Happy New Year' at the top of their voices - screeching down the speed, changing lanes and zipping ahead. Perhaps, making way for the next set to perform.

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.