Frustration is an expression that is fraught by despair, anger and helplessness. Despair on how things don't work within your domain of dominance, anger within ones own self for its inability to decipher the reasons of the things not working, and helplessness about the unknown forces that are at work.
For some time, I have been caught up in this whirlwind. It feels like i have been in this place since ever. Nothing makes sense. Logic does not give me a reason and thinking over it makes me frustrated. I feel I am caught in a spot where I cannot step backwards, nor move forward and standing in the same place is something that I want to avoid. Thats when good old advise came in from an old acquaintance. Step to the side!
Now, I am standing by the side, looking at life as it passes by. Waiting for my time, the right time. As the old man said, when a strong wind blows in a direction opposite to the way you are running, it will slow you down, consume your energy and break your spirit. Instead hold on. Let time pass, the wind will slow down, and when it does, use the energy you saved to sprint the long run of life.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
May 12th - Day 1 in Cannes/ Part 2
My apartment mates have arrived from Germany. They drove for an entire 18 hours and were dead tired. But after a brief snap all of us were really hungry and we decided to go to a restaurant and have a filling lunch. France is famous for its food, wine and women. So we decided to go for the food. The wine would follow and probably the women ;)
Unfortunately we were late as it was 4 when we reached the Palais, and lunch was not being served. So we walked up to an Italian restaurant. The food was alright and the wine was good. but f you are looking for value for money, forget it. This place is ridiculously expensive for anything that it offers. The ideal place to visit Cannes is when there are no festivals. I was told that there are different menus for the festival season and different menus for the non-festival season. If you thought people rip you off only in India, guys do a reality check. Here you are ripped off in shreds, and to make things worse its in Euros, and the Euro is getting ever stronger against the Rupee.
Also to add to the woes, our German friend wanted a French number, so we went hunting for a sim card to be used in france. It cost 30 Euros for a sim that had a validity of 8 months!! (meaning, if he came next year for the same festival he would have to shell out another 30 + Euros) Imagine in India you get a Sim for 900 Rs. with a life long validity. Moreover, the cost of a fone call is 33 cents per min which is 20 rs (approx) for a local call... and how much do we pay for a local call... Well you get it... I love my country so much.
However, I do understand many other things that are better off here than India. The Cab driver earned 90 Euros for trip from Nice Airport to the hotel in Cannes. It is when you are in a developed country that you understand that we in India live life fit for Kings. Here there are no house helps. If you have, they make sure they cost you dear. Everyone earns enough to live a happy and content life. Even the house-help would come in a BMW r a Mercedes. Everyone lives in equality. Be it a garbage pick up guy or the owner of an hotel. Everyone is at equals. There is no hypocrisy here based on your job. You are taxed heavily so that you have super clean roads and fantastic infrastructure. Well great for the people residing here, bad for the spoilt Indians like me who were used to such personal service and slavery (am i getting opinionated already?)
Ok, back to the festival...
The carpet is just about being rolled out and people from different countries were getting their badges from the accreditation desk. Tomorrow is going to be the Big Bang day. The place is going to be crowded and all of us have to be careful as Cannes will turn into a hunting ground for pick-pockets.
Went to the Indian Pavilion where we would be putting up our stall. We met a few people. One of them was very polished while the others were just smoogling* around. Here is a sample conversation -
Me: So, what brings you to Cannes.
A: I produced a Marathi film.
Me: Great. What is it about?
A: Well we are launching MS for the first time in Marathi
Me: Really, what is the story about?
A: Its a Marathi film with a flavor for the international audience.
Me: (thinking) what does that mean?
Me: (Speaking) Thats great. Hope you have a great festival.
A: Thanks
Another discussion went like this -
B: He lives like a King. Or should we say like a Moghul Emperor. (pointing the finger at an Island far off) He bought a castle there.
Me: Who?
B: Who else but Mr. Vijay Malya. He is one man who has no qualms of telling the world that he has many wives and many children across the world.
Me: (surprised) Really? I didnot know someone would say it publicly.
B: Thats why I adore him. He has the balls to tell the world about what he does...
Me: (thinking) Well, balls to tell where his balls have been? Interesting...
Me: (speaking) What company do you represent sir?
B: Well, I am the sec. general of xyz association
Me: you have been to Cannes before?
B: No, this is the first time!
Me: (thinking) and he knows the island where Vijay Mallya bought a castle... hmmmm...
Well, there is a lot more to come tomorrow.... Oh, before i finish, a small idea on how to beat the escalated costs on drinks... Go to a superstore. you get 6 bottles of Heniken beer for 4 Euros and a bottle of Dry wine (good one) for 5 Euros... Also buy bananas, bread and cheese, fruits from a supermarket and you will be saving a lot of money... These are tips you can use when in Cannes unless you earn in millions and want to spend it all in show-off to your other indian counterparts...
12th May - The preparations/ Part 1
Reporting live from 62nd Cannes Film Festival
The Palais and the surroundings is bustling with activity. Contractors running to and fro, laying of the red carpet, barricades for the public and the parparazzi are being set up. The hotels around, the Majestic, Carlton and Hilton have been decked up with larger than life cut-outs and posters. The D-day is tomorrow when the place becomes filled with the who's who of the World film industry attending the screening. What am I doing here? Well, just got a tad lucky to be here ;)
The place during the festival becomes so expensive. The apartment I am staying 10 min from the Palais costs an atrocious 300 Euros per day and yet is cramped up.. I am told the cost to book this place in any other time is around 80-100 Euros.
Nothing much to do here right now, so i will get the accreditation done, have food and beer with a couple of good friends and click some snaps and post it here.
Till then.. au revoir!!
The Palais and the surroundings is bustling with activity. Contractors running to and fro, laying of the red carpet, barricades for the public and the parparazzi are being set up. The hotels around, the Majestic, Carlton and Hilton have been decked up with larger than life cut-outs and posters. The D-day is tomorrow when the place becomes filled with the who's who of the World film industry attending the screening. What am I doing here? Well, just got a tad lucky to be here ;)
The place during the festival becomes so expensive. The apartment I am staying 10 min from the Palais costs an atrocious 300 Euros per day and yet is cramped up.. I am told the cost to book this place in any other time is around 80-100 Euros.
Nothing much to do here right now, so i will get the accreditation done, have food and beer with a couple of good friends and click some snaps and post it here.
Till then.. au revoir!!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Of Movies, Cricket and Books
Its been a boring season. No movies in theaters, since a long time due to the ongoing strike between producers and multiplex owners, the IPL frenzy etc etc. So without much to do, i have been digging into a lot of books these days. One of the books I did get to lay my hands on was The White Tiger by Arvind Adiga. Its a book I didnot thing could have deserved a Man Booker Prize. The award just gives us a view in how the West likes to glamorize the life of the poor and idolize it as the celebration of the human spirit.
The other aspect I found similar in many of the upcoming writers is the way the style has become very common across different authors in different genres. And not to be surprised, I realised the way I wrote Blunder Years was also similar. The style, I believe is the influence of Bollywood films. The other book I read was - If God was a Banker by Ravi Subramaniam. The writing was crappy, but the story had the potential to be a Bollywood masala film that would do alright. I am not sure if our literary skills in India are going down trying to make money from spin-offs into films. The trend-setter was Chetan Bagat whose first work is being made into a film by Raju Hirani named as 3 idiots and the other film Hello which was an adaptation of the sad One night @ the call center.
However something I read yesterday on Shekar Kapur's blog written by Kavitha... which touched me. The writing was par-excellence and I thought I would share it here
......My heart went out to my cousin having to cope with the reality of her father’s condition that she could do nothing about, except be a helpless bystander. Moments such as these serve as triggers to catalyze deeper introspection. A million questions raced through my human mind. How is it/why is it that the silent killer lurks within our mortal system, so maliciously, only to reveal itself when we no longer are in a position to control it? Is there a more benevolent reason why some mortal beings are subjected to this situation, while many others have had the benefit of revealing symptoms, for timely medical intervention and control? How is it that many others have emerged strong and resilient cancer survivors? How do you cope with having to live your day and night with a loved one, painfully experiencing him wither & degenerate in front of your eye...watching the silent killer so mercilessly torture every moment of his limited remaining life...debilitating and paralyzing in slow motion, yet in rapid succession, every sensory and motor organ so vital to everyday living, that we take for granted. How do you cope with the concept of death-in-waiting and watch your father suffer to the finish line?
From amidst the swiss alps, I skyped my mother in India...only for her to see me completely choked by my own emotional state...tears streaming down my face. As she struggled to comprehend “her baby” in visible turmoil, I felt her maternal instincts take over to touch me, and wrap me in the comfort of her digital hug...through satellites and wireless routers into the depths of my grieving heart.
I was struggling with the circumstances around the loss of one dear soul, and the soon-going-to-lose another. My mind was trying to reconcile the contradictions in the 2 tragic events – one that was so rapid, sudden and instantaneous vs. the other that is, and continues to be, drawn-out in its path to the inevitable destination of mortal beings...yet, both outside the bounds of human control. Fundamental to the reconciliation process was faith in and acceptance of the concept of ‘karma’. Amidst endless group chatter around the unfairness around each of the two circumstances, I found myself silently differing. Recognizing the tragic realities as the will of a higher order, for a higher reason, enabled grieving with grace, and coping with the loss with strength & detachment.
After a long period of silence, wrapped in my mother’s consoling words, I broke that silence...wiped away my tears of endearment and attachment, and said to her:
in the context of karmic purpose of life on earth, words like ‘jug jug jiyo’ and ‘may you live long’, popularly considered as blessings, seem like absurdities of human desire (vs. divine will). For, the divine will is quite contrary.
She was struggling again...this time not to comprehend “her baby” in turmoil, but to comprehend what happened between the time I was so choked a few minutes earlier and the time I uttered these words.
Sailing the alternating waves of attachment and detachment, desire to control and desire to let go, in the context of our everyday life/activities may be a practical challenge. Nevertheless, faith in the fact that there is immense Grace in whatever happens around you or to you (most times incomprehensible by our limited mortal minds) gives courage and strength to live & endure life boldly, fearlessly and with passion. Desire to control stems from attachment, desire to let go stems from detachment.
The other aspect I found similar in many of the upcoming writers is the way the style has become very common across different authors in different genres. And not to be surprised, I realised the way I wrote Blunder Years was also similar. The style, I believe is the influence of Bollywood films. The other book I read was - If God was a Banker by Ravi Subramaniam. The writing was crappy, but the story had the potential to be a Bollywood masala film that would do alright. I am not sure if our literary skills in India are going down trying to make money from spin-offs into films. The trend-setter was Chetan Bagat whose first work is being made into a film by Raju Hirani named as 3 idiots and the other film Hello which was an adaptation of the sad One night @ the call center.
However something I read yesterday on Shekar Kapur's blog written by Kavitha... which touched me. The writing was par-excellence and I thought I would share it here
......My heart went out to my cousin having to cope with the reality of her father’s condition that she could do nothing about, except be a helpless bystander. Moments such as these serve as triggers to catalyze deeper introspection. A million questions raced through my human mind. How is it/why is it that the silent killer lurks within our mortal system, so maliciously, only to reveal itself when we no longer are in a position to control it? Is there a more benevolent reason why some mortal beings are subjected to this situation, while many others have had the benefit of revealing symptoms, for timely medical intervention and control? How is it that many others have emerged strong and resilient cancer survivors? How do you cope with having to live your day and night with a loved one, painfully experiencing him wither & degenerate in front of your eye...watching the silent killer so mercilessly torture every moment of his limited remaining life...debilitating and paralyzing in slow motion, yet in rapid succession, every sensory and motor organ so vital to everyday living, that we take for granted. How do you cope with the concept of death-in-waiting and watch your father suffer to the finish line?
From amidst the swiss alps, I skyped my mother in India...only for her to see me completely choked by my own emotional state...tears streaming down my face. As she struggled to comprehend “her baby” in visible turmoil, I felt her maternal instincts take over to touch me, and wrap me in the comfort of her digital hug...through satellites and wireless routers into the depths of my grieving heart.
I was struggling with the circumstances around the loss of one dear soul, and the soon-going-to-lose another. My mind was trying to reconcile the contradictions in the 2 tragic events – one that was so rapid, sudden and instantaneous vs. the other that is, and continues to be, drawn-out in its path to the inevitable destination of mortal beings...yet, both outside the bounds of human control. Fundamental to the reconciliation process was faith in and acceptance of the concept of ‘karma’. Amidst endless group chatter around the unfairness around each of the two circumstances, I found myself silently differing. Recognizing the tragic realities as the will of a higher order, for a higher reason, enabled grieving with grace, and coping with the loss with strength & detachment.
After a long period of silence, wrapped in my mother’s consoling words, I broke that silence...wiped away my tears of endearment and attachment, and said to her:
in the context of karmic purpose of life on earth, words like ‘jug jug jiyo’ and ‘may you live long’, popularly considered as blessings, seem like absurdities of human desire (vs. divine will). For, the divine will is quite contrary.
She was struggling again...this time not to comprehend “her baby” in turmoil, but to comprehend what happened between the time I was so choked a few minutes earlier and the time I uttered these words.
Sailing the alternating waves of attachment and detachment, desire to control and desire to let go, in the context of our everyday life/activities may be a practical challenge. Nevertheless, faith in the fact that there is immense Grace in whatever happens around you or to you (most times incomprehensible by our limited mortal minds) gives courage and strength to live & endure life boldly, fearlessly and with passion. Desire to control stems from attachment, desire to let go stems from detachment.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Lyrics for our song - V the ppl
A motley group of friends, we decided to take forward our discussions over chai, coffee and more on how change can be brought about through individual actions. A seed of an idea to connect with like-minded individuals has now grown into a song, a video, a blog- and has gained momentum with talented voices joining.
This is your movement- take it forward- be an ambassador- spread the word- be a part of it.
Chant the Anthem - V th ppl!!!
For facebook group - http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=60285884842&ref=nf
Rap Section 1:
Ladies and gentlemen
Hey there, welcome to the future
Of a Country soaked in culture
Angry, hopeless, Indifferent And Blind
Hungry Worried but One of a kind.
Driving License Se Passport
Hazaro cases pending in court
This is jungle raj a classic case
Jiska Raj ussi ki Lathi aur Ussi ki Bhais
Government office mein chai paani toh pilao
Lekin pehle us aadmi ka sign lekar aao
Corruption, population ka sara hai kalesh
Deviyo aur sajjano welcome to my desh
Verse 1:
Paas aaye woh jo, door jayen hum kyun
Haath badhaye woh jo sharmaye hum kyun
Manki jo ankhen hain, bandh kar lene se, hua hai kabhi Andhera?
Raat ke bahane se, badalon ke chane se, ruka hai kabhi savera?
Girayen woh jo, failayen hum kyun?
Dil dukhayen woh jo, bhul jayen hum kyun
Khamosh rehne se, zakhmo ko sehne, baten badi karke kya hoga?
Ungliyan uthaoge, bahane banaoge, kya badal paoge kal ko?
Chorus:1
What will be tomorrow is what you are today
Kuch nahin hai mushkil, irade ho jo nek
Lets take a vow, give more than you can take
Kya nahin hain mumkin/ ho jaaye hum jo EK
Interlude
Verse2
Darayen woh jo ghabrayen hum kyun?
Aazmaye who jo katraye hum kyun?
Manki jo ankhen hain, bandh kar lene se, hua hai kabhi Andhera?
Raat ke bahane se, badalon ke chane se, ruka hai kabhi savera?
Harayen woh jo, jitayen hum kyun?
Kar payen woh jo, na rok paye hum kyun?
Khamosh rehne say, zakhmo ko sehne say, baten badi karke kya hoga?
Ungliyan uthaoge, bahane banaoge, kya badal paoge kal ko?
Chorus 2
What will be tomorrow is what you are today
Badaye kadam toh, mitjaye fasale.
Lets get together and change our own fate
Thum jayega yeh jahan, hairan hoke dekh
Rap Section 2:
Hum hai Nadaan aur buzurg sayane
Give me a break Yeh Khayal hai purane
Na Bijli na road na peene ka hai paani
But my hyperactive media shows a different kahani
Riots on the road, Bloodshed reload
26/11 dekha? phir se 11/7 retold
No more black ticket or political racket
We want to see more than Gandhi topi Nehru jacket
Break Change:
Agar mein hun sawal, mein hi to hun jawab
Agar mein hun andehra mein hi to hun chirag.
Agar mein hun khamoshi, mein hi to hun woh saaz.
Agar mein hun gulam, mein bhi to hun azad.
Ensemble Chorus:
Lets get together and change our own fate
Badaye kadam toh mit jaaye faaslein
What will be tomorrow is what you are today
Kuch nahi hai mushkil, iraadey ho jo nek
We can make sure that we don’t break
Thum jaayega yeh jahaan hairan ho ke dekh
Lets take a vow, Give more than you can take.
Kya nahi hai mumkin ho jaaye hum jo EK.
This is your movement- take it forward- be an ambassador- spread the word- be a part of it.
Chant the Anthem - V th ppl!!!
For facebook group - http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=60285884842&ref=nf
Rap Section 1:
Ladies and gentlemen
Hey there, welcome to the future
Of a Country soaked in culture
Angry, hopeless, Indifferent And Blind
Hungry Worried but One of a kind.
Driving License Se Passport
Hazaro cases pending in court
This is jungle raj a classic case
Jiska Raj ussi ki Lathi aur Ussi ki Bhais
Government office mein chai paani toh pilao
Lekin pehle us aadmi ka sign lekar aao
Corruption, population ka sara hai kalesh
Deviyo aur sajjano welcome to my desh
Verse 1:
Paas aaye woh jo, door jayen hum kyun
Haath badhaye woh jo sharmaye hum kyun
Manki jo ankhen hain, bandh kar lene se, hua hai kabhi Andhera?
Raat ke bahane se, badalon ke chane se, ruka hai kabhi savera?
Girayen woh jo, failayen hum kyun?
Dil dukhayen woh jo, bhul jayen hum kyun
Khamosh rehne se, zakhmo ko sehne, baten badi karke kya hoga?
Ungliyan uthaoge, bahane banaoge, kya badal paoge kal ko?
Chorus:1
What will be tomorrow is what you are today
Kuch nahin hai mushkil, irade ho jo nek
Lets take a vow, give more than you can take
Kya nahin hain mumkin/ ho jaaye hum jo EK
Interlude
Verse2
Darayen woh jo ghabrayen hum kyun?
Aazmaye who jo katraye hum kyun?
Manki jo ankhen hain, bandh kar lene se, hua hai kabhi Andhera?
Raat ke bahane se, badalon ke chane se, ruka hai kabhi savera?
Harayen woh jo, jitayen hum kyun?
Kar payen woh jo, na rok paye hum kyun?
Khamosh rehne say, zakhmo ko sehne say, baten badi karke kya hoga?
Ungliyan uthaoge, bahane banaoge, kya badal paoge kal ko?
Chorus 2
What will be tomorrow is what you are today
Badaye kadam toh, mitjaye fasale.
Lets get together and change our own fate
Thum jayega yeh jahan, hairan hoke dekh
Rap Section 2:
Hum hai Nadaan aur buzurg sayane
Give me a break Yeh Khayal hai purane
Na Bijli na road na peene ka hai paani
But my hyperactive media shows a different kahani
Riots on the road, Bloodshed reload
26/11 dekha? phir se 11/7 retold
No more black ticket or political racket
We want to see more than Gandhi topi Nehru jacket
Break Change:
Agar mein hun sawal, mein hi to hun jawab
Agar mein hun andehra mein hi to hun chirag.
Agar mein hun khamoshi, mein hi to hun woh saaz.
Agar mein hun gulam, mein bhi to hun azad.
Ensemble Chorus:
Lets get together and change our own fate
Badaye kadam toh mit jaaye faaslein
What will be tomorrow is what you are today
Kuch nahi hai mushkil, iraadey ho jo nek
We can make sure that we don’t break
Thum jaayega yeh jahaan hairan ho ke dekh
Lets take a vow, Give more than you can take.
Kya nahi hai mumkin ho jaaye hum jo EK.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Dev D.
After a small hiatus, I am back. And what else to start writing about but the last movie that I saw and that was Dev D. It was one of those films that left a lasting impression in my head for a couple of days. The last film that had given me a hangover like this was Maachis. There were many other good films that were released between these two films but the depth and clarity of the film maker comes out so rarely.
I could never accept Devdas as a glorified character the past films tried to perceive him as. I couldnot sit through 10 minutes of Sanjay Bhansali’s Devdas, and could never digest the Bimal Roy’s version with Dilip kumar as Devdas. Sharat Chandra Chattopadyay must finally be smiling at this new age version of the de-glorified Loser.
It is always difficult to make a film version of a book. The reader, as he/she reads the book creates his/her own visual imagery and characterizations in his or her mind, and when a director interprets it through his/her eyes, the film looks flawed and it lands into the critics domain. Devdas was an interesting character, though not heroic. He was flawed in every sense. He was a character who dumped his childhood sweetheart and then found solace in a tawaif and then destroyed himself to death. The problem with the earlier versions were that the director wanted the audience to be sympathetic to him, feel his pain, cry with him and die with him. I feel, that is where the entire problem with the earlier films lie.
Dev D takes on a very different route and sticks to the essence of the story and a positive deviation towards the end. The characterization is so well etched that the film takes you away from the character of Dev and makes you hate for what he is. And when you see the film, each scene, you know that there is a lot of thought put into each scenes, right from its characters, to the locales, to the emotional conflicts and the metaphorical understanding of the subject right to the editing, background score, lighting. The film comes out trumps. There are only two kinds of reactions you can expect to the film. Either you love it or you hate it. There is nothing in between.
The incidents that take the film forward are inspired by real life incidents, be it the MMS scandal and drunken driving. The existence of drug dealers in the underbelly of a metropolitan set up, rich spoilt kids, the characteristic pimp, Chunni, all seamlessly makes the traditional Devdas novella into an extravaganza.
There are some scenes, which are out of the world. The scene where the married Paro comes to his shabby hotel room, washes his clothes, changes the curtains and finally snubs his proclamation of love and gets even with Dev is brilliant. And so is the scene earlier in the film when Dev snubs Paro and she goes ballistic with the hand pump. These are scenes that cannot be written by the Karan Johars and Farah Khans of Bollywood. These are closer to real life and miles away from the world of rich industrialist families shown in the scours of Bollywood films that hit the screen every Friday opening show (Note that Dev’s family is one of the rich industrialist families in Punjab, yet the potrayal of wealth is so much understated and real)
The camera work is excellent. The beauty of the rural Punjab and the congestion of Delhi, the psychedelic world of Drugs and alcohol, Chanda’s haven where she stocks disguises are all fantastically shot.
The editing is top notch. Note the change in pace of editing as it shifts from the village to the city. The edit during the village phase is much slower and as it reaches the city, the pace quickens giving you a feel of hastiness and restlessness. The use of water, where Dev occasionally dumps himself after a drug inhaling session acts as a metaphor of cutting himself from the rest of the world into his own and drowning himself even more into his own self destruction. Every shot has a reason to be there. Every character is needed. Every character has its positive and negative traits. Nothing is black and white, only different shades of grey.
The film would be incomplete without its songs and the background score. Emosional attyachar is one song where I saw people literally clap as it started and you would feel to clap too. The juxtaposition of comedy with the tragedy is perfect. The background score and the songs truly makes this film a musical.
I would highly recommend this emosional attyachar. And would also tell you that if you are a filmmaker, you should grab a copy of it. Hopefully, if it comes out with a directors commentary, it would be a school of learning on the thought process that went through each scene.
I could never accept Devdas as a glorified character the past films tried to perceive him as. I couldnot sit through 10 minutes of Sanjay Bhansali’s Devdas, and could never digest the Bimal Roy’s version with Dilip kumar as Devdas. Sharat Chandra Chattopadyay must finally be smiling at this new age version of the de-glorified Loser.
It is always difficult to make a film version of a book. The reader, as he/she reads the book creates his/her own visual imagery and characterizations in his or her mind, and when a director interprets it through his/her eyes, the film looks flawed and it lands into the critics domain. Devdas was an interesting character, though not heroic. He was flawed in every sense. He was a character who dumped his childhood sweetheart and then found solace in a tawaif and then destroyed himself to death. The problem with the earlier versions were that the director wanted the audience to be sympathetic to him, feel his pain, cry with him and die with him. I feel, that is where the entire problem with the earlier films lie.
Dev D takes on a very different route and sticks to the essence of the story and a positive deviation towards the end. The characterization is so well etched that the film takes you away from the character of Dev and makes you hate for what he is. And when you see the film, each scene, you know that there is a lot of thought put into each scenes, right from its characters, to the locales, to the emotional conflicts and the metaphorical understanding of the subject right to the editing, background score, lighting. The film comes out trumps. There are only two kinds of reactions you can expect to the film. Either you love it or you hate it. There is nothing in between.
The incidents that take the film forward are inspired by real life incidents, be it the MMS scandal and drunken driving. The existence of drug dealers in the underbelly of a metropolitan set up, rich spoilt kids, the characteristic pimp, Chunni, all seamlessly makes the traditional Devdas novella into an extravaganza.
There are some scenes, which are out of the world. The scene where the married Paro comes to his shabby hotel room, washes his clothes, changes the curtains and finally snubs his proclamation of love and gets even with Dev is brilliant. And so is the scene earlier in the film when Dev snubs Paro and she goes ballistic with the hand pump. These are scenes that cannot be written by the Karan Johars and Farah Khans of Bollywood. These are closer to real life and miles away from the world of rich industrialist families shown in the scours of Bollywood films that hit the screen every Friday opening show (Note that Dev’s family is one of the rich industrialist families in Punjab, yet the potrayal of wealth is so much understated and real)
The camera work is excellent. The beauty of the rural Punjab and the congestion of Delhi, the psychedelic world of Drugs and alcohol, Chanda’s haven where she stocks disguises are all fantastically shot.
The editing is top notch. Note the change in pace of editing as it shifts from the village to the city. The edit during the village phase is much slower and as it reaches the city, the pace quickens giving you a feel of hastiness and restlessness. The use of water, where Dev occasionally dumps himself after a drug inhaling session acts as a metaphor of cutting himself from the rest of the world into his own and drowning himself even more into his own self destruction. Every shot has a reason to be there. Every character is needed. Every character has its positive and negative traits. Nothing is black and white, only different shades of grey.
The film would be incomplete without its songs and the background score. Emosional attyachar is one song where I saw people literally clap as it started and you would feel to clap too. The juxtaposition of comedy with the tragedy is perfect. The background score and the songs truly makes this film a musical.
I would highly recommend this emosional attyachar. And would also tell you that if you are a filmmaker, you should grab a copy of it. Hopefully, if it comes out with a directors commentary, it would be a school of learning on the thought process that went through each scene.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The silverlining
This post is dedicated to a friend.
Once there was a little flower. A little flower that lived amongst the million strands of grass. She would bloom in the morning looking at the sun. They were the best of friends. When the sun went behind the clouds she would wait for the clouds to pass. She would smile, and glow a radiance that would bring a smile to the eyes of the beholder.
But one day, the sky was full of clouds. It rained and rained. Deafening thunder and blinding lightning filled the skies. It seemed the sun had gone for ever. The ravaging wind tested the flower. The flower shivered in fear, scared that the wind would uproot her from her roots. She tried hard to fight the wind, but eventually, she was separated from the ground. She was taken by the gushing wind into the horizon. Soon, the storm had passed. She found herself dry, lying on unknown soil. She looked around. She had dried up. Her seeds had fallen to the ground. The sun smiled at her. She tried to smile back. She was weak, she was old. She went to sleep. She slept for many days.
One day the wind whistled into her ears. She opened up her eyes. She looked around. There were little buds surrounding her. They were dancing in the wind eager to grow up and bloom. As she closed her eyes, she understood, that she has attained her destiny. She closed her eyes one last time.
Once there was a little flower. A little flower that lived amongst the million strands of grass. She would bloom in the morning looking at the sun. They were the best of friends. When the sun went behind the clouds she would wait for the clouds to pass. She would smile, and glow a radiance that would bring a smile to the eyes of the beholder.
But one day, the sky was full of clouds. It rained and rained. Deafening thunder and blinding lightning filled the skies. It seemed the sun had gone for ever. The ravaging wind tested the flower. The flower shivered in fear, scared that the wind would uproot her from her roots. She tried hard to fight the wind, but eventually, she was separated from the ground. She was taken by the gushing wind into the horizon. Soon, the storm had passed. She found herself dry, lying on unknown soil. She looked around. She had dried up. Her seeds had fallen to the ground. The sun smiled at her. She tried to smile back. She was weak, she was old. She went to sleep. She slept for many days.
One day the wind whistled into her ears. She opened up her eyes. She looked around. There were little buds surrounding her. They were dancing in the wind eager to grow up and bloom. As she closed her eyes, she understood, that she has attained her destiny. She closed her eyes one last time.
Culture Vultures
In line of the pub-culture that is ‘eroding’ Indian culture, a moral police force is being set up to save Indian culture. Political parties who have not been voted into power are asserting that the current and the past Governments have not upheld the Indian culture at its highest decree. These political parties are asserting that Indian culture must be saved at any cost and it is this culture that makes us better than the rest of the world.
Did I hear a chuckle, or was it a sigh, or is it a seething anger raging from within?
Firstly, one of the prime important aspect of this moral policing is the kind of people who are trying to guard Indian culture. I mean, how educated are they? How much do they know about Indian culture? If they know about Indian culture, they should understand that the entire epic of Mahabharat is full of Sex and Violence. How was Karna, Yudishtir, Bhim, Arjun, Nakul and Sahdev born?
If people still believe the Mahabharat that was shown on television where Kunti and Madri were impregnated by a ray emenating from the palms of Gods, they must be really out of their minds. And why did the Gods have to impregnate King Pandu’s wives?
For a brief introduction to people who are unaware of this, here is a snippet. Once King Pandu had gone hunting and saw two deers making love. It was actually Shiva and Parvathi (both Gods eventually) making love in the form of deers. Pandu shot the deer. Lord Shiva (Alternatively, the Sage) gave a curse on him that the next time he touches a woman, he will die. (Poor chap) That is when Kunti used a boon given to her by Sage Durvasa where she could call upon the Gods to bear a child. So, the first time she experimented before her marriage and Karna was born from Surya (Sun) and later after her wedding with Pandu, she followed it up with five other Gods. Every pandav and kaurav had affairs and flings, and childbirth out of wedlocks. Would these culture police deny its existence? The society then had accepted the sexual freedom then, so why this taboo today?
So, the concept of Indian culture being so conservative as a theory can be thrown out of the window. What the self-appointed culture police is talking about is baseless and hollow. Also, India is one of the few places in epics, where women had very powerful stance in the society and were treated equal to men. Those who have read Indian epics would vouch for it. I don’t know when the imposition of rules and discrimination against women started in our culture. Just when things have begun to change, a demented sect of the society wants to take up the act of culture vultures and bring back the discrimination. My question is, these politicians, or party workers, how many of them are teetotalers? How many of them can are actually honest to their women? If women consuming alcohol is wrong, why does it not hold true to men as well? Knowing their societal disposition, I guess everyone in their minds know the answers.
The Rajasthan CM said he has a problem with couple holding hands. So, does he mean, he has the right to oppose it by raising a hand?
Indian democracy is today in the hands of hypocrites. Do yourself a favor. VOTE!!!
Did I hear a chuckle, or was it a sigh, or is it a seething anger raging from within?
Firstly, one of the prime important aspect of this moral policing is the kind of people who are trying to guard Indian culture. I mean, how educated are they? How much do they know about Indian culture? If they know about Indian culture, they should understand that the entire epic of Mahabharat is full of Sex and Violence. How was Karna, Yudishtir, Bhim, Arjun, Nakul and Sahdev born?
If people still believe the Mahabharat that was shown on television where Kunti and Madri were impregnated by a ray emenating from the palms of Gods, they must be really out of their minds. And why did the Gods have to impregnate King Pandu’s wives?
For a brief introduction to people who are unaware of this, here is a snippet. Once King Pandu had gone hunting and saw two deers making love. It was actually Shiva and Parvathi (both Gods eventually) making love in the form of deers.
So, the concept of Indian culture being so conservative as a theory can be thrown out of the window. What the self-appointed culture police is talking about is baseless and hollow. Also, India is one of the few places in epics, where women had very powerful stance in the society and were treated equal to men. Those who have read Indian epics would vouch for it. I don’t know when the imposition of rules and discrimination against women started in our culture. Just when things have begun to change, a demented sect of the society wants to take up the act of culture vultures and bring back the discrimination. My question is, these politicians, or party workers, how many of them are teetotalers? How many of them can are actually honest to their women? If women consuming alcohol is wrong, why does it not hold true to men as well? Knowing their societal disposition, I guess everyone in their minds know the answers.
The Rajasthan CM said he has a problem with couple holding hands. So, does he mean, he has the right to oppose it by raising a hand?
Indian democracy is today in the hands of hypocrites. Do yourself a favor. VOTE!!!
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Ouch!!!
Yesterday as I walked back home from the car park to my building, i saw a mother and a child rushing into the building. The mother was dragging the child holding his arm and after a few steps would slap him on his back and telling him that he would definitely fail this year if he does not stop playing and start studying. I looked at my watch. It was 9.45 PM. This reminded me of a similar incidences a couple of years back.
As it is very rare with people growing apart due to their constant fluctuations in priorities, many of us, childhood friends actually met at the gate of our colony. It was not planned, but it just seemed to happen. A couple of friends were sitting on the steps of the room that housed the step-up transformer, and friends trickled in and chatted and soon the entire gang was there, all joking about their work and apprising each other of where their life was heading. It was then that a mother was dragging a child home, beating him and complaining, while the child was jumping away trying to avoid the hits his mother was throwing at him. At once, all of us had become silent. When they had gone, we all looked at each other, and without saying anything everyone had traced their memory in the past. It was a moment for everyone present there.
Everyone started sharing a story of theirs. It was nostalgic, but one of the funniest ones was by Amarjeet. He was always at the receiving end during childhood days. He was, the Sardar. Today, he runs a dealership of bikes. But as a kid, he was always the one who would hardly pass an exam. His father was a taxi driver and the family depended entirely on the income his father would bring in driving a taxi through the day. As usual, he had failed in the exam and his mother was tired of persuading him to study, and the only way out, it seemed to her was to put him in to the fury of his father when he returned home after driving his taxi, 12 hours in the congested roads of Bombay. When his mother told his father that he had failed, his father, who probably had a bad experience with a passenger was furious. He took out his belt and started hitting him with it. Blows came down in hard strikes and Amarjeet screamed for help. His father too was screaming.
He kept yelling. 'How many times will you fail in the Seventh Standard?'
Amarjeet screamed in pain and was crying, trying to tell him something. but the screams merged with the words and did not make any sense.
Finally when his father was tired of beating him, Amarjeet whimpered 'Papa, I am in the Ninth standard.'
As it is very rare with people growing apart due to their constant fluctuations in priorities, many of us, childhood friends actually met at the gate of our colony. It was not planned, but it just seemed to happen. A couple of friends were sitting on the steps of the room that housed the step-up transformer, and friends trickled in and chatted and soon the entire gang was there, all joking about their work and apprising each other of where their life was heading. It was then that a mother was dragging a child home, beating him and complaining, while the child was jumping away trying to avoid the hits his mother was throwing at him. At once, all of us had become silent. When they had gone, we all looked at each other, and without saying anything everyone had traced their memory in the past. It was a moment for everyone present there.
Everyone started sharing a story of theirs. It was nostalgic, but one of the funniest ones was by Amarjeet. He was always at the receiving end during childhood days. He was, the Sardar. Today, he runs a dealership of bikes. But as a kid, he was always the one who would hardly pass an exam. His father was a taxi driver and the family depended entirely on the income his father would bring in driving a taxi through the day. As usual, he had failed in the exam and his mother was tired of persuading him to study, and the only way out, it seemed to her was to put him in to the fury of his father when he returned home after driving his taxi, 12 hours in the congested roads of Bombay. When his mother told his father that he had failed, his father, who probably had a bad experience with a passenger was furious. He took out his belt and started hitting him with it. Blows came down in hard strikes and Amarjeet screamed for help. His father too was screaming.
He kept yelling. 'How many times will you fail in the Seventh Standard?'
Amarjeet screamed in pain and was crying, trying to tell him something. but the screams merged with the words and did not make any sense.
Finally when his father was tired of beating him, Amarjeet whimpered 'Papa, I am in the Ninth standard.'
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Doordarshan Nostalgia
Yesterday, I was flipping through the infinite channels on television, and was not able to find one, atleast one show watchable. After taking approximately 12 minutes to find one, I switched it off to float into solitude. I was wondering of the olden days when searching for a smile-evoking show was not that difficult. I wondered how we had survived that era, of the 1980’s. I remember we used to abandon playing cricket and run into Sajith’s house on the ground floor to catch the animated Spiderman at 5.30. At 6 pm, we would be back to where we had started. It was a time when we used to break window panes trying to emulate Sunil Gavaskar or Srikant. A time when we would be crazy about Wimbledon because that was the only place we could see pretty ladies wearing short skirts (Doordarshan used to have a huge censorship board)
I switched the TV on and searched for Doordarshan, and apparently, I did not have it tuned on my television. Such an arrogant treatment to a medium that used to be the only entertainment source in the 80’s I wondered. I can still remember the sequence of programs that used to be played on Doordarshan almost every Sunday. 9 o’clock would start with He-man, 9.30 was a mythological roller-coaster, first Ramayan and then Mahabharat. We would sit and relish magical arrows flying from both sides and blasting off whenever they met. 10.30 would be Potli baba ki, a puppet show that beautifully captured the essence of Alibaba and the forty thieves. And at 11 would be Indradanush, about a boy who was a time traveler. At 1.00 there would be the news for the hearing impaired. I remember, we, trying to mute the television and try to figure out what the gestures were as muted Rini Simon used to read the news.
Doordarshan, I believed in those days, held together the entire country in a cultural code, with its tight ropes on censorship. Who could forget the Chitrahaar and the Chayageet that used to happen on Wednesdays and Fridays, and NDTV’s World this week by Prannoy Roy that changed the perspective of the otherwise mundane Newsreading. Usha Alberqueque, Preet Bedi, Sunit Tandon, Neethi Ravindran, Rini Simon, and the fiery Komal Singh had become household names of those times when everyone waited for the news in English at 8.30 pm to 9.00 PM. Many families used to time their dinners to watch the weekly episodes of Nukkad, Yeh jo hai Zindagi, Karamchand, Intezar, Waghle ki Duniya, Mungerilaal ke haseen sapney, Surabhi, Mirza Ghalib, and the intense story on partition, Tamas. Not to forget Swami of Malgudi Days, and the fiery housewife Rajni. Those were the days when there was quality in the content that we watched and stayed long in our memory. The pull of the content was so strong that we used to wait for the next episode which would be played next week. Sorry for interruption or Rukhawat ke liye khed hai, was one of the most used slates in Doordarshan during those days. Vicco Vajradanthi ads used to be played over and over again for years. The jingles of Nirma, Lijjat Papad, and the Lyril ads never tired us and we ad libed to the jingle as it played. The ads of Nirodh and Mala-D would see the elders, embarrassed, trying to take off our attention from the television by asking someone to check the door as if someone had rung the door bell or check if the fan in the other room was not switched off.
Those were the days when a wind would turn the antenna and we had to go to the terrace and turn it to the direction of the Doordarshan tower, which we used to call as Mecca of the T. V. antennas. Whenever a political hunk would have bade farewell to the world, it was the most boring week for us all, when sad music would emanate from the mono speakers of the television sets.
Today with so many channels and so many shows, mostly unreal reality shows and lousy soap operas, it becomes very difficult to tell one from the other. Even the news channel look like soap operas with each journalistic story extended into a reality show. With a fierce race to garner more TRP’s, I wonder if that era will ever return when television channels would focus on meaningful programming than churning the same old shit they have been churning out over the past few years.
Honestly, even though I love the technological progress that the world is achieving in media and communication, yet, I miss those simple little things one channel used to gift us. Gifts of memories that we all remember fondly, even today.
I do miss Doordarshan. I pressed the search button on the remote trying to tune Doordarshan on my T.V.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Untitled Story - Chapter 1
This story is inspired by a true story.
Death. The only truth that has always remained constant. Many of us live in search of a destiny. Some say we make our own, some say our destiny is already written. But, the fact is that all human beings in this world face only one destiny. This destiny makes no distinction between the rich or the poor, caste or color, or the era that we live in. Death is the destiny which we all, in this planet share.
Death is the only absolute truth.
On a cold chilly morning in Mumbai, Sujata found her grandfather lying motionless in his bed. The curtains waved in the slight breeze that entered into the room through the closed louvered windows. The light entered into the room through the frosted glass windows casting the distorted shadow of the flowery designed grill on to the mosaic floor. The rocking chair stood still waiting for someone to rock it. The only sound that broke the chilly silence was the constant grunt of the pigeons that had made home outside the window on the grill outside the closed windows. The air had an eerie smell of death. The superstitious would claim that the spirits of the ancestors had arrived in the room to welcome their son into the afterlife. The cawing crow on the barren gulmohur tree would have been the testimony, but the crows refused to descend.
He lay on the old bed made of rich teak wood and covered with a mosquito net that hung from the beams around the bed. His eyes were closed and he wore a content smile on his face. He was wearing a recently ironed shirt and his favorite khakhi trousers. An old HMT watch ticked away on his right hand oblivious to the cold hands of death that had taken away the breath of his master. He was well shaven, and wore the favorite perfume his grandson had gifted him four years back. He had dressed in a way he would have, if he were to meet an important person or an army dignitary who would visit him once in a while. It seemed as if he knew his time had come for the final journey.
On a normal day, Major Gandhi would wake up at 5 in the morning and go for his walk along the Marine Drive, where he would meet his retired Army friends. He would return home by seven and would be found reading the newspaper on his rocking chair. When Sujata found that the newspaper was not picked up from the door, the thought that came into her mind was that he might have been involved in some intense political discussion with his friends. But when he had not returned by 7.30, she decided to check his room.
As she saw the lifeless body on the bed, she felt weak on her knees and fumbled. She held his cold hands hoping he would tighten his grip trying to comfort her saying that everything will be alright. His cold hands were stiff. Tears filled her eyes, words failed her as she tried to call out. The entire room seemed to be enveloped in vacuum of silence. Sujata gathered courage and went to his table. His diary lay open on the table. The ink pen was neatly kept beside it.
A note lay next to his diary.
My lovely Sujata,
Everyone has to leave one day. I too have to leave. It is time. I have lived my life to the fullest and have been extremely blessed to have such a wonderful family who I am very proud of. There is so much to tell you and so less time. Alas, we all realise this when there is hardly any time left. I am leaving behind my diary. It contains a truth I had hidden from everyone for a very long time. I hope you all understand and forgive me from keeping the truth away from you.
Lovingly,
Your Dadaji
Death. The only truth that has always remained constant. Many of us live in search of a destiny. Some say we make our own, some say our destiny is already written. But, the fact is that all human beings in this world face only one destiny. This destiny makes no distinction between the rich or the poor, caste or color, or the era that we live in. Death is the destiny which we all, in this planet share.
Death is the only absolute truth.
On a cold chilly morning in Mumbai, Sujata found her grandfather lying motionless in his bed. The curtains waved in the slight breeze that entered into the room through the closed louvered windows. The light entered into the room through the frosted glass windows casting the distorted shadow of the flowery designed grill on to the mosaic floor. The rocking chair stood still waiting for someone to rock it. The only sound that broke the chilly silence was the constant grunt of the pigeons that had made home outside the window on the grill outside the closed windows. The air had an eerie smell of death. The superstitious would claim that the spirits of the ancestors had arrived in the room to welcome their son into the afterlife. The cawing crow on the barren gulmohur tree would have been the testimony, but the crows refused to descend.
He lay on the old bed made of rich teak wood and covered with a mosquito net that hung from the beams around the bed. His eyes were closed and he wore a content smile on his face. He was wearing a recently ironed shirt and his favorite khakhi trousers. An old HMT watch ticked away on his right hand oblivious to the cold hands of death that had taken away the breath of his master. He was well shaven, and wore the favorite perfume his grandson had gifted him four years back. He had dressed in a way he would have, if he were to meet an important person or an army dignitary who would visit him once in a while. It seemed as if he knew his time had come for the final journey.
On a normal day, Major Gandhi would wake up at 5 in the morning and go for his walk along the Marine Drive, where he would meet his retired Army friends. He would return home by seven and would be found reading the newspaper on his rocking chair. When Sujata found that the newspaper was not picked up from the door, the thought that came into her mind was that he might have been involved in some intense political discussion with his friends. But when he had not returned by 7.30, she decided to check his room.
As she saw the lifeless body on the bed, she felt weak on her knees and fumbled. She held his cold hands hoping he would tighten his grip trying to comfort her saying that everything will be alright. His cold hands were stiff. Tears filled her eyes, words failed her as she tried to call out. The entire room seemed to be enveloped in vacuum of silence. Sujata gathered courage and went to his table. His diary lay open on the table. The ink pen was neatly kept beside it.
A note lay next to his diary.
My lovely Sujata,
Everyone has to leave one day. I too have to leave. It is time. I have lived my life to the fullest and have been extremely blessed to have such a wonderful family who I am very proud of. There is so much to tell you and so less time. Alas, we all realise this when there is hardly any time left. I am leaving behind my diary. It contains a truth I had hidden from everyone for a very long time. I hope you all understand and forgive me from keeping the truth away from you.
Lovingly,
Your Dadaji
Monday, January 12, 2009
16 easy steps to become a fraud billionaire
Fraud is the evil version of smart. When the Satyam scam was revealed, the first thing that came to many minds is ’How many more companies like these exist?’ rest assured I can confidently say – Many.
BRR… (Byrraju Ramalinga Raju) truly gave us the chills this winter. He would probably be the only one to confess of his misdoings. Many will try to cover up. Had this event happened in China, the fraud would have been completely in wraps by the Chinese Government. They cannot allow their country to be tainted. But we do. Ours is a democracy.
I think setting up a fraud company is easy if you are a people’s person, and have a little bit of money to spend as investment to create billions. All you need is a bit of money to survive six months and panache in making friends with people who matter. Here is my version of things you need to do be a successful fraud billionaire!
Sweet Sixteen steps to a billion dollar future –
1. Look into the newspapers and find out the most emerging sector in the next three years. You have to be there in the thick when the boom has arrived.
2. Create a plan. Not just a business plan, but along with it a plan how you will make money and exit the business. You need to be focused on the end result.
3. Form a company. Start small, and make the business plan showing the large numbers that the business shall make for the investors. Collect newspaper cuttings to reiterate the fact.
4. Find a hardworking partner. A genius. This is the guy you would be F***ing up in the end. Show your large-heartedness by making him a signatory. He will take you as a God-send. But you are going to have the last laugh!
5. Get a fabulous website. Copy paste content from leading businesses in your competition site and make your own content. Focus more on polishing up with your credentials. Appoint a marketing guy who would bring in small time projects into your company. The marketing guy and the co-promoter you appointed will get the ball rolling for the company. But remember you are here to make the big bucks.
6. Network. Go for CII conferences, peer conferences. Wear a suite and remmber to wear a Montblanc pen in your suite. Make high flying friends. If you have the right aptitude you will never pay for the drinks or the dinner or lunch. If you can do that, you are closer to success.
7. Simultaneously, approach retired chairmen’s, vice presidents or ex-bosses to be a non-executive Director of your board. Or ask them to be advisors. They would always love to be part of a board of a different company. Sometimes a good ego massage and a bottle of champagne can do the trick.
8. Update your website with the decorated board of directors. Keep sending them gifts and personally deliver the quarterly reports. Talk about the business for five minutes and then shift to the weather and the best games and movies. Chances are they will become your best friends and trust you better.
9. Get a friend or his company to audit. Remember he must be as hungry for money as you are.
10. Get ready to get in investment. Announce that know you plan to go big. Cheer up the team. You need them. Announce Esops for all the loyal employees. Start hiring. Put a press release that you are hiring heavily. Take some loan from banks, even un-secure loans. Remember you are not the signatory ;)
11. Approach investors. Be vivacious. Be unrealistic. Use the word ‘passion’ as many times as possible. Talk about your past, or if you don’t have any decorative past, cook it up. Never take names. They might know the people. Drop names of people you have networked with from Step no. 6.
12. Chances are that a smart investor will catch you right in the start. If you get caught just use the statement 'Those investors did not find a convincing synergy with their business functions' or any likewise misleading statements. Remember, you have to fish for investors who are known for money laundering. It is just for this level of investment. Once you cross this, then the world is your playground. This is your biggest challenge. But once you have such an ignorant investor, you are cool on your way of becoming a billionaire.
13. Start international travels. Open an office in the US. Scout for work and apply for US citizenship. Hand over operations in India to someone dumb.
14. Start an LLC in your own company name, but just you and your family as the shareholders. Start sending work to India. Bill in your US firms name, say that the US firms are comfortable only if the company has a US office. Here is the big bucks coming your way. You send the operating expenses to your Indian counterpart. The profits are now yours alone.
15. After a few years, say that it is difficult to sustain and that you would like to exit. Demand a lumpsum for your shareholding. Hand the Indian counterpart details of your clients. You cant manage it yourself anyways!
16. If you are smart you end up being rich and start another fraud company or become an investor. If the scam is unearthed, the poor guy who you made as a partner is screwed and you are sitting safe in the US!
All the best!!
Disclaimer: I will not accept any responsibility or liability if someone fails to become a billionaire using this method. Oh yes, I shall definitely try to come and meet you in jail! Follow this method at your own risk!
BRR… (Byrraju Ramalinga Raju) truly gave us the chills this winter. He would probably be the only one to confess of his misdoings. Many will try to cover up. Had this event happened in China, the fraud would have been completely in wraps by the Chinese Government. They cannot allow their country to be tainted. But we do. Ours is a democracy.
I think setting up a fraud company is easy if you are a people’s person, and have a little bit of money to spend as investment to create billions. All you need is a bit of money to survive six months and panache in making friends with people who matter. Here is my version of things you need to do be a successful fraud billionaire!
Sweet Sixteen steps to a billion dollar future –
1. Look into the newspapers and find out the most emerging sector in the next three years. You have to be there in the thick when the boom has arrived.
2. Create a plan. Not just a business plan, but along with it a plan how you will make money and exit the business. You need to be focused on the end result.
3. Form a company. Start small, and make the business plan showing the large numbers that the business shall make for the investors. Collect newspaper cuttings to reiterate the fact.
4. Find a hardworking partner. A genius. This is the guy you would be F***ing up in the end. Show your large-heartedness by making him a signatory. He will take you as a God-send. But you are going to have the last laugh!
5. Get a fabulous website. Copy paste content from leading businesses in your competition site and make your own content. Focus more on polishing up with your credentials. Appoint a marketing guy who would bring in small time projects into your company. The marketing guy and the co-promoter you appointed will get the ball rolling for the company. But remember you are here to make the big bucks.
6. Network. Go for CII conferences, peer conferences. Wear a suite and remmber to wear a Montblanc pen in your suite. Make high flying friends. If you have the right aptitude you will never pay for the drinks or the dinner or lunch. If you can do that, you are closer to success.
7. Simultaneously, approach retired chairmen’s, vice presidents or ex-bosses to be a non-executive Director of your board. Or ask them to be advisors. They would always love to be part of a board of a different company. Sometimes a good ego massage and a bottle of champagne can do the trick.
8. Update your website with the decorated board of directors. Keep sending them gifts and personally deliver the quarterly reports. Talk about the business for five minutes and then shift to the weather and the best games and movies. Chances are they will become your best friends and trust you better.
9. Get a friend or his company to audit. Remember he must be as hungry for money as you are.
10. Get ready to get in investment. Announce that know you plan to go big. Cheer up the team. You need them. Announce Esops for all the loyal employees. Start hiring. Put a press release that you are hiring heavily. Take some loan from banks, even un-secure loans. Remember you are not the signatory ;)
11. Approach investors. Be vivacious. Be unrealistic. Use the word ‘passion’ as many times as possible. Talk about your past, or if you don’t have any decorative past, cook it up. Never take names. They might know the people. Drop names of people you have networked with from Step no. 6.
12. Chances are that a smart investor will catch you right in the start. If you get caught just use the statement 'Those investors did not find a convincing synergy with their business functions' or any likewise misleading statements. Remember, you have to fish for investors who are known for money laundering. It is just for this level of investment. Once you cross this, then the world is your playground. This is your biggest challenge. But once you have such an ignorant investor, you are cool on your way of becoming a billionaire.
13. Start international travels. Open an office in the US. Scout for work and apply for US citizenship. Hand over operations in India to someone dumb.
14. Start an LLC in your own company name, but just you and your family as the shareholders. Start sending work to India. Bill in your US firms name, say that the US firms are comfortable only if the company has a US office. Here is the big bucks coming your way. You send the operating expenses to your Indian counterpart. The profits are now yours alone.
15. After a few years, say that it is difficult to sustain and that you would like to exit. Demand a lumpsum for your shareholding. Hand the Indian counterpart details of your clients. You cant manage it yourself anyways!
16. If you are smart you end up being rich and start another fraud company or become an investor. If the scam is unearthed, the poor guy who you made as a partner is screwed and you are sitting safe in the US!
All the best!!
Disclaimer: I will not accept any responsibility or liability if someone fails to become a billionaire using this method. Oh yes, I shall definitely try to come and meet you in jail! Follow this method at your own risk!
Friday, December 26, 2008
Every Dog has his day
Have you been in a horrific situation with a tinge of comedy, where reacting to the comic element might become disastrous for you? Here is one example I was told by a friend who stays in China.
A newly wed couple had shifted to Bejing, China. The husband was posted on a project and was to be on site for a couple of years. It was the guy’s third visit to the city and he had been staying there for a stretch that lasted more than six months at a time. The newly wedded wife was a staunch vegetarian, detesting the kind of food that was served in the Chinese restaurants. Oh! And I forgot to mention, she was a complete animal lover. Dogs specially.
Over a period of time she adjusted to the food and people, and the usual routine of life her husband was prone to. So, after a couple of months, the wife insisted on buying some stuff for the house. One weekend they decided to go shopping. They strolled the inner streets and looked for specialities they could buy and decorate their home. As they shopped, the wife saw a man with a wonderful dogs. A dog lover that she was, she immediately was attracted to them and rushed to pet them. One of the dogs she found extremely cute, and wanted to buy him at once. The husband was reluctant and argued that they would not be able to take him back to India when they left. The wife, however stood her ground not budging an inch. She was lonely, she said. A dog as a companion would keep her occupied when the husband was at work. The husband asked the man – How much. The man replied back in completely broken English $$$yuan. The husband took out his wallet and offered him the money. He said – again in fragmented English – One hour – here! He pointed to a shop. – If not here, ask there!
The wife was elated. She was completely thrilled. There was a bounce to her walk, a ring in her talk. The husband had never seen her so happy. They shopped around and returned to the place where the man had promised to be back in one hour. He was standing there. But there was no dog around. Both of them went to the man who was talking to another Chinese man.
Seeing the husband, his eyes lit up and put forth a plastic bag saying – here is your dog..
A newly wed couple had shifted to Bejing, China. The husband was posted on a project and was to be on site for a couple of years. It was the guy’s third visit to the city and he had been staying there for a stretch that lasted more than six months at a time. The newly wedded wife was a staunch vegetarian, detesting the kind of food that was served in the Chinese restaurants. Oh! And I forgot to mention, she was a complete animal lover. Dogs specially.
Over a period of time she adjusted to the food and people, and the usual routine of life her husband was prone to. So, after a couple of months, the wife insisted on buying some stuff for the house. One weekend they decided to go shopping. They strolled the inner streets and looked for specialities they could buy and decorate their home. As they shopped, the wife saw a man with a wonderful dogs. A dog lover that she was, she immediately was attracted to them and rushed to pet them. One of the dogs she found extremely cute, and wanted to buy him at once. The husband was reluctant and argued that they would not be able to take him back to India when they left. The wife, however stood her ground not budging an inch. She was lonely, she said. A dog as a companion would keep her occupied when the husband was at work. The husband asked the man – How much. The man replied back in completely broken English $$$yuan. The husband took out his wallet and offered him the money. He said – again in fragmented English – One hour – here! He pointed to a shop. – If not here, ask there!
The wife was elated. She was completely thrilled. There was a bounce to her walk, a ring in her talk. The husband had never seen her so happy. They shopped around and returned to the place where the man had promised to be back in one hour. He was standing there. But there was no dog around. Both of them went to the man who was talking to another Chinese man.
Seeing the husband, his eyes lit up and put forth a plastic bag saying – here is your dog..
Sunday, December 21, 2008
“2 Bucks"
Inspired by a true event and written with inputs from Col. Ramesh Sharma
Sarojini is just one year old. The last time I left from home, she would lovingly call me Dada. Her melodious voice that broke into a gibberish were the most beautiful moments i got back from home along with the warm kakras wrapped in a towel for the train journey. I would not have known that these moments would have been the last ones when i spent with them. Every time I came back home it would be scene of celebrations at home and every departure to the ‘front’ would be like a mourning.
I remember the first time i had met my wife. She was young, hiding her shyness behind the bright yellow ghunghat. But her smile shone through her ghunghat into my heart. Soon we got married, and her shyness had disappeared like a fragrance in the wind. She would keep talking till her jaws ached and I would listen to her talks till my eyes fell asleep. We became best of friends but before we realised, time had disappeared like the fine sand between the tender fingers of life and it was time to part. Her silence on that day was the most unbearable. I could have borne a thousand bullets on my body, but this pan was of a different kind. Her tears were unstoppable. I knew then that my biggest strength was now my biggest weakness. During the train journey, I could not sleep a wink. Her smile would linger like an illusion in my eyes and if my eyes drooped into slight drifts of sleep, her mindless laughter would wake me up with a jolt. But my Country was to be guarded and protected, the enemy to be kept at bay, so that the vast land of hardworking people could make us the best nation in the world. It was my pledge to die for the country, my country men, die for the honor of my regiment and its "izzat".
Another bullet hit the glass window hard throwing it into splinters. Sandwiched between the wall and the truck, I had hardly any space to move. The terrorists had occupied the mosque and had held innocent people hostages. The encounter was long and bloody. I was out of ammunition. There was continuous firing from the upper tiers of the minaret. The entire nation was being divided. The war that was supposed to be kept at the borders had seeped into the country like cancer. The war now had to be fought from within. In every part of India, we are seen with hatred. Human rights activists clamor at our door step making noise of deaths during ambush as inhuman. I often wonder in agony, are our lives worth nothing? It is so easy for activists to stay behind closed doors in the security of their homes and point fingers at us calling our actions inhuman. Would they stand in front of these firing terrorists and get the hostages their freedom? A hand grenade blasted a little distance away from me and I was shaken from my thoughts. I saw Major Ahmed running towards me from behind a broken wall. The dust gave him cover. He took cover next to me. He was grinning from ear to ear.
'I am out of ammunition, Ahmed.' I tell him. 'Give me some'
Ahmed fires above the wall, still grinning like a jackass. 'Why should I give it to you?' he asks me.
'Why not?' I ask him.
'You haven't bothered to return me the 2 bucks you owe me from the teen pati card game you lost a week ago!'
'I will return it as soon as we get back' i promised him.
'No I need it now. What if you get killed today? Then you will never give me back my 2 bucks!'
I search my pockets. Ahmed falls next to me. A bullet has pierced the skull on the upper eyebrow. Blood is gushing out. I hold him in my arms. His eyes mock me. I pick up his gun. I have to avenge his death…the death of a brave soldier, the death of my fallen brethren. I keep firing, the hostages must be rescued and the mosque has to be returned to its sanctity, for Ahmed, for Ahmed's wife, for Ahmed's children. He died in battle, a proud death. He gave his today for our tomorrow. It's now my turn to either victory or death. In war there is no second place. Win or die.
Sarojini is just one year old. The last time I left from home, she would lovingly call me Dada. Her melodious voice that broke into a gibberish were the most beautiful moments i got back from home along with the warm kakras wrapped in a towel for the train journey. I would not have known that these moments would have been the last ones when i spent with them. Every time I came back home it would be scene of celebrations at home and every departure to the ‘front’ would be like a mourning.
I remember the first time i had met my wife. She was young, hiding her shyness behind the bright yellow ghunghat. But her smile shone through her ghunghat into my heart. Soon we got married, and her shyness had disappeared like a fragrance in the wind. She would keep talking till her jaws ached and I would listen to her talks till my eyes fell asleep. We became best of friends but before we realised, time had disappeared like the fine sand between the tender fingers of life and it was time to part. Her silence on that day was the most unbearable. I could have borne a thousand bullets on my body, but this pan was of a different kind. Her tears were unstoppable. I knew then that my biggest strength was now my biggest weakness. During the train journey, I could not sleep a wink. Her smile would linger like an illusion in my eyes and if my eyes drooped into slight drifts of sleep, her mindless laughter would wake me up with a jolt. But my Country was to be guarded and protected, the enemy to be kept at bay, so that the vast land of hardworking people could make us the best nation in the world. It was my pledge to die for the country, my country men, die for the honor of my regiment and its "izzat".
Another bullet hit the glass window hard throwing it into splinters. Sandwiched between the wall and the truck, I had hardly any space to move. The terrorists had occupied the mosque and had held innocent people hostages. The encounter was long and bloody. I was out of ammunition. There was continuous firing from the upper tiers of the minaret. The entire nation was being divided. The war that was supposed to be kept at the borders had seeped into the country like cancer. The war now had to be fought from within. In every part of India, we are seen with hatred. Human rights activists clamor at our door step making noise of deaths during ambush as inhuman. I often wonder in agony, are our lives worth nothing? It is so easy for activists to stay behind closed doors in the security of their homes and point fingers at us calling our actions inhuman. Would they stand in front of these firing terrorists and get the hostages their freedom? A hand grenade blasted a little distance away from me and I was shaken from my thoughts. I saw Major Ahmed running towards me from behind a broken wall. The dust gave him cover. He took cover next to me. He was grinning from ear to ear.
'I am out of ammunition, Ahmed.' I tell him. 'Give me some'
Ahmed fires above the wall, still grinning like a jackass. 'Why should I give it to you?' he asks me.
'Why not?' I ask him.
'You haven't bothered to return me the 2 bucks you owe me from the teen pati card game you lost a week ago!'
'I will return it as soon as we get back' i promised him.
'No I need it now. What if you get killed today? Then you will never give me back my 2 bucks!'
I search my pockets. Ahmed falls next to me. A bullet has pierced the skull on the upper eyebrow. Blood is gushing out. I hold him in my arms. His eyes mock me. I pick up his gun. I have to avenge his death…the death of a brave soldier, the death of my fallen brethren. I keep firing, the hostages must be rescued and the mosque has to be returned to its sanctity, for Ahmed, for Ahmed's wife, for Ahmed's children. He died in battle, a proud death. He gave his today for our tomorrow. It's now my turn to either victory or death. In war there is no second place. Win or die.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Autobiography of a flower
I am a flower. A flower that blooms and wilts. I live a life that lasts not more than a few days. Once I was a bud. A little bud in a vast flower garden. The gardener would come and look at me as he did with the other buds. He would water me and then talk to me. He would tell nice things, he would tell me that one day I would bloom and make some one smile. I wondered how.
In the days that I was a bud, I would wait, looking at other flowers that bloomed. They bloomed and the gardener would pluck them up and put them in a basket. I wondered, how I could make someone smile. Then one day when the sun rose, light blinded me for a while. I was in full bloom. I looked into the eyes of the sun and bathed in the warmth it shone on me. And then abruptly I was cut. My fate ended up to be the same as the other flowers I had seen bloom. I lied there in the basket. I was tossed and swirled as the gardener took me from basket to basket, and then to a pickup truck. I fell asleep, and then when I woke up, I was in a little shop. Around me were other flowers, they were all of a different kind, they were of different colors, probably a different race. They all looked beautiful. The florist had arranged so many of them together like a painting. People peeked in and picked up a bunch. Every time they did, they had a smile in their eyes.
Then, one day, the old florist picked me up. She softly touched me, and gently plucked out the wilted petals. She then handed me over to a young charming boy and tells him – I am sure she will love it. She then looks at me and tells me – Little flower, make his day.
The young boy clutched me with all his heart. His eyes nervous and his mouth chattering away in a nervous tone. We then reached a little park. The boy stops, hiding himself behind the bark of a huge oak tree. He then breathes deeply and turns back. With great courage, he approaches the girl. The girl, pretty that she is, is red with anger. They talk, she yells. The anger melts down into sobs, and she looks away. He gently goes behind her and brushes me on her cheeks. She turns around looking at him in his eyes. They kiss. He drops me on to the ground.
The sun rises, and lowers itself. It is almost evening. A little boy picks me up. I remember his face from the window at the florists shop. He looked at the flowers and then counted the pennies in his pocket. With depressed eyes, he left. He picks me up with great care and dusts me off. Happy to hold me, he runs and holds the hand of an old man. He holds on to me with care. He has got tears in her eyes. ‘Tears of happiness’ I think to myself.
We enter a huge building. A pretty lady lies in bed. She looks frail, but her anguish dissolves as she sees the boy. The boy runs and jumps on to the bed and hugs her. I see tears rolling from her eyes. She holds him tight and tells him ‘I love you’. The boy tells her – I love you too. He hands me over to her. Her eyes fill with tears and she kisses him on the forehead. He sits on her lap and they talk for hours. When the sun has hid behind the far away mountains, he kisses her goodnight and leaves.
The mother looks at me for a long time with fondness. She looks at me and tells me – I love you. I become the little boy. She then takes me and keeps me carefully in a big fat book that seems like a diary. I become her memory. I become a thought.
I become immortal.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Is India truly democratic?
To find a solution we need to find the problem first. And the problem would not be the politicians but a system that allows corrupt people into politics. The corrupt have raided and raped the system and the results of it are for everybody to be seen. So going back to where it all began, the drafting of the constitution, I did a Google search and this is what popped out- http://lawmin.nic.in/coi/coiason29july08.pdf It is a huge one and I plan to read it soon. Unless we do not know where the problem lies, how do we treat the sickness is what my mind is pondering.
Seeing the assembly elections and the fallout of the Maharashtra Government and appointment of the ministers, there was a fallacy that came across in my mind of the democratic set up of India. Further, this was also reiterated in a radio channel and I felt there might be many more who think alike. The fact that – Are we truly a democratic country?
Looking at the current set up, we have two elections, the Rajya Sabha (Assembly) elections and the Lok Sabha (Parliamentary) elections. At this level, the elections are democratic, where the people elect their representatives who would then head to the state assembly or to the parliament. But what happens after this is highly questionable. The fact that the politicians who are elected being clean and without criminal records is a completely different issue. But what is important to be noted is the process followed hence forth in the formation of the Cabinet, both in the Assembly and in the Parliament. Here the selection process starts. Witgh already many corrupt politicians going into both the houses, here there is a high chance of horse trading possible. The selection of the ministers become something very vulnerable to corruption. With party chiefs of the ruling party deciding who should be which minister, he becomes the most powerful person and buying and selling of posts could become the norm.
Thus we would get politicians and not leaders as the head of the state. Ministers who fail will step down and new ministers would come, but accountability will always be a question that will never be answered.
I can think of two approaches.
a) To make an election within the Assembly/ Parliament with candidates vying for the post. This would make the system a bit transparent, but horse-trading could become rampant on the flip side.
Or
b) The election mandate should include voting for three candidates at the same time. 1) The Prime Minister, 2) The Deputy Prime Minister and 3) Their local representative to the parliament and likewise for the Assembly elections 1) The Chief Minister, 2) The Deputy Chief Minister and 3) the MLA from the local constituency.
I would feel very positive if option b is exercised, since it would help us electing a leader based on the country consensus than the whims and fancies of a political party chief. It would also put on a huge responsibility on his shoulders and take accountability for the ministers appointed, else he face the wrath of his countrymen.
Monday, December 8, 2008
I have learnt... - revised
Ok. Here is a new set of revisions in the I have learnt... post
...that life is little, but it is the element of time that makes it a bit too long
...that life is not about being secure, but not feeling insecure
...that we can seek happiness, but can choose to be happy.
...that love is an illusion and life is full of magic
...that sorrow is just another feeling
...that we mistake to find happiness in relationships, when relationships are just a part of happiness.
...that we die, but our thought doesn’t.
...that we own only that much land where we stand on.
...That we need to love life, and life will love us
...that life is little, but it is the element of time that makes it a bit too long
...that life is not about being secure, but not feeling insecure
...that we can seek happiness, but can choose to be happy.
...that love is an illusion and life is full of magic
...that sorrow is just another feeling
...that we mistake to find happiness in relationships, when relationships are just a part of happiness.
...that we die, but our thought doesn’t.
...that we own only that much land where we stand on.
...That we need to love life, and life will love us
Friday, December 5, 2008
An uneasiness of the so-called 'Revolution'
Yesterday night, a disturbing thing crossed my mind. This revolution (if we can call it) that has taken such momentum, is this just a result of people’s anger over repeated anger or is there something more to it? Why did this not happen earlier? Ever since 1947, over 4100 terrorist attacks have taken place all over India. Why hav they never got so much importance as this attack is getting? In a way, I am glad that this revolution is taking place, but on the other hand, the underlying reasons that I see are also a bit disturbing.
If we look at the terrorist attacks in the past, blasts in trains, busses, in a taxi, at railway stations, these were places the common man visits every day. They are killed, many are left disabled and yet they resume the next day to their respective jobs. The glitterati and the industrialists called it resilience. I believe it is just that if they did not go to work, they would not know where they would pay their next month’s bills, the milkman, electricity, telephone bill, grocery bills, school fees, college fees, and so on… They had no choice. Yesterday, a radio station played an interview with an American who was amazed to see how the people of Mumbai were back on their jobs just three days after the siege ended. In New York after 9/11, people were scared to get out of their homes for a week. I would say, if the US citizens are paid a minimum wage by the government to the unemployed, they would rather sit secure in the houses than venture out. If it was the same case in India, people would have preferred the same. We are no different human beings, but we do know that our Government does nothing for us and hence we have to fend for ourselves. If we had the time and money to take care of our families we would have fought the government, stood up for our needs, but the daily necessity to feed our hunger makes us ignore all this and get back to work.
So what is different now from the past? Why will this revolution sustain, if it sustains?
This time the target was The Taj and The Oberoi. How many of the common man might have ever entered the Taj. The exterior photos are the only things a common man can relate to. They don’t have any reason to go to the Taj. The food is expensive. Only the high class (exponentially rich) can afford this kind of luxury. Why is the peace march around the Taj and Oberoi and not at CST or Vile Parle, which were also targets of the terrorists? The reasons are quite obvious. The rich and the powerful, don’t frequent busses or trains. They sit in the luxurious confines of their car to go wherever they have to go. Every time a calamity strikes the city, they are the least affected while the poor homeless person on the street is affected the most. Why is it that everyone is asking Raj Thackeray, where he is? Why didn’t the same people strike back when he and his goondas ran rampant the city? Again, the reason is quite simple. The affluent class were relatively unaffected. It was the poor and the average middle class who bore the brunt of the carnage, the blasts, and the attacks. This was happening when the affluent class were talking about the resilience of Mumbai sipping fine wine and dining at the Taj and the Oberoi. Now after these attacks, they know what the common man has felt for a long time. They now fear their own lives and thus they have come out in huge numbers.
But all said and done, as I have reiterated in my earlier posts of America coming together for one reason, I think India has a reason of its own now. For whatever reasons, it is time to stand for one common goal.
Independence.
Independence in the true sense. Independence from terror, from corruption, from poverty, from political leadership to true leadership. The midnight of August 15th 1947 bought in freedom of India from the British, but there is still a long way to go till each citizen of India gets his/her freedom.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
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