When General Jingo the Fourth was airlifted into New Delhi and was given a non-stop live demonstration on just how desperately cheap Indian television time is, I watched it all.
After all the only thing desperately cheaper than airtime on Indian television is the time of that rare imbecile based in the punya bhoomi who believes in the idea of the rule of law.
Every other Indian is "practical", or as in the case of the media group that was doing Kissy Kissy of Life to the faded General Jingo The Fourth - "pragmatic".
That is probably why, when the IV General Jingo was goading his "educated and conscious" audience to show him some big, "strategic", Reaganesque, Hollywood, Dirty Harry, "Go Ahead Make My Day" kinda moves,all our native genius could come up with was, "Will You Return Dawood?"
Hoo Ha.
The Indian elite's craving for insanity, "please spank me, please spank me, Oh my God, somebody please kick me where it stings", will never cease to amaze and scare me.
We had Masood Azhar and Omar Sheikh locked up for godsssake in our jails, right?
So how did that help us?
So now we want Dawood.
Get real my dear countrymen, we cannot even do a stupid Twenty/Twenty nautanki in this aspiring super power.
There is only one strategic question.
And I being a proven impractical could have been the only one who could have asked it.
"General Jingo, don't you think its time you repudiated the two nation theory?May have seemed like a great idea at that time, but isn't it beginning to stink?"
Isn't it time you gave a fateha to Shri Jinnah's gift that never seems to stop giving?
Haven't you realised, with all your war colleges and war games and strategising and tacticalising that first it was two, then three and now it has become maybe a twenty three nation making mean machine?"
"I mean, don't you realise that till such time as you publicly give up on that hateful idea, no Indian, except maybe Shri Advani, who admires Jinnah as a true secularist, will ever barely be able to wait till you turn your back, so he/she can burst out laughing ?"
You are no Clint Eastwood, General Jingo.
Just a Dirty Harry who is stuck and can't move on.
But then that would have made General Jingo draw his piece and shoot at me and that would not be practical at all.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
Imitative India Fails The Mahatma
So The Government of India has allowed Vijay Mallya to buy the Gandhian artefacts.
We all love Shri Mallya for the Great Indian Party Animal that he is and I am upset with the atrocious quality of Bagpiper the only booze that I can occasionally, very occasionally afford, but it is a little embarassing that the aspiring world super power could only get a daruwalla to return the Gandhiana.
So once again we hear the familiar old sound. Of the bottom being scraped.
I mean Vijay Mallya is a dear soul, but he is no Larry or Sergei. He is no Steve Jobs.
Tushar Gandhi says," So you expect a vegetarian, khadi clad Indian with the millions to buy it for you?"
Was a time, just a few decades ago when that was not such a Fellinian vision.
And ...let's not forget... its a T shirt clad American who has made the millions from our suited, booted and earringed tycoons.
Lagaan again?
The babulog ka babalog who dominate our tv news nowadays, are fashionable people.
They like to be seen as the true descendents of old Winnie.
They give the impression that they are using all the professional control they can muster, to say what they really want,"Gandhi was a naked fakir, and please I'd rather be discussing Karan Johar, so can we just move on already?"
"Gandhi was against modern allopathic medicine. The legal system. Insurance. Western toilets, miniskirts and the pub culture..." lashes missiamma at the Gandhian biographer and researcher.
Poor man has a taken aback moment.
"But that was Hind Swaraj..." he cries out almost holding up his hands to his face."That was so long ago..."
Sorry to interrupt, but both missiamma and man have missed something. The Mahatma was thinking about "the poorest of the poor and the weakest of the weak".
The "pub culture" was just what the European doctor ordered for the hapless European working stiff.
A fun, money spinning alternative to Marx's religion.
A place he could waste his meagre wages, drink himself silly and throw darts at a cork board, night after night after night. Till he got to Disneyland.
In India of course, our crack pot elite appears to be getting all girded up (or "girdled up"?)to fight the next War of Indian Womanhood on this very issue.
Just Do It.
Just put Bernie Madoff's mugshot on the Indian currency note and lets launch into our new destiny.
That will surely satisfy the souls of our treacherous "practical" dads.
We all love Shri Mallya for the Great Indian Party Animal that he is and I am upset with the atrocious quality of Bagpiper the only booze that I can occasionally, very occasionally afford, but it is a little embarassing that the aspiring world super power could only get a daruwalla to return the Gandhiana.
So once again we hear the familiar old sound. Of the bottom being scraped.
I mean Vijay Mallya is a dear soul, but he is no Larry or Sergei. He is no Steve Jobs.
Tushar Gandhi says," So you expect a vegetarian, khadi clad Indian with the millions to buy it for you?"
Was a time, just a few decades ago when that was not such a Fellinian vision.
And ...let's not forget... its a T shirt clad American who has made the millions from our suited, booted and earringed tycoons.
Lagaan again?
The babulog ka babalog who dominate our tv news nowadays, are fashionable people.
They like to be seen as the true descendents of old Winnie.
They give the impression that they are using all the professional control they can muster, to say what they really want,"Gandhi was a naked fakir, and please I'd rather be discussing Karan Johar, so can we just move on already?"
"Gandhi was against modern allopathic medicine. The legal system. Insurance. Western toilets, miniskirts and the pub culture..." lashes missiamma at the Gandhian biographer and researcher.
Poor man has a taken aback moment.
"But that was Hind Swaraj..." he cries out almost holding up his hands to his face."That was so long ago..."
Sorry to interrupt, but both missiamma and man have missed something. The Mahatma was thinking about "the poorest of the poor and the weakest of the weak".
The "pub culture" was just what the European doctor ordered for the hapless European working stiff.
A fun, money spinning alternative to Marx's religion.
A place he could waste his meagre wages, drink himself silly and throw darts at a cork board, night after night after night. Till he got to Disneyland.
In India of course, our crack pot elite appears to be getting all girded up (or "girdled up"?)to fight the next War of Indian Womanhood on this very issue.
Just Do It.
Just put Bernie Madoff's mugshot on the Indian currency note and lets launch into our new destiny.
That will surely satisfy the souls of our treacherous "practical" dads.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
When The Times of India Did A Taliban On The Mahatma
When The Times of India did a Taliban on the Mahatma it was horrible enough, worse when not a single Indian voice objected.
When the nation's intellect is either too greedy or too fearful of the nation's family newspaper, we need to chant the Gurudev's prayer, along with the Hanuman Chalisa.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
When The Going Gets Tough, The Tough Take Out... The IPL
India is united and strong against terrorism, right? We are resilient and ceramic skinned and will just keeping marching on and on and on, like nothing ever happened, right?
So why the sudden shakes about the IPL?
Its "politics" of course. The polite Indian's synonym for madness. The comfort blanket word that he uses to assure himself that no matter what,he knows what's what.
The Home Minister is a suave and articulate man. An alumnus of Harvard. So presumably he knows a thing or two about keeping a perspective and a proportion.
He talks about India's "cerebral" foreign policy and "coercive" diplomacy.
I will be second to none in my admiration for anybody who seems keen to usher in some cerebrality into our public affairs, but this sounds suspiciously like old fashioned coerciveness - isn't it time you and me had a little chat, Mr Modi - on the itty bitty IPL.
And let me say this as a proud Indian, where Stanford has collapsed and absconded, I kinda feel just a teensy weensy bit obligated to protect the IPL from anybody's nazar.
So why the sudden shakes about the IPL?
Its "politics" of course. The polite Indian's synonym for madness. The comfort blanket word that he uses to assure himself that no matter what,he knows what's what.
The Home Minister is a suave and articulate man. An alumnus of Harvard. So presumably he knows a thing or two about keeping a perspective and a proportion.
He talks about India's "cerebral" foreign policy and "coercive" diplomacy.
I will be second to none in my admiration for anybody who seems keen to usher in some cerebrality into our public affairs, but this sounds suspiciously like old fashioned coerciveness - isn't it time you and me had a little chat, Mr Modi - on the itty bitty IPL.
And let me say this as a proud Indian, where Stanford has collapsed and absconded, I kinda feel just a teensy weensy bit obligated to protect the IPL from anybody's nazar.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Steve Irwin's Widow Exposes The Mired Indian Mind
Just a couple of months ago, the father of the martyred NSG commando Sandeep Unnikrishnan threw the Kerala CM out of his house.
Now comes the news that the widow of the hyperkinetic crocodile hunter Steve Irwin has refused a dubious honour, that was gratuitously piled on her by a patronising Kerala Government.
Even as we are going nuts about Rehman and Reshul winning the Oscars, do we remember the lone Param Vir Chakra awardee of J&K Captain Bana Singh saying on national television that he was ashamed to be an Indian?
What about the retd Lieutenant General who had to get his name in the paper before he got his ration card?
Whether its the Commies or the BJP, the "most literate state" or the most sensitive state,why is it that we shower our "love" on some and hound and humiliate others and deny them their basic dues?
And why don't we ever learn ? Why are we like this only ?
There is an answer.
And the answer is not just about the Indian condition,the Male condition or the Black condition, but about the human condition.
Its about the psychology,dear one.
Its about how we mistake "various forms of narcissistic neuroses and sado-masochistic tendencies as proof of "true love."
Its about how we have failed to understand that "love, (and justice and democracy), is an "interpersonal creative capacity rather than an emotion."
It is the rare teacher, the rare lawyer or judge or politician who does, or is afforded the space to do love or justice or to learn and exercise that learning.
Usually, they are wasting their lives in domination/submission games or are painfully,miserably out of touch and dangerous. Borderline psychotic.
But it is that rare village that gets together to raise the child, that will have succeeded.
As somebody who believed that the Reverend Jesse Jackson, was just the medicine that America needed, I am, after Obama's sweeping changes speech, becoming just a little hopeful about the USA.
And what about the adolescent Indian mind that "loves" George Bush - and we are all so many George Bushes aren't we? Most of us, judges, lawyers, teachers,IITians, editors, students, journalists, businessman,policeman, politician or clerk - we all find Parliament absurd, our laws irrelevant, our freedom struggle just so much embarrassing dust on the furniture ?
Just who are we people?
We take away the cook and driver from Verghese Kurian simultaneous with our neighbours releasing Dr Strangelove from jail.
The leading English television channel has to package the Mumbai massacre as "India's 9/11"
We are in the first decade of a new century. And probably the only difference is, this one feels a whole lot hotter.
Now comes the news that the widow of the hyperkinetic crocodile hunter Steve Irwin has refused a dubious honour, that was gratuitously piled on her by a patronising Kerala Government.
Even as we are going nuts about Rehman and Reshul winning the Oscars, do we remember the lone Param Vir Chakra awardee of J&K Captain Bana Singh saying on national television that he was ashamed to be an Indian?
What about the retd Lieutenant General who had to get his name in the paper before he got his ration card?
Whether its the Commies or the BJP, the "most literate state" or the most sensitive state,why is it that we shower our "love" on some and hound and humiliate others and deny them their basic dues?
And why don't we ever learn ? Why are we like this only ?
There is an answer.
And the answer is not just about the Indian condition,the Male condition or the Black condition, but about the human condition.
Its about the psychology,dear one.
Its about how we mistake "various forms of narcissistic neuroses and sado-masochistic tendencies as proof of "true love."
Its about how we have failed to understand that "love, (and justice and democracy), is an "interpersonal creative capacity rather than an emotion."
It is the rare teacher, the rare lawyer or judge or politician who does, or is afforded the space to do love or justice or to learn and exercise that learning.
Usually, they are wasting their lives in domination/submission games or are painfully,miserably out of touch and dangerous. Borderline psychotic.
But it is that rare village that gets together to raise the child, that will have succeeded.
As somebody who believed that the Reverend Jesse Jackson, was just the medicine that America needed, I am, after Obama's sweeping changes speech, becoming just a little hopeful about the USA.
And what about the adolescent Indian mind that "loves" George Bush - and we are all so many George Bushes aren't we? Most of us, judges, lawyers, teachers,IITians, editors, students, journalists, businessman,policeman, politician or clerk - we all find Parliament absurd, our laws irrelevant, our freedom struggle just so much embarrassing dust on the furniture ?
Just who are we people?
We take away the cook and driver from Verghese Kurian simultaneous with our neighbours releasing Dr Strangelove from jail.
The leading English television channel has to package the Mumbai massacre as "India's 9/11"
We are in the first decade of a new century. And probably the only difference is, this one feels a whole lot hotter.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Danny Boyle In Pahargunj, New Delhi
First the large head. Then the strange (non BBC) accent. Finally the mild rant about the alleged loutishness of certain Germans. This was the same guy I had met in Main Bazar, Pahargunj.
Not the "Taal'year.
In my mind, the year I met Danny Boyle in Pahargunj was more likely the "Raja Hindustani" year.
"Pardesi, Pardesi, Jaana Nahin" "Foreigner, Foreigner, Don't Go" was the incessant wailing of the globalisation anthem that rakes my mind, when I think of the grungy, ponytailed Danny,who introduced himself as a teacher from "England" and his lovely, lithe companion, who seemed young enough to be his student. "Tu..."went my Hyderabadi voice,"Maa Ka Lauda..bhaga ke leke laya" .
I ought to be shot, I know. But this is, if you have to know, how some of us Hyderabadis engage emotionally,with those who awe us with their incredible good fortune.
Danny seemed to be commonsensical about his Indian experience. But the young lady was certain "Indian men" exhibited a peculiar national trait. They loved to feel up women whenever they got a chance. The young lady had had her "boms" rubbed raw everytime she travelled in the DTC buses.
I gently suggested that maybe the young lady ought to take a deep breath and get real. The population density put a huge pressure on space.I had experienced the occasional jostle from man, woman and animal - from a buffalo doing a sinous hip movement, that sent me flying across the street.
If you sought a yin India, you might find it. If you sought a yang India you might find that too. And of course depending on our karmas we each got our share of yin yang India.
The young lady was very disappointed with my zen for backpackers. Danny and the young lady disappeared without a goodbye.
But probably a year later, I met the young lady again. This time she had returned from the atrocities of Bosnia and not in a very good mood. I thought she would have a fulfilling career reporting on wars and calamities - another Christiane Amanpour from England.
Have not watched Slumdog yet. But this is K Hariharans view.
I am certainly thrilled for Shri Boyle's brilliant karma and would love to hear from him.
The young spitfire who accompanied him may have chilled by now.
Not the "Taal'year.
In my mind, the year I met Danny Boyle in Pahargunj was more likely the "Raja Hindustani" year.
"Pardesi, Pardesi, Jaana Nahin" "Foreigner, Foreigner, Don't Go" was the incessant wailing of the globalisation anthem that rakes my mind, when I think of the grungy, ponytailed Danny,who introduced himself as a teacher from "England" and his lovely, lithe companion, who seemed young enough to be his student. "Tu..."went my Hyderabadi voice,"Maa Ka Lauda..bhaga ke leke laya" .
I ought to be shot, I know. But this is, if you have to know, how some of us Hyderabadis engage emotionally,with those who awe us with their incredible good fortune.
Danny seemed to be commonsensical about his Indian experience. But the young lady was certain "Indian men" exhibited a peculiar national trait. They loved to feel up women whenever they got a chance. The young lady had had her "boms" rubbed raw everytime she travelled in the DTC buses.
I gently suggested that maybe the young lady ought to take a deep breath and get real. The population density put a huge pressure on space.I had experienced the occasional jostle from man, woman and animal - from a buffalo doing a sinous hip movement, that sent me flying across the street.
If you sought a yin India, you might find it. If you sought a yang India you might find that too. And of course depending on our karmas we each got our share of yin yang India.
The young lady was very disappointed with my zen for backpackers. Danny and the young lady disappeared without a goodbye.
But probably a year later, I met the young lady again. This time she had returned from the atrocities of Bosnia and not in a very good mood. I thought she would have a fulfilling career reporting on wars and calamities - another Christiane Amanpour from England.
Have not watched Slumdog yet. But this is K Hariharans view.
I am certainly thrilled for Shri Boyle's brilliant karma and would love to hear from him.
The young spitfire who accompanied him may have chilled by now.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Wow! Urvashiamma ! Wow!
God & I by Urvashi
Birds, insects are sent by God to watch over us
My mother inculcated the love for God in my mind. She told me that all beautiful things in nature are reincarnation of God. My mother said to me that birds, flowers, plants and even little insects have been sent by God to watch us and they report back to Him about our actions. From that day, I was under the impression that all birds, insects and flowers have supernatural power to meet God.
This belief got strengthened by a small incident, which happened in my school. There was a girl Remadevi in my class who used to bully me.
Once, on the way to the school, I saw a beautiful dragonfly with golden wings sitting atop a flower. I started whispering to the dragonfly about Remadevi’s tantrums. That very day, Remadevi had not done her homework and was thrashed by the teacher.
I felt the dragonfly might have told God about her bullying habits and God punished her through the teacher. But I was sad to see Remadevi crying and tried to console her by giving her all my pudding. She was a changed person after that incident and we ended up becoming good friends. The dragonfly with the golden wings used to come in my dreams whenever I faced any setbacks in life. But now I do not get to see it anymore. It could be the innocence of my childhood which attracted the dragonfly towards me. The dragonfly of today might be trying to forget me. The dragonfly of tomorrow may forget me. But the dragonfly of yesteryears always loved me.
— Urvashi is a South Indian actor. She has won a National Award.
Worthy of a Paulo Coelho This story is so in character with the effervescent intelligence that I felt in Mundhanai Mudichu - despite Bhaaghyaraj's best efforts.
Sad,I could not Google a proper photograph of this lovely lady.
Birds, insects are sent by God to watch over us
My mother inculcated the love for God in my mind. She told me that all beautiful things in nature are reincarnation of God. My mother said to me that birds, flowers, plants and even little insects have been sent by God to watch us and they report back to Him about our actions. From that day, I was under the impression that all birds, insects and flowers have supernatural power to meet God.
This belief got strengthened by a small incident, which happened in my school. There was a girl Remadevi in my class who used to bully me.
Once, on the way to the school, I saw a beautiful dragonfly with golden wings sitting atop a flower. I started whispering to the dragonfly about Remadevi’s tantrums. That very day, Remadevi had not done her homework and was thrashed by the teacher.
I felt the dragonfly might have told God about her bullying habits and God punished her through the teacher. But I was sad to see Remadevi crying and tried to console her by giving her all my pudding. She was a changed person after that incident and we ended up becoming good friends. The dragonfly with the golden wings used to come in my dreams whenever I faced any setbacks in life. But now I do not get to see it anymore. It could be the innocence of my childhood which attracted the dragonfly towards me. The dragonfly of today might be trying to forget me. The dragonfly of tomorrow may forget me. But the dragonfly of yesteryears always loved me.
— Urvashi is a South Indian actor. She has won a National Award.
Worthy of a Paulo Coelho This story is so in character with the effervescent intelligence that I felt in Mundhanai Mudichu - despite Bhaaghyaraj's best efforts.
Sad,I could not Google a proper photograph of this lovely lady.
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