Unplanned Journeys

Keep Walking

2012-01-02T21:29:00.000+05:30

Dear Blog (like we say “Dear Diary”),

It’s been sometime that I wrote …like more than a year. We didn’t miss each other, neither did anybody else …that explains thingsJ.

How interesting however, to just read, what one had written some time ago. Like it never happened. Audio Wagon started as a 2 people company and is now 17, and that doesn’t include freelancers and part time staff. We now aren’t even one company…we’re 4. With each person can individuality. With individuality, came the urge to prove one’s worth, with that new companies.

Jingles India

V for voices

Urdu Hai Iska Naam

UK 07 films

Not sure where we are going (whilst we have business plans)…nor does it matter. The journey has been great …like journeys always are.

Let’s keep walking. This is to Mr. Walker and the sweet smell a 60ml.

How different will 2011 be?

2010-12-23T12:53:00.000+05:30

As I write the last article of this year for our beloved “DehraDun Full Plate”, it also reminds me of my own existence in this town. Both “DFP” and I are about a year old in town, not counting the years I spent here as a child. I also often wonder, if the town we live in now is the same DehraDun we grew up in, or will it ever be the same gain. The answer is NO (though I refuse to acknowledge that in public).

The quality of living in any town or country is judged by the following criterion:

1. Health: Life expectancy at birth (in years).

2. Family life: Divorce rate (per 1,000 population)

3. Community life

4. Material well being: GDP per person

5. Political stability and security

6. Climate and geography: To distinguish between warmer and colder climates.

7. Job security: Unemployment rate (%.)

8. Political freedom

9. Gender equality: Measured using ratio of average male and female earnings.

Whilst life expectancy , material well being, political stability , jobs , gender equality and political freedom seem to have gone up in Doon, family life, community life and climate have definitely gone down. The reason I bring this distinction up is so we may ponder about whether what we got was worth it ; as also, could we have got our gains without losing what we did.

So whilst better medical care , cars and houses, government and employment are all welcome, does this have to be at the cost of trees , politeness on the roads, basic civic sense and community life. I think not.

Every small town struggles with the same concerns when growing… some just cope better. Look, none of us really control the government and bureaucracy (even though that is what we are told in democracies), nor can we do much about global warming. We do however have very small choices to make every day, choices; which over 10 lakh people start to define a town. Choices like:

Do I really need to take this polythene bag?

Do I really have to blow my horn?

Do I really have to drive like this?

Do I really need to take the car out for such a short distance?

Am I really concerned about my town or community?

Have I done anything today that shows that?

Am I going to make a positive difference…even if it’s a small one?

What am I waiting for?

Who really owns DehraDun if not its citizens?

Would I have treated Doon like this if I thought of it as ‘home’?

Do I ever stop others from destroying its beauty?

Why not, if it is really my ‘home’?

Who am I fooling?

For how long?

Yeh Shehar Kiska Hai? Toh?

How different will 2011 be?

“Om Jai Jagdish” and a Happy Diwali.

2010-11-10T21:17:00.000+05:30

Belated Happy Diwali Guys. Trust you had fun and the hangovers are over; and thanks, I had an interesting Diwali too.

‘Interesting’ is actually an understatement. It was more like, hmmm…, what’s the word, educating; I guess. This was our first Diwali in DehraDun after almost two decades and frankly; we had almost forgotten the way it works. Also, I haven’t made as many blunders (in the ‘social’ way) in a span of 3 days, as around this Diwali and am now confident of not repeating my mistakes.

Blunder number one… I didn’t realize that I had to reply to each ‘mass-sent’ SMS , with a ‘Thank You Dear…We wish you a Happy Diwali too’, neither did I send any. The logic was simple. We meet our friends and relatives often enough, and they deserve more than an SMS. I call this a blunder, because after Diwali I bumped into people who actually asked me why I didn’t reply. I wanted to say, “But you forwarded the same message that Himanshu had sent to Amit and others, who forwarded it to Nisha and others, who mass forwarded the same message to her entire address book.” How do I know? Well, ‘Diwali’ was spelt ‘Diwoli’ in the last line of the message; and I got the same message from Himanshu and Amit and Nisha and maybe seven other people on the same day, only sequentially. Lesson learnt: Always send mass messages. People know you are mass mailing, but at least they know that they are on your address book.

Blunder number two…I did not buy economical gifts for everyone I know. Its only when people that you rarely meet; come home with a gift wrapped box of ‘Haldiram’s Namkeen’, that you realize; they not just exist but also remember you. The guilt is immediate. I mean as soon as you see them at the door with something in their hand…you know that the gesture will have to be reciprocated. That of course after checking the exact value of the Namkeens.

Blunder number three…I didn’t have a picture of Goddess Laxmi , Lord Ganesh, Lord Ram, Lord Krishan, Goddess Kali, Lord Kubera, Lord Hanuman, Lord Dhanvantri, Lord Yama, King Bali, or any of the other dieties to be remembered during ‘puja’ at home. This meant that the puja had to be outsourced to our dear neighbours. Mrs, and Mr. Malhotra were kind to let us sit through their puja, but did raise an eyebrow when I couldn’t sing the entire aarti with them. I had no excuse. As a person born in a Hindu family, the least one expects to know, is “Om Jai Jagdish”.

I know; none of the blunders above deserve forgiveness. I also know that the prices of even economical gifts go up every year, so here’s my plan.

For the SMS blunder: I will start sending “Happy Diwali” to my entire address book a week before next diwali, so no body can accuse me of coping the original SMS.

For the economical gifts blunders: Some that we recived this year will last till the next. The rest we plan to buy.

For the puja blunder: Mrs. and Mr. Malhotra have agreed to continue living in our colony and be our neighbours.

“Om Jai Jagdish” and a very Happy Diwali. This, by the way; is for the one next year. In advance!

A 'story' in reply to an email.

2010-11-03T15:54:00.001+05:30

The response to our last week’s article (Ye Shahar Kiska Hai?) has been heartwarming. Not just in terms of the number of responses we got, but also about what people wrote. Thanks a lot DehraDun for believing that something can be done to avoid further defacement of this town. I also got a very interesting comment from a lady; and I quote from her mail …“there are many before you guys that have tried and failed to improve this town. You guys just write in a ‘classified paper’. This town is run by people that don’t care about the place anymore. Believe me! Nothing will change”.

I’m not sure.

My first reaction was to write back to the lady and advocate a more positive outlook. But then again, maybe she is just voicing what a lot of us feel. Her truth is as ‘true’ as ours.

The following words are not mine. I have used the story below a hundred times in my training classes and haven’t been able to write a better one that says the same thing. So to whoever wrote this (and do let me know if you find out)… the story still inspires us. Maybe it would help a few others. Here it is.

‘The Starfish Story’ by Anonymous

One morning, I went out for my daily sunrise walk on the beach. Off in the distance, I could see someone pick something up off the beach, walk a little way into the ocean, and then toss the object into the water.

Then, the person, who appeared to be a small boy, picked up another object and tossed it also into the sea. He continued to do this as I walked. As I approached, I saw that he was picking up starfish. I stopped and asked him why he was doing this. The boy explained that the starfish were stranded and that in another hour or two they would dry up and die. He was saving their lives.

The innocence of youth, I thought. I told him that there were thousands of starfish on the beach, and he couldn't possibly make a difference. The kid stopped and looked down, as if to study the water that washed over our bare feet. Then he walked over and picked up another starfish, walked into the sea and tossed it in.

"Sir," he said, "It made a difference for that one."

End of Story.

The question to really ask is; “Yeh Shahar Kiska Hai?” and maybe the answer to that, has some solutions for our town.

Till next week…have a great buildup to Diwali.

Yeh Shaher Kiska Hai?

2010-11-03T15:39:00.005+05:30

I know it’s politically incorrect, but I really do not relate to our old national Heroes anymore. Gandhi, Nehru, Tilak …I’m sure they were all fine men and Heroes in their own right, but they are too old for me. Look; I understand that they may still be relevant and what they have left behind is of great value to us…but that’s not what helps me live everyday now. Let me explain. You see, if this was the 1940s and India was fighting for independence (or something) , I’m sure a lot of us would get inspired by these people, but not when my mobile ring tone changes every hour to suit my mood. I need Heroes and role models that inspire me now, in 2010, to become better, do more, seek higher…exactly what a role model should do. That too in everyday life.

Let’s look at the remaining possibilities (in terms of available role models) that may inspire the current lot, in which I include everyone from age 3 till the age when one still gets inspired (choose).

1. Sports stars. Very few.

2. Film stars. Well, a handful and their market ‘role model’ value oscillates with the box office collection of their last films.

3. Politicians and bureaucrats. The less said the better.

4. Businessmen. Here we suddenly have a breather. Narayan Murthy, Rattan Tata, Asim Premji… and the newer lot of entrepreneurs that have upheld India’s pride.

5. Some not so famous but brilliant social workers.

All in all, as a nation of more than a billion people…very few role models.

This then; is a real tragedy for India.

Unless, we start to look around closely and define leadership and role modeling in a slightly different way. Lets for the moment call this ‘quite leadership’.

When I say ‘quite leadership’, I don’t necessarily mean lower decibel levels or volume. In fact, in some cases quite the contrary.

Quite leaders are everywhere. In fact in every home and school. Ask any kid, who they want to be, and who’s the best person in the world and the reply will always be “My Dad” or “My class teacher” or “Principal”.

The problem with role models is that they get ‘modeled’. People do what they see their role models doing. So if ‘My Dad’ drives on the wrong side of the road, so will I. If ‘My Teacher’ spits, shouts, corrupts, steals, hits, blows…well he is still my role model.

Confucius, the great Chinese philosopher and thinker said …“The ancients, who wished to illustrate illustrious virtue throughout the kingdom, first ordered well their own states. Wishing to order well their states, they first regulated their families. Wishing to regulate their families, they first cultivated their persons.”

Look at Dr. Pandey and his ‘people for a green doon’. Try to illegally cut any tree in Dehradun and he would get there with his group…anytime of the day and night. He is ‘loud’ but ‘quite’. Or Yudhistir Puran Singh…all of 23 years, the bloke has started DehraDun talking about environmental concerns within just the last 7 months. Or Mr. Sheel Vohra, who passed away just a few days ago and will always, be remembered by students in DehraDun, especially the Doon School.

I’m not sure if any of us can do too much about the state of the country, but if the math runs right, we’d be happier if we start with our home, mohalla, town…

To all the ‘quite’ heroes of Dehradun… ‘Guys, Thank You’. This town owes a lot to you, even if we do not know where you are.

P.S. Incidentally the top 10 musicians in DehraDun have been working on a song called “DehraDun DehraDun” (kind of like our local town Anthem) and intend to make it into a film called “Yeh Shehar Kiska Hai”. If you’d like a free copy of the ‘DehraDun Song’ and the film, please feel free to write to ilovedoon@jingles.co.in with your address and phone. We’ll be happy to include you in our ‘role model’ list.

Whose “Ahsaas” is it anyway?

2010-10-14T14:53:00.003+05:30

I’m not sure how many girls attend my workshop every week. 20-30 I guess. The numbers keep changing, but they all seem to know exactly what happened when they were missing. Officially; we call it the ‘Ahsaas’ club.

Un-officially? Well…Prison-break!

When I first approached Welham Girls School with the idea of starting a group that writes, sings, paints, composes, shoots, edits…I don’t think any of us knew what we wanted. Mrs. Brar, the principal; however, was patient and heard me out. She was curt when she said “Vineet, all this is a bit confusing…what do you want to do again?” “Well, start a group, and work with young people…” is all I could muster. “And what do the girls learn at the end?” she went further with her drill. “Well, they will learn what they want to…I can only facilitate the learning” I replied sounding philosophical.

She finally agreed to let me run this workshop on one condition. “Vineet, every month, I need to see a film or a presentation, with everything you claim goes into making one. Do you think that’s possible?” I knew there was no way I can finish a script, music, shooting, editing of a film, in the few hours I get with the girls every week…but the question demanded a show of confidence and that’s what it got. “Of course madam” said I…knowing I can always bargain for more time when this starts. “OK then. You start this Monday, and I want the first film to be ready by 21^st Oct, so we can feature that on our founder’s day.”

“But that’s only a month” I blurted. “Yes, exactly what you asked for…isn’t it?” she replied.

I guess we know when we have promised; more than we should. I looked towards the sky and knew my non-believing attitude has started to play on my ‘kismet’.

The club started anyway, on the following Monday with Mrs. Brar introducing me to the girls; and the two teachers who will assist and support the workshops. I was once in school myself; you know… and knew immediately what the look in the girls’ eyes meant. It meant I’m going to be rogered.

Our first few meetings moved the project in one direction…backwards. I gave the girls many ideas around what we could write a story about. They heard all of the ideas politely. Even pretended to like some of them, and then; like they had telepathic communication amongst themselves, collectively gave all my ideas a remote resting place usually referred to as the ‘bin’ in many cultures.

I have always wanted to teach in a school. The opportunity came my way in terms of this assignment; and instead of being thankful, I was already thinking of resigning. This, within the second week of my new assignment? How much worse can it get?

I reached school with my mind made up and looking apologetic. Mrs. Brar wasn’t in her room and so I waited. All I had to say was “Madam, I had no idea that teaching in a school is this tough, and because I don’t think I can meet my commitment of delivering a film in a month, I’d rather leave now.” I had rehearsed the delivery a few times in my head, and was looking for politer words when I heard a rather excited voice.

“Sir, I think we know what the story should be about…it has to be about us, our lives, our families, our struggles, our dreams. When do we start the class? You’re late! 13 minutes! We’re all waiting. Why are you sitting here?” Astha shook me out of my guilt induced sleep outside the principal’s office. “AAA…well…you see, I was…?” I muttered and followed her to the class.

The world had suddenly changed. Exactly the way if happens when we have a direction. Over the next few classes, we not just got our many characters right; but wrote a lengthy script, created music and songs to go with the film, started shooting, got the editing software installed, recorded the song…all this with me watching from a distance and just ‘facilitating’. The film that I thought would be impossible to make in the given time, has taken shape in less, with much more in it than originally planned.

We call this club …“Ahsaas”. Meaning, to experince and understand.

The girls; by the way, are not the only ones learning, understanding and experiencing.

Quoting from the film : "There is a part of me that wants to write, a part that wants to theorize, a part that wants to sculpt, a part that wants to teach... to force myself into a single role, to decide to be just one thing in life, would kill off large parts of me." …Is how our film Ends.

The “Ahsaas” however, continues. For the girls and me alike.

The Royal Trip

2010-10-11T13:04:00.001+05:30

By the way writing this column every other week is no miniature task. It isn’t about writing per se, it’s about finding what to write about first that daunts me. Like this time. You see, it isn’t like I’ve been writing forever…only after we moved to DehraDun. Also; it’s tough to type while driving a car. I’m in Jaipur as I write, and for the last 3 days or so have been (literally) on the road. Doon to Delhi, then onwards to Jaipur…and no, I’m not on vacation, actually quite the contrary. Vacations are different.

After experiencing Dehradun’s weather and people, every other place looks and feels second grade. In fact one doesn’t need to go too far…just cross Biharigarh; and you’ll know what I mean. OK, so message one is: I hate leaving DehraDun. The question that follows of course is why am I not in Doon then? And the answer is, because; I’m married.

Yes, it has a lot to do with my marriage. The ‘Mrs.’ traces her so called ‘royal’ ancestry to a place called “Jothwara” a little ahead of Jaipur. I too, don’t at all mind, living with erstwhile ‘royals’, as long as they do not insist that I accompany them on tours of old havelis, rotten ‘gullies’ , relatives that have nothing in common with us , and places that sound completely alien to me. But no Sir, this royal specimen would not listen, like every other wife in the world. She believes that tours like these will make ‘stuck’ humans like me appreciate India and its culture, as also make us humble. She clearly has no idea; how ‘stuck’ we are.

Anyway, I have decided to use this time to further my study of ‘the art of patience’.

Every relative of Mehak’s we meet, expects that I would bend completely down and touch their feet. Feet! Feet? This; when I have a bad back and a family that believes in pretending to bend down whilst saying ‘pari-pena ji’? She just doesn’t understand that it doesn’t come naturally to me. Then (and this one completely blows me off) I do not comprehend why every ‘haveli’ has two sitting rooms. His and her’s. Can you imagine this in 2010? So Mehak can walk through every room in the house because she is ‘the girl of the house’ and I am restricted to the ‘gents’ areas because I’m the ‘outsider damaad’. As if I can see anything through the long ‘ghooghats’ that every woman seems to love. So much for development in Rajasthan.

The food, I must say, kind of; compensates for everything else. So, I keep shut and follow the royal orders.

The orders are to follow her into shops, gullies, mohallas, and other dangerous areas that (I’m sure) even locals would not venture into. This is where she finds people who make ‘hand block prints’ and jewelry, and (imagine) chappals, and sarees …who knows what else. How she knows where to go is beyond me. My job is watch as she buys loads of this stuff and be the good husband and pay. That’s it.

I’m not sure why I agreed to come to Jaipur with Mehak and if I’ll ever come back. I do however think that when Mehak starts her Rajasthani store in DehraDun, she should give me 5% of the profits just for being the ‘good, silent, adjusted, husband’ and remember that this is compensation for taking my ‘royal a@#’.

An open letter to ‘MC’ and the CM.

2010-09-24T17:39:00.002+05:30

Letter 1

To MC (Mr. Chaudhary).

Dear Mr. Chaudhary (MC),

I understand you moved to DehraDun within the last decade from our neighboring towns like Muzzafarnagar, Roorkee, Meerut, Saharanpur, Yamunanagar etc.; and found this town to be both peaceful and lucrative. I also understand that you had substantial agricultural income that you used; to buy land and commercial properties in DehraDun at prices that no local could afford. I am sure your 130 KG body and 6 feet; well built frame ,has also come in handy , while bidding for liquor licenses, government contracts, and generally to keep the typical 72 KG and 5 feet 7 inches ‘local’ away from where you think , he should keep away. The point is…today, you and your sons, nephews and cousins are all over our once quite town, driving bigger and meaner cars, getting into brawls with people on the road and generally making a “Muzzafarnagar” out of Doon. I also understand violent and rude behavior comes naturally to you. I understand.

I also understand that I can’t do too much about the ‘Muzzafarnagar-ization’ of my town because our country allows free movement and speech to all its citizens. Including you. I am sad, but I understand.

Wishing you away,

A pained citizen of DehraDun.

Letter 2

To the Chief Minister of Uttarakhand.

Dear CM Saab,

I understand that the next elections are only a year and a half (or so) away. I understand that you are both a concerned citizen and a local of our state. I also understand from your pictures on all the government hoardings across town that everything that happens in Uttarakhand; is done by you. Or it at least seems so.

Because ; finally the bureaucracy , the police , your own party people and a lot of other citizens look up to you for leadership and guidance, may I suggest a few items to be included in your to do list.

1. Empower the law and order machinery. The ‘sipahi’ on the road. Today the entire town is making a mockery of them, because everybody can get away with it. Because; you let it happen.

2. This state has more tourism potential than a lot of states combined. Tourists come and spend money, where they find natural beauty preserved. Some of our tourist spots resemble garbage and concrete dumps. They are like that; because you let it happen.

3. Most young people still have to leave Doon for education and employment. This means they will spend their money and life away from this state. Which means that the benefit of their productivity will be lost to us. This happens because…

The point is, there’s still time. A year and a half (or so).

Wishing you’ll get the drift,

An aware and ‘voting’ citizen of the state.

I swear, I ‘swear’! @#$%&%$#@!!!

2010-09-23T15:52:00.002+05:30

DehraDun in the 70s (as I remember) in terms of its demographics; was divided into:
(1) Old Money, Rajpur Road/Dalanwala , Premier Padmini, English Accent, Bania/Punjabi/Anglo/Garhwali, Children at Doon/Welham, cousins at London.
(2) New Money, Race Course, Second Hand Premier Padmini, Punjabi Accent, Sikh/Punjabi/Bania, Children at ‘wherever we could pay and get in’, cousins in Canada.
(3) No Money, Pultan Bazaar/Moti Bazaar/Machi Bazaar, Third Hand ‘Vijay Super’ Scooter, mixed and unidentifiable accents , children at Mission School/Gandhi School/Sadhu Ram School (or any school with fees less than 7 Rs. a month), cousins at Patel Nagar /Prem Nagar/ Surnimal Bazaar. Get the drift?

I proudly belonged to category 3 above. Our family (I hear) was well to do before partition, somewhere in North West Frontier Province. That’s what we were told…but who knows? For all I know; my ancestors may be making up stories about their wealth back in “Meinwali” (now in Pakistan). I for one, never really saw any sign of either wealth, or people who were once wealthy.

This could be judged by the frequency and choice of swear words used by the categories described above. Category 1, frowned at the use of any form of abusive language and believed that all men are gents , and all women ladies… Ya, Ya! Category 2, permitted only a few words, and that too; when one is at least a kilometer away from the ‘Gurudwara’ or out of audible ranges of the pictures of the Sikh gurus that adorned all shops and houses. Category 3 (My set), was the most creative. I mean in the ‘swearing’ section. By the time a kid was 6, all the basic swear words, including names of choicest animals became part of a kid’s vocabulary. The preferred languages being Hindi and Punjabi. Kids of 13-14 were considered mature in the ‘swearing’ section and were expected to come up with their own creative phrases. The use and abuse of close relatives, body parts and references to lower castes were mandatory to be considered part of the ‘pack’. What fun! And what a shame…banned for a few unfortunate ones like us. You see, we went to the wrenched “English” schools on Rajpur Road, and had to pretend to be part of category 1 above. That was the way ‘good boys and girls’ behaved. How I missed being able to call the ‘bully of the mohalla’ anything other than by his first name. 12 years of missionary education, followed by 3 years of hospitality training, followed by 16 years of MNCs made me a completely useless man. Born a category 3, behaving like a category 1…how ridiculous.

This till I had a revelation some months ago. I swore loudly at a biker , who had cut me off. I swore in Hindi followed by Punjabi and English. The biker didn’t hear any of it …but I did. Heard it and felt it… The sudden rush of energy in the body. The ability to blow your fuse when you want and not bottle up. The ability to be creative about chopping somebody to the ground in your mind. What a wonderful art , and how ignorant have I been.

“No more” I said! No more pretence! I was born a category 3…My dad is a category 3, so are all my cousins, irrespective of their current financial positions…and belive me…we are a proud bunch. And since that fateful day, I realized how a category 3 blood needs category 3 attitudes. No more the Category 1 gentleman, who would stare at you if you cut him off on the road. Oh come on, No Sir…try anything with me now and you will know I can swear …and I ‘swear’ too that. @#$%&!@#$

.

Freedom and "Peepli'

2010-09-02T14:00:00.002+05:30

I have no idea about what life was when the British ruled us. Neither do I relate very well to the concept of us as a ‘nation state’, and before you start to wonder what I mean …let me explain.
A nation is a ‘close-knit’ group of people which share a ‘common culture’. The emphasis hence is on ‘close-knit’ and ‘common culture’.
When the British left us, we started to knit together whatever they left and started to call it a nation. It is also evident that there are multiple cultures in India that are obviously not ‘close knit’. And whilst we continue to believe that we are a ‘nation state’, and sometimes use this term interchangeably for ‘county’, I think the truth is far from it. That’s one.
We went to watch ‘Peepli (Live)’ yesterday at Prabhat. It’s a short and hard hitting movie and I recommend each of you to spend on this ticket. After the show and dinner, I was much disturbed. Not because what we saw in the movie was new or surprising, but because I could relate to some of the characters and felt ashamed of our current state of affairs as a country (not a nation).
The Common wealth games haven’t even started and we are already wishing that they end soon, so we can save face as a county (not a nation).
I don’t think I have had too much to crib about in life. The right education and support available to us helped us grow in directions that made us feel privileged. The economy also opened up at the time when we could make the most of it and did. I remember a time when my Dad would compare his government salary after 35 years of work; to ours after 5, and that he got paid much less. We made our houses, bought cars, and filled our houses with stuff we needed, or thought we needed, traveled and took regular vacations. What more can we ask for? And yet, I feel ashamed.
As a kid; I remember looking at my neighbors new car (the first Maruti model), and out of a sheer sense of envy at our family not being able to afford it…I went and made a huge scratch on it, with the sharpest stone I could find. On being questioned on my actions as a 9 year old, I couldn’t explain the behavior.
I can now. I did it because I believed; that our neighbors didn’t deserve it, or; that all of us should be able to deserve it, or, if they really did deserve it, why can’t they share it with us, or; at least they shouldn’t show it off in a way that makes everybody else feel small or worthless. I did scratch it nevertheless.
The situation in our country isn’t very different today. When we buy a liter of water for 15 bucks, we hardly realize that that is the money an average rural Indian makes a day, or; that drinking water is still a ‘pipe dream’ in most of India, or; that even in an advancing state like ours, the nearest doctor is sometimes 50 Kms away, or; that most of what kids are taught at government schools will never get them a decent job.
When these people see a few of us ‘deserving’ lot living it up, not sharing, and showing off in ways that makes other people look small and worthless, would they make a huge scratch on us, with the sharpest stone they can find?
I would.

Vote for Tinku

2010-09-02T13:55:00.002+05:30

Tyagi Saab lives on EC Road. He’s lived there for 40 years and has developed a deep and lasting friendship with his house painter that goes beyond mere transactional relationships. He has a very good reason to do so.

Every year after the monsoons his boundary wall needs a rub-off, scaling and a fresh coat. Not because last year’s paint is worn off, but because he can hardly see the paint anymore. His entire wall; post the monsoons is covered with posters. Posters that say ‘Vote for Tinku for President’. ‘Tinku’ in the last sentence is just a fictional place holder and can be easily replaced by Dabbu, Shabbu, Nikku, Pappu, Pinto, Munna, Kaku, and Rocky. All probable candidates for the coveted college election posts and aspiring future politicians.

Just for kicks, I decided to monitor one of the rallies that started around Rajpur Road and ended at the college. The objective… to observe and examine how hundreds of young people, with one objective and goal are brought together. Maybe this way, we may find some answers to our country’s leadership needs.

At the Nanny’s Bakery cross-roads, a few from the pack broke off to get their nicotine. I walked up to them, hoping to strike a conversation, which happened effortlessly. I came straight to the point. “So why do you support Tinku? What are his plans if he wins? Has he shared his vision; about the efforts he will make, to improve the college and its functioning on being elected?” I stated the rapid fire. “Sure” the largest built of the pack answered. “He is very smart. He is also our friend. We trust him. He is the best of the candidates. Vote for Tinku. Vote for Tinku”

“I trust your judgment.” I interjected. “But I guess I should have explained the question better…what I meant was, do you really know what you want for the college and hence have decided to support the one that aligns with your vision?” I continued, hoping to have driven the point home and looking intently in their direction for a ray of light.

This time the pan-masala chewing, smaller built but sharp eyed boy replied in a tone that clearly indicated his intellectual superiority…“ You see…This is not that simple. It takes an acute understanding of human nature to select a candidate. We are supporting him because he understands us. He is very smart. He is also our friend. We trust him. He is the best of the candidates. Vote for Tinku. Vote for Tinku.”

I didn’t even attempt to extend the conversation further and walked towards Tyagi Saab’s house hoping for a cup of ‘tea without sugar’.

Tyagi Saab heard my episode without any reaction whilst stirring the tea. When I insisted that he shares his older and mature opinion about the episode all he said was “Vineet, isn’t this exactly how we choose leaders? Do you know why you vote for one party and not the other? Do you know enough about the candidate before the elections? We vote for friends. We trust them. We believe they are the best. So shut up and have your tea. I have better things to worry about… like taking posters off my walls.”

The tea was really nice. I wouldn’t be vising Tyagi Saab for some time now. Vote for Tinku.

Why I hate ‘Cosmopolitan’!

2010-07-30T16:16:00.003+05:30

Mehak and I have been married for over a decade (that’s a lot by today’s standards) and we married for love. She was my boss when I ‘patao-ed’ her. She still is in many ways.
We were like any other duo. Love, fight, make up, love, fight, make up…and life was normal. Whenever the arguments turned into heated debates, we would guard our positions, and; win or lose. When debates turned into fights for positions, we would battle. When fights turned into matches, we would gain fair points. When matches turned into cursing each other’s morals and education, we would do it to our hearts content, and feel no remorse. When even that didn’t suffice, we would shatter each other’s heads and not feel apologetic. This prototype for us was periodic and consistent and on checking with other married friends, I found it applied universally (where ever people were brave enough to accept).

This was before Mehak started reading the ‘Cosmopolitan’.
I don’t know what they put on those pages, but over time I started noticing a change in Mehak’s behavior. It wasn’t apparent for the first few issues, but after a full year and a lot of reading on her part, the transformation was absolute and irreversible.
Post the reading, every time I argued; she would politely say “Vineet, you seem to be stressed. I can appreciate your need to feel superior by proving your point. Let’s sleep over it and talk tomorrow morning. If you still feel the same, we’ll discuss this further”. (What?)
When I wanted to fight, she would pay attention to everything I’d say “It is normal for you to feel that way; Vineet. Men have a need to release their pent up aggression. I’m glad you do this at home, and not on the road.” (What? What?).
The last straw on my back was when she said “Vineet, if we flee from the evil in ourselves, we do it at our hazard. All evil is potential vitality in need of transformation. To live without the creative potential of our own destructiveness; is to be a cardboard angel.” (What? What? What?)
I immediately knew that my marriage was at risk of being completely destroyed by this magazine and its ‘psycho-analytical-we know the best- marriage- life counselors’. I did what any self respecting married man would have done. Threatened the news paper vendor with dire consequences. Lied to Mehak that the magazine has gone bankrupt and was hence unavailable. Tried filing a ‘Public Interest Litigation’ case, which was declined.
With time, things; of course; went back to as they were.
I’m also glad to report that we’re arguing, debating, fighting and our values and upbringing is back on the discussion agenda.
Anything to save a good marriage. I guess!

Naxal in the making?

2010-06-24T11:54:00.000+05:30

We read about Naxalism everyday. We discuss it at parties with expensive scotch in our hands, our women at that time arguing about the benefits of ‘Lycra’ in the new Levi’s tight-fit jeans. Then, when the drink is done and the children start to tug at our sleeves, we wish each other good-night and leave for home in our AC cars, with the latest Bollywood item number playing on our expensive 4 channel system . A normal discussion, a normal day, a normal life.

Driving back from Kanatal last weekend, we were grateful for the thunder and storm that was building up. It had been a hot week and a little rain would have definitely helped. It rained.

We decided to take a less frequented route; the one that joins Raipur to Kaddukhal. Barely a few kilometers down, we were hit by wind and rain like we hadn’t experienced in many years. With that; the land slides, falling trees … and we knew that the only way to reach DehraDun safely is to keep driving and pray. And pray we did. All 7 of us in our Scorpio… children included! About 40 minutes and very little distance later, the storm suddenly stopped. My brother-in-law; sitting with me in the front, who rarely says more than what is absolutely required remarked “Boss, this would have hurt a lot of people”. I ignored and kept driving only till we were stooped by some people, a few minutes later.

“Please help us, we tried calling ‘108’, they say, all their ambulances are busy…you see a lot of people have been hurt. We need to take this woman to DehraDun”. I usually do not pay attention to people on the road owing to experiences we’ve had earlier in Delhi, but the woman in question here, was visible to all of us. A tree had fallen on her, while she was out in the fields and we could clearly see that this was serious.

The middle seat was quickly vacated and space made for two people. The woman and the man who took her in his lap.

“The nearest hospital is in DehraDun Sir” the man volunteered information. “You mean there isn’t even a doctor around” I asked? The answer was obvious. We kept driving. “No Sir, in fact , 4 of us had to first lift her on our shoulders for about 2 kilometers before we reached the road and met you…you see, there’s no road to our village yet, but I’m sure there’s a plan to make one.”

I called Nautiyal Saab , who heads the ‘108’ service and is a friend. He in turn quickly got his supervisor to speak with us. We finally got news that an ambulance posted at Ajabpur is finally on its way. The ambulance met us on route just short of Maaldevta and took the woman to a hospital. Thank God for that.

None of us spoke for some time after that. We had all seen and heard enough for a day. I did however, couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about what I would have done, if I couldn’t take my family to a doctor when they got hurt or what I would do; if I had to pick them up for 2 kilometers to get to a road-head. AND what would I do, if after reaching a hospital 40 KMs away, I see people discussing benefits of ‘Lycra’ in the new Levi’s tight-fit jeans, with scotch in their hands…

Heer-Ranjha, Romeo-Juliet, Laila-Majnu and then, Padmini-Bahadur.

2010-06-16T17:54:00.000+05:30

Long after the story fades from public memory, long after the characters are gone, long after new films and TV serials are made on lovers… love survives. You see, love stories and especially real ones, never really die. They just appeal to different people in different stages of evolution. This one is a not so well known, but absolutely true. I saw it with my own eyes. The bloom and the end. And this one appeals to me and will always do.

Padmini and Bahadur met by chance… or was it destined? I would prefer to believe the latter. Bahadur was the only guy in town that knew what Padmini really needed. Padmini too, just seemed to suddenly glow after Bahadur’s first touch, and therein hangs the tale. The tale of love , of caring, of knowing the needs of your loved ones, of selflessness and of the pain one goes through to see a loved one go.

This ladies and gentlemen is the story of our family car (the Premier Padmini, or just Padmini) and Bahadur, its loved mechanic and the guy who not only fell in love with her, but stood by her through sickness and health.

The story came back to me recently; after driving a Padmini a friend owes and loves. The ride till Rajpur brought back many years of memories. Of trips to Mussoorie and of a time when people in DehraDun had heard of; but not seen an AC. This is when I decided to check, where Bahadur is.

Finding his garage wasn’t difficult. The gate, the smell of oil around the area, the sound of men working on machines… nothing had changed. I didn’t think he will recognize me, and he didn’t, but not for long. I reminded him of our family in DehraDun , of Padmini, of the frantic call we made to him one night when Padmini wouldn’t start without him and we had to travel next morning. He immediately gave me a hug and commented on how grey my hair has become and how I should consider coloring them.

After the tea and Parle-G, I didn’t know if I should really ask about Padmini. After all we had no right to. We had simply left Padmini behind with him after my father got posted out of DehraDun and we moved on to other ‘Marutis’ available off the shelf.

Bahadur I guess was just waiting for me to mention. As soon as I said “Padm…”, Bahadur literally pulled me by the hand and took me to the corner. There under a clean trampoline, was the wonder my eyes had been looking for. The Padmini. Bahadur’s Padmini. Cared for the last 20 years, in a way only love can. “This is going to the grave with me” said Bahadur , gleaming with pride. I knew he was telling the truth. I also immediate added ‘Padmini-Bahadur’ to the list of great lovers of our age. End of the tale.

P.S. If any of the readers have a Padmini that they would like to see loved and cared for again, please do write to me. I can’t ask Bahadur for his. He is a true lover and I’m happy to find my own.