What's holy about Holi?

I hate Holi. There I said it. Not that I hate it passionately or anything. Like the way I hate Greg Chappell, for instance. But still, in a kind of loose detached way. I just don’t like this festival. Somehow. Period.

I remember the dark days of my childhood when I really used to dread this holiday. Or Holi-day. Clichéd pun intended. I remember we used to stay in this rather quiet corner neighbourhood with not many children around. So my mother used to pack me and my brother off with a plastic bag of abir (gulaal or coloured powder) and a pichkari  each and literally pushed us out to play Holi with the kids in another adjoining colony. The lonely 10 minute walk to the other colony was terrible. It was torturous to imagine the horror of knocking on so many doors and interacting with adults and children akin. People who maybe you would stealthily walk past on a normal day. Your parents’ friends/ colleagues and their children. Not your friends. Is it necessary for the children of your parents’ friends to be your friends? Well my parents made that assumption at least in those early years.

Later, when I grew up a bit and we shifted out to another slightly higher class neighbourhood, I was able to talk my way out of playing Holi on most occasions. My parents would usually go out to the party hosted by the MD or ED or whoever, and I would chill. Ah the peace. By now, I think you are getting the drift. So let me make a small list why I just don’t get Holi.

Holi is not a festival for introverts

Yes, I am an introvert and I like it that way. It doesn’t mean that I don’t like hanging around with friends and family. In fact, that is probably the greatest pleasure in life. But getting felt up by friends of friends, acquaintances and strangers is not my cup of tea. On Holi, people seem to assume that you like being ragged. But nobody asks for limits. And everybody protests ragging in hostels. Ah the hypocrisy.

Holi encourages mob mentality

Now, did you assume then that I have never gone overboard with the colours bombs and monkey paint and so on? Of course, I have. But in a gang. Once you are part of a mob, you can take it out on any unsuspecting sissy the way you want. Drenching a sleeping guy and his room with pails of water just because he doesn’t want to come out and play? Check. Dunking someone in a dirty water tank? Check. Throwing water bombs at girls while riding pillion on a scooter? Check. When you are in a mob on this day, you feel all powerful, all conquering. During my college days, I was in that mob and we had fun. Its only now I realise that one man’s fun may be another man’s pain. The mob is not always right, but Holi teaches you otherwise.

Holi encourages substance abuse

What’s in that bhang anyway? And it’s so freely available and consumed during Holi, it blows my mind. Hey even the college canteens serve the stuff, if I am not mistaken. Why ban ganja then? To me, any intoxicant that tastes good will have to be evil. The easier it is to consume a drug, the less you know of the effect it will have on you. Many naïve ones have gotten so high on bhang once that they gave up the idea of getting responsibly high ever. So if you want to get high, work hard. Roll a joint. Drink some bangla. 60 up. Or if you have some money like me, drink the bitter stuff – beer and whisky. Get high on better days, and responsibly too.

Why do we have this festival anyway?

Yes, yes, I know Holi is probably the second most well known of India’s festivals globally, after Deepavali. It makes for some colourful photographs on travel brochures. But other than some mythological stories, I haven’t really understood why or when exactly we play Holi. It is festival of spring, sure, so it is played in the month of Vasant. But which day exactly, how is it determined is a mystery to me. It does not have any explicit religious significance either, unlike Deepavali (where the goddesses Lakshmi and Kali, among others, are worshipped in various parts of India), or the regional eponymous festivals dedicated to Durga or Ganesh. So why all the fervour, especially in the northern states of India? Is it the desi version of Valentine’s Day? One day when you can intermingle freely among the sexes and the tau will not protest? In Eastern India, we already have Saraswati Puja to usher in spring and for the boys to have a bit of fun. So maybe, Holi is not that important. What about the southern states? Do they even have a holiday?

All in all, I think it’s a festival that’s too in-your-face with an I enjoy it - you don’t enjoy- deal with it kind of mentality. Yes, it’s probably a great leveler but that’s about it. No great shakes.

P.S. To be taken with a pinch of salt. And maybe a slice of lemon. 

Saluting a Hero

Heroes may retire but they don’t fade away. They will continue to inspire.

Everyone has his or her own childhood hero. My wife has had the good fortune to be inspired by one throughout her life – her father, and I have had the pleasure of knowing and admiring him from close quarters for the last 3 years or so.  Like all heroes, he does not talk too much, but believes in action. He takes the guise of an IPS officer. Yes, that much maligned and much lampooned protector of civil society. Yes, also that breed which most Bollywood reel action heroes belong to.  A police officer.  Earning less than maybe even some petty criminals and yet fighting every day to resist material temptations and bring them to book.

So we hero worship our Singhams, our Rowdy Rathores and our Chulbul Pandeys. But how do we repay our real heroes? Surely not the way our country has chosen to. As he stands on the cusp of his retirement today – a day he surely must have been looking forward to – to look back fondly in pride at his 30-plus years of achievements and accolades, he finds no joy. Only betrayal. By the same system he once embraced wholeheartedly and tried very hard to make a difference.

He tried to attempt what few police officers attempt to do – took the hard stance with crime, earned the respect of all and sundry, stayed fair, stayed clean and did not succumb to any undue pressure. He was good enough to instill fear, real fear in those who were in the wrong. Yes, he was a very high ranking police officer. But you don’t see his palatial houses being built in every corner of the state. You don’t see him standing next to the minister’s daughter at every wedding. Yet what was his strength becomes his weakness in the twilight of his career. The fact that he has curried favours with no one makes it all so easy for most to turn their backs and look the other way when he is dragged into a conspiracy.

A political conspiracy that we common people do not have the knowhow or resources to fight. Yes we have the will and we will fight. But it will be a long fight. And fight for what? The rights that were due to him to begin with? The respect that the department, the politicians and the judiciary should have accorded him?

I had always considered the civil services to be too much of an effort to consider pursuing. Like so many of my peers, I chose the easy way out – to graduate with some degrees from some institutes that were the flavour of the season. I left nation building and nation saving to people with stronger moral fibre and a more capable attitude. But I always appreciated the fact that intelligence should be channeled not towards making more money for people who already have loads of money – as we in the banking industry are wont to do – but towards the greater good that is at the core of civil service. I always thought I would encourage my children to gravitate towards that eventuality or at least be courageous enough to consider it.

But if this is the way we treat our countrymen who try to make a difference, I am starting to have second thoughts. Because our politicians, corrupt bureaus of investigation and judiciary are not made up of aliens from another land, they are just a reflection of our society and our lack of understanding and utter apathy towards those who are serving us tirelessly on meager handouts of tax payers’ money. We have to understand sooner or later that food bills and aadhar cards won’t save us. Judicial reforms and police reforms are the crying need of the hour, and is the only way forward to achieving a more just and balanced society.  Regret to say that till that day comes, we have to deal with life being indeed very unfair.

But he is not done yet. Far from it. When I started off, I said that today he may not feel any joy. But I think am wrong. I think here is a man who has nothing to fear, nothing left to prove, and everything to feel proud about. A man who has lived to his principles and touched the lives of everyone he has come in contact with, earning respect, love and admiration. To his family and friends and most importantly to himself, he will always be a hero. And that is all that it takes to be a happy man. The rest, we will continue to fight for. 

A lilting ode to nothing

This is the story of 3 lost souls and how they spent a 4 day long weekend ... Chinese New Year in Singapore, doing next to nothing ... well well who's to define what is nothing?

The weekend was most importantly, one man's journey in search of love and how he found 2 knights on his way... they travelled miles and miles on foot ... getting help from well wishers ... our hero's passion kept the group moving forward... but our hero had nothing to gift to his loved one ... then mother earth told him to collect flowers from her gardens ... and make the girl a red bouquet ... and so they did with gay abandon ... while the quaint people of Lion City watched on in such astonishment ...

Then when our hero finally met his princess ... he sang songs for her ... and then there was a lot of eating and merry making for the entire village in this happy moment ...

And then there was also this unheard of incident of highest human compassion ... celebrating the existence of fellow co-inhabitants on this earth ... an elitisit celebration of life in every form ... even when the life is less intelligent than that of us ... so bourgeois yet so cute ...

And finally, the knights celebrated their valour with 2 days of rest ... punctuated by small feasts to celebrate the quaint people's new year, and a run feast at the garden of edens ...

They also ate orange fruits gifted by the strange men, and had visions of men staring at goats ... while one of them so valiantly tried to finish an odd shaped bottle ... filled with a shimmering amber liquid ...

P.S. All credit to Anoop. P.S.

Reinventing the wheel

Groan. Read this.

Using their super fertile minds, the supposed "crème de la crème" of our country have come up with this – an IPL style cricket league in an institute of national eminence boasting of regional undertones. Don’t get me wrong – I have no problems with glamourising the night cricket tournament. It used to be a pretty lame affair in Jokaland. Even the intra-hostel night cricket tournaments in IIT Kharagpur boasted of sponsors, sound systems, live commentary and most importantly, actual prizes at the end of a match. Yes, I know it was just 1.5L of Thums Up at best, and it usually went to the team of juniors who had lost the match in the all pervading “jahanpanah, tussi great ho, match ka tofah kabul karo” spirit – but what the heck, even a free cold drink used to have lots of value in those days.

However, coming to the point – what disappoints me most is this. According to the organizers of this meet, not only were the teams organized by region – Punjab, Delhi, Chennai and so on – but a 20 per cent discount was offered on teams bidding for players from their own region. Quoting the news report “The idea was to give the league a regional spin to hostel rivalry. If we have regional teams and players hailing from those parts in the squad, the competition would automatically go beyond who is from which hostel.” Oh my, oh my. Talk about taking a step backwards.

Why didn’t the institute set up separate hostels for separate regions in the first place? Or at least, separate wings? I though the whole idea of having hostels was to develop microcosms of a healthy functioning society - to put people from different backgrounds and cultures together, so that they would evolve into better human beings with a more holistic point of view. The regional ties always bind people together in any institute or place of work. You don’t need cricket competitions to foster the regional spirit. I always believed it is actually the inter-hostel competitions which automatically went beyond who is from which region, and fostered ties between people as diverse as chalk and cheese.

Yet, people out there seem hell bent on proving the reverse. If this is the way things are progressing, then I might have to rethink about what I had said in my previous post, about our “centres of excellence” contributing to character building.

Of idiots and their dreams

3 Idiots. The toast of the nation. First Hindi movie to gross more than 100 crore rupees in receipts. Let's come to the point. The movie was engrossing and entertaining – no two ways about it. However, it has provoked many to comment on the state of Indian education in general, and our IITs and IIMs in particular and the mad rush by parents to get their wards admitted in these premier institutes, regardless of the costs. The discussions at Suvro Sir’s blog have been further stimulating, and I would encourage readers to read the posts there before reading on here.

Now, I had been thinking about a suitable answer to Sir's post and the comments thereafter, but a logical coherent response has been very difficult to articulate. Having gone through the grind of IIT and then "wasting" it all by taking the CAT and getting into an IIM and landing an investment banking job thereafter, I must fall into the category most vilified in the movie and some of the commentators. However, from a purely emotional point of view, I would never want to distance myself from these so called "centres of excellence", because despite whatever misguided path I've taken in life up to now, the IIT and IIM have not been to blame. If anything, they have been huge positives. Of course, there are negatives as well, which I will point out. Overall, this will be a rather long, rambling and confused post. Please bear with me.

1. Why do some many people take the IITJEE exam despite not knowing what engineering really is? Because many of us just follow our parents' dreams, given the fact that we don't have any dreams ourselves. Because my parents come from a generation where they were not really assured of any financial backing, they wanted us to secure our finances first before thinking about dreams. The glamour of an IIT admission is not always the cause. More children in developed nations can easily think of alternative careers/ dreams/ passions because they can afford to, from childhood. They were brought up in a secure environment, whereas we were not. While that is not enough to kill dreams, the sad part is, at the point of my high school examinations, I had no idea where my dreams lay. Or my passions. All I knew was I found mathematics easy, I found languages interesting, I had an excellent short-term memory, I was speedy, accurate and efficient. I liked Chemistry as much as I did Geography. I had no idea where all this was pointing to. So I took the JEE, because I knew I could crack it. It gave me four more years to figure out what I wanted to do in life. It would give me a platform to pursue my dreams.

2. At this point of time, let me take the opportunity to share my loathing for all those who took one-two years off after their Class XII exams to attend some coaching centre in Delhi or Kota to make the cut. The advent and spread of these coaching institutes is the turning point where the quality of education in IITs took a nosedive. Before them, I believe only those children who consistently scored good marks in Mathematics and Science at school were “pressurized” to take the IITJEE. After Kota came, parents started to believe that two years and 3 lakhs investment could transform anyone into an IIT-ian. Of course, the quality of students does make a difference. I am not defending the Professors here, but why would the Professors take any interest in imparting quality education when the students themselves took no interest? For most students, clearing the entrance exam after two hard years of slogging is enough motivation to let their hair down and not care about academics any more. Thus, most would list their “Top 2 percentile rank in IITJEE” as an academic achievement in their CVs rather than a CGPA in excess of 8/10 in IIT.

3. I still believe the IITs and IIMs are centres of excellence as far as India is concerned. But, by no means are they the only centres of excellence. And it is up to the student to make full use of the facilities and infrastructure available at these institutes. The top IITs may or may not produce the best engineers of the country, but they do well enough on some other fronts. They instill a co-operative camaraderie among students as against the competitive framework that most parents strive to bring up their kids in. They do indeed promote the virtues of hard work, not only in academics, but in creative arts, drama, sports, technical skills, event organization, and even marketing and PR. All these are facets of active IIT life, which I have seen missing in most other institutes, where life is more about malls, motorbikes and women. And if smoking pot is a crime, I’m sure people in my father’s generation did it too, and they turned out to be some of the most dedicated engineers in their lifetime. Also, the fact that you meet people from all corners of the country, brilliant minds – some of whom are wholeheartedly involved in their thermodynamics and artificial intelligence and fuzzy logic, some who can speak in 9 languages and some who can convince Tata to part with 10 lakhs in sponsorship money by their glib talk – does help you broaden your horizons. That is, if you want to. If you don’t want to, you can stick to your South Point Calcutta classmates. But that isn’t the fault of the “centre of excellence”.

4. Are people wasting the Government subsidies by choosing to do an MBA and not using their engineering skills? Firstly, what exactly are the skills of an engineer – if you are saying screws and nuts and bolts, I beg to differ. I think it is the ability to approach a problem, analyse it logically and come to a scientific conclusion is what defines the critical skill for an engineer. And that should not necessarily be restricted to building bridges and assembling cars. In this context, let me also add, that speaking for the students of the Mechanical Engineering department, the first choice of jobs has always been among Tata Motors, Larsen & Toubro, ITC, Maruti Suzuki, Ashok Leyland et al. It is only because I did not qualify for any of these that I was forced to sit for IT companies like Accenture. And it was because I had no intention to pursue a job in the software industry and “waste” my talents that I opted to do an MBA, immediately after completing my graduation. Otherwise, I might have seriously considered honing my skills at any of the above companies. So why were there only 10-15 core sector jobs for the 50 odd students of the department, whereas there was no dearth of IT/ITES jobs for the whole institute? I am very sure I would have done more harm to my engineering degree by doing a coding job than what I am doing right now.

5. So why did I not get a job in an engineering services firm in spite of the fact that I was actually interested and was one of the few students who were able to secure the highest grade in the Comprehensive Viva Voce (the 30 minutes at the end of 4 years in the institute when you are grilled by 5 senior Professors on your cumulative engineering fundamentals)? It was because I was a complete zero as far as my soft skills were concerned. I was not able to communicate to the interviewer that I was passionate enough to do the job. That is where the Indian “centres of excellence” come a cropper, when compared to their international counterparts. The emphasis on grades, right from school, makes you feel that you are defined by your examination marks. Which, in the real world, is far from the truth. Thus, parents do not bother about the marks in “Elocution” in school as long as their kid scores 90+ in Mathematics. The first teacher who showed me the importance of this subject was of course, Suvro Sir, and thus, it was the first time in Class 9 that I got poor marks in Elocution. Unbelievable, but all the other teachers had just given me good marks in the subject because I was a “good student”, despite my all too obvious lack of speaking skills.

6. I have no complains with the underlying message of the movie “3 Idiots”, which is to follow your dreams or passions, if you are lucky enough to identify them early enough. However, I agree with Sir that hard work should not be undermined. And that the “centres of excellence” should not be the Mecca of all school goers and their parents’ ambitions. So, if our kids don’t really like dividing sin(theta) by cos(theta) or think integration is what the politicians of today sorely lack, lets not force them to the slaughter houses of Kota. But, lets not discourage them from a stint in the IITs and IIMs as well, if that’s what they want when they are out of ideas. They are not bad places. Maybe the greatest inventors and entrepreneurs have not emerged from the IITs in hordes yet. But, 4 years in IIT is a humbling experience. It produces good people, with hearts mostly in the right places. In terms of tangible achievements, there’s not much to write home about but I don’t believe that these institutions have been a complete failure, either. Contribution to nation building – ambiguous. Contribution to character building of individuals – definite.

P.S. Thoughts on the matter, anyone?

Just another day in paradise...

Evening, to be precise. Here's a gist of what unfolded on that fateful day.

Tuesday, 17th November 2009, 6:00 PM – Thinking of getting out of office early today. Not much work anyway. The match is boring as well. Sri Lankans batting like the asuras and raavanas combined together.

6:10 PM – Happen to look outside. Startled. The world outside the windowpane is pretty much pitch black in complexion. Like a scene straight out of Armageddon or Apocalypto or whatever those doomsday movies are called.

(Oh by the way, its not supposed to be pitch black, let along even a hint of black before 7 PM here)

6:30 PM – Take a long peek at the situation outside. Pondering how to manage getting home amidst this cataclysm. Need to go for a hair cut urgently. Have a wedding to attend next weekend, and I don’t want to look my best, lest I impress any nubile and impressionable young ladies down there.

6:40 PM – I am informed that someone is coming to get me and has a spare umbrella. Bless her. As you might have guessed by now, I don’t have an umbrella with me. I stopped carrying those contraptions long back, after I had magnanimously donated quite a few of those to the general unassuming public within a short frame of time, during my adolescence. I also don’t carry water bottles to school. Rather, I didn’t. Long story. Suffice to say, I am pretty much resistant to the worst of water today.

7:00 PM – Reach the subway (MRT). Bid adieu to my gracious saviour and board a train back home. The hair-cutting saloon is on the way from the MRT to my home. Its called Sri Kandi. Reminds of a rather delicious Maharashtrian dessert. Anyway, they charge only $8 per haircut and the ambience is rather like one you would find back in my hometown. Only air-conditioned. No massage to top it off, though. But the cheapest and best I could find.

7:15 PM – Hey how’s that possible? I walk out of the underground station and on to an implausibly dry sidewalk. No hint of rain. No stormy winds. Am I in the same city or what? Barely 10kms from where I boarded but the world is showing no signs of ending here! It’s all pretty balmy out here. Rather.

7:40 PM – Haircut is done and a satisfied customer walks out, having again unknowingly and magnanimously donated his newly borrowed blue umbrella to the unassuming Sri Kandan gentlemen. However, God smiles on those who do good deeds and such must be the traits of my previously described gracious saviour. So, my barber uncle (I hope I don’t have to call him hairdresser uncle) comes running out after me and completes the cycle of Good Karma. Thank God, I think – at least, my record with umbrellas stays intact.

7:45 PM – Walking through a football field on one side and an unused school building on the other – which defines the footpath leading into the estate where I live – I come across a rat scurrying for cover. Probably initially attracted by my Ganesha belly but later intimidated by my rather stuck-up and indifferent presence, the rat tries to escape into the football field through a wire mesh fence at least 4 times and fails. On the fifth try, he succeeds, obviously. Dumb rat, I think. But wait, this is the first time I’ve seen a rat in Singapore, I believe. Is this an omen?

7:50 PM – Trudging up the steps to my apartment block on Braddell Hill (yes, its rather hilly, by Singaporean standards - must be at least 10 meters above sea level), I again wonder why there is no hint of rain or storm or even any breeze. It’s just eerily quiet. And calm.

8:00 PM – I’m the first to reach home today. As I settle down on the couch in our living room, again the absence of a breeze is discernible. Usually, the cross ventilation in our 19th floor setup can lead to an unnecessarily windy scenario if both windows are open. Today, the silence is palpable. A baby lizard leaps off the window grille on to my thumb, as I open yet another shutter.

8: 10 PM – I can hear a dog howling rather loudly in a neighbouring building. Very unusual – even the dogs and the babies are well behaved in Singapore. Suddenly, even the koels aorund here start cooing. Out of nowhere, on a still November evening.

8:30 PM – Where is all this leading? Why are things so unnaturally calm and quiet? Not even a leaf is moving here, when just 10 km away, I valiantly escaped a storm that was supposedly about to wreak havoc in the Central Business District. Why are the animals behaving so oddly? Why so many firsts in one single evening?

And then it hits me. We are in the eye of a storm. A huge one is brewing. It’s on its way. A twister or tornado or something. A shiver of anticipation goes down my spine. This is going to be a lifetime experience. One I can surely write about. Tell my grandchildren. The works.

9:00 PM – Finish a good dinner of French Toast and Maggi Hot ‘n’ Sour Tomato Chill Sauce (“Its Different”) to help me prepare for the eventuality that is fast approaching.

9:10 PM – The sky is weirdly white. Not even red. Just a whitish orangish grayish haze. I know it’s coming. I message some of my friends about the impending catastrophe, warning them to stay clear of open spaces.

9:20 PM – The streaks of lightning are more noticeable now. My eyes are hooked on the sky with feverish anticipation. I know we can’t be in the eye for much longer.

9:30 PM – We must be almost there. I can visualize myself being branded a hero for having predicted this, and saved so many lives. Getting a Red & White bravery award or maybe the Marlboro Man award or some tobacco company award will be a breeze now.

9:40 PM – Are we there yet?

9:50 PM - Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

10:00 PM – NO we are not. Unfortunately, nothing happens. All my romanticizing comes to naught. It’s just another boring Singapore evening - and windless at that.

Nothing to shout about. Sighhh.

R E S P E C T

We have all seen able men. We have all seen brave men. Or have we? I, for one, have not had to look very far. As my dad turns 60 today, let me take this opportunity to salute him and the other dads of his generation – who have given much but not taken much in return. Who have opted for stability, and never bothered about all the so-called “options” in life. And in turn, opened up all the options for the next generation – us – to choose from.

While it may seem facile to thank our parents, I will again take this opportunity. So, thanks, Baba, for being the perfect gentleman always and inspiring us to emulate your integrity and humility. Thanks for taking the pains to find the perfect ilish maach every time I came home and for inculcating the love of eating – well, almost anything. (There’s always time to compliment Ma’s cooking, of course). Thanks for writing some of the best English and Bengali I have come across in my life and letting us know that the languages will stay with us, equations will come and go. (Which also means thanks for ghostwriting so many homework essays during my school days).

Thanks for watching so many World Cups and Wimbledons with us and braving Ma’s protests in doing the same. Thanks for teaching us to drive, swim and ride a bike – especially the latter! And thanks for believing in us and not bothering about our exams and results too much, unless we got 60 odd in Mathematics. And finally, among countless other things, thanks for getting our priorities right and putting our hearts in the right place. So cheers and here’s hoping you enjoy the next phase of your life to the fullest as well! Happy 60th Birthday, Baba!

Dev D - Bring it on!!!

Warning: I have never written a movie review before, so this may not be too inspiring a masterpiece. Also, this is not expected to be a literary marvel, nor an idealistic viewpoint and definitely not humorous. Basically, I am not that gifted.

So why did I choose Dev D for this rite of initiation? Well – while critical reviews of this film tended to border on either extreme – the Indian movie-going public seems to have agreed with me finally, giving Bollywood its second hit of the year and reinstating some hope in me as to the maturity of the audience. The hope, which I had lost, when movies like Parzania, Amir, A Wednesday, Mumbai Meri Jaan floated into oblivion without any public recognition. Of course, the movie I’m going to talk about is not in the same league as the above movies but I had not expected even this dose of realism to work. Especially when it was contending with history. Considering that Sarat Chandra Chatterjee’s Devdas remains possibly one of the greatest tales of unrequited love ever told in Indian cinema and remade well over 10 times in various languages, it takes some courage to pull it off again. And I salute that bravado.

After director Anurag Kashyap’s last attempt “No Smoking” – a dark, ponderous and seemingly unfathomable disaster – my expectation meter was set rather low when I walked into the theatre. But all for the better. What Kashyap excels in here is the characterization of the lead (and even not-so-lead) players. All of them evolve from the unidimensionality etched in our memories – here there is nothing in black or white. Kashyap shows us varying shades of grey and darkness - even in the humble Sikh cab driver. Lest the audience feels good about themselves, Chanda (Chandramukhi, played by newcomer Kalki Koechlin) reminds us that when people labeled her a whore (reference to the DPS RKPuram MMS scandal), they forgot that those who watched and shared the MMS were probably more perverted than those who made them. Indeed, towards the end – when Kashyap’s filmmaking threatens to paint a world so real and so black that no light seems to filter in – I tell my friend sitting beside me that Kashyap would’ve wasted a brilliant effort if he ended it there. But he didn’t. Thankfully.

I assume everyone is familiar with the basic story so I won’t waste any time on that. I’ll just dwell on what struck me as interesting and brave filmmaking. Apart from the clever camerawork and the three guitar playing–tap dancing-drink-induced dream sequence over-lookers, that is.

What impressed me most was how the contradictions in the main characters are superbly brought out. So while rich spoilt kid Dev amuses himself by asking for compromising photos of his childhood sweetheart Paro (played by Mahi Gill – isn’t there an award for best casting director or something?) over the Internet, he has difficulty in coming to terms with her obvious sexuality when she comes onto him and accuses her of infidelity. Paro, unlike her predecessors, doesn’t grovel or plead with Dev, either. Though she may know that Dev has some inherent goodness, she obviously knows that he doesn’t really care for her either. No lighting of the eternal lamps here. And while the married Paro will still wash Dev’s clothes and give him a bath and even let him touch her, she desists from taking off her clothes or kissing him. And she doesn’t look back when Dev, in a fit of misguided machismo, pushes her out. Well done, Paro. And take that, all ye fluffy birds. And go kill yourself, Chanda’s altruistic father, for not supporting your little girl when she most needed you.

Diehard romantics and followers of Devdas’ eternal love theory should definitely give this movie a miss – as Kashyap threatens to shatter that myth. For even Dev here realizes in a final frenzy of introspection that all those fluffy notions of “love” were nothing more than probably a physical attraction. Just the concept of realizing your one true eternal love shouldn’t be that important at all, in the greater scheme of things. If it were so important, then he probably shouldn’t have let Paro get married. Or pine afterwards. Or justify that utterly irresponsible drink- smoke pot- drink- sleep on foreign whore’s bed- drink- screw up- call Paro- drink- call home for money- drink some more routine. This is where previous renditions of the story have fallen short. For they have tended to glorify the “losing your love, drinking to forget” part by casting superstars like Shahrukh in the part of Devdas, and chosen to overlook many of the evident shortcomings in the male protagonist.

Some of the dialogues and situations are worth a mention as well– a far cry from Shahrukh’s hammy “babuji ne kaha paro ko chod do, paro ne kaha sharaab chod do, maa ne kaha haveli chod do…” types. So we have Dev’s father telling him that his stay in London has changed his Punjabi taste – from whisky to vodka, chicken to fish and well-nourished women to stick-thin apparitions. Or Chanda telling Dev that calling her a randy is more appropriate than a “commercial sex worker”. Or Chunni wickedly asking Dev relay chalta hai na before embarking on a vodka-whisky-white rum-black rum- no gin spree. All priceless moments.

Overall, I guess the heady dose of realism that Anurag Kashyap injects into this movie is why it ticks for me. And the non-tacky dialogue. And the clever use of songs and innovative background scores. And Abhay Deol. The actor seems to turn whatever he touches into gold. I had long decided to watch any and every movie that features him and the rewards have been good – from Socha Na Tha to Ahista Ahista, Honeymoon Travels, Manorama 6 Feet Under, Ek Chalis ki Last Local, and Oye Lucky Lucky Oye – not one movie has disappointed me. Maybe it’s his choice and maybe it’s his luck. But the charm seems to be working for now. Go see Dev D, if you have not.

Heroes

For the past few days, I have realized that there is something amiss. Couldn’t really put my fingers on it till I realized that I had finally lost my innocence, my childhood – I was growing older – I no longer wanted to rush to the nearest cricket screen after office and watch the last 15 crucial overs of the 2nd India-England ODI match even though it promised to be a thriller (that it was not and India won comfortably, I learnt on ndtv.com 3 hours after the match was complete). Cricket, I guess, was the last straw connecting me to that part of my life, when I had few worries, when the people who mean the most to me were always around me – in short, it still brings back so many good memories of time spent at home watching our good men do India proud on the cricket field, that the feeling that those scenes may not repeat ever again, emanates in a slow sinking experience that I am not enjoying at all.

I guess this affliction will affect many of us in the mid to late 20s, who have grown up on a steady diet of the heroics of Sachin Tendulkar, Anil Kumble and Srinath to begin with, and then identified with Dravid and Ganguly in our teenage years to the extent of fistfights to resolve our heroes’ cause. We have been lucky enough to be privy to that magical day at Eden Gardens when the sublime Laxman and the gritty Dravid never played a false shot. And now suddenly, two of them have gracefully retired from the scene and the remaining are counting their days. Our boyhood heroes are growing older. Can we be left far behind? Time for major retrospection, I believe.

Over the course of the 18 uninterrupted years I spent at home, I must have spent at least 12 (assuming I don’t remember much before I was six, though I have hazy images of Border with the ’87 World Cup trophy) avidly following each and every of India’s fixtures around the world. And not only me, my whole family must have been cricket crazy, even the ladies. If my mom could eke out some time from her busy schedule of work in feeding us and doing all the other stuff that moms do to make sure that our lives run smoothly and we have time to watch cricket matches, she would invariably join me, my brother and father in making “watching cricket” the family experience of the decade! And the advent of Day-Night cricket only added to the zing. From Sachin bowling that last over in the Hero Cup Final to Srinath and Kumble doing the heroics with the bat against Australia, and Rajesh Chauhan hitting that last ball six, I can still recall the expressions on all the others who were there in it, cheering with me.

I have woken up early mornings to watch India negotiate the Aussies Down Under before leaving for school, I have stayed up late to watch proceedings in the Caribbean, I have finished my XIIth Board exams early to dash off home and watch the remainder of the day’s proceedings – I have done lots of stupid things for cricket. I have taken sides in Dravid vs. Ganguly discussions, even though I’m a “fan” of both, I have chewed more nails than Sachin ever did on the field (and defended it as something great people do, when my mom protested against this unhealthy habit), I have not moved a single inch for several hours if I felt that position of mine benefited India, but will I ever do it again? With Dada’s retirement opening the floodgates, it just feels like a part of me is no more.

I’d thought I would be visibly sadder on the day Sourav Ganguly retired, but I was not – maybe I ‘d been expecting it all through and that lessened the impact. I think the moment after the NatWest final when he took off his shirt at Lord’s still remains one of the most visibly etched memories in my mind, much like Kapil Dev’s lifting the Cup would be for a somewhat older generation. Dada, though not the ideal “good boy”, that our parents would have wanted us to be (that would be more Sachin or Rahul), has over the years, embodied so much – from ability, determination, courage, leadership, integrity to attitude and resilience – that I guess our parents would have been happier if we had turned out more like him. Though the media makes him out to be a regional hero, one survey of the undergraduate colleges across India, I’m sure, would reveal the fact that Indians are not as parochial and narrow minded as they are made out to be – and the constant chanting of “Dada, dada” at Nagpur brings out that spirit. Dada brought the spirit to the game, and its supporters, and will be sorely missed.

I hope the current crop of players like Sehwag, Dhoni, Yuvraj, Gambhir and Bhajji and those to follow can replace the Fab 5 at some point of time. Maybe they’ll bring me back to the TV screen and I can be a child again. Maybe I’ll have that sparkle in my eye once more. Much like my father does every time he watches a game with me.

The Crisis and We

A sneak peek at how things stand, from the point of view of an average Indian MBA graduate working in the financial services industry

First, let us look at some things that have definitely changed

§ We finally deign to know how much our bank accounts add up to and consider more carefully before opening that salary account in any random bank (read: the bank we work for)
§ We try to remember if we had any balance in the ICICI bank account opened in Bangalore when we worked in Infosys and try withdrawing those savings
§ We call up our parents to know where they have invested their life savings and try to impart some professional advice, for once trying to put 2 years of hard-earned knowledge (sic!) into good use
§ We fish out the train and bus passes from the unknown corner of the wallet and start using public transport again, finally abiding to our long-time favourite slogan “Go Green with SMRT”
§ We cook up sumptuous meals for friends at home instead of taking them out to fancy restaurants for birthday treats
§ We are suddenly massively humble and treat professionals like consultants, marketers, even lawyers and auditors with a tinge of envy bordering on admiration
§ We convince ourselves that this is the best job, this is the best company and this is the best work environment we could have ever hoped for – no cribs, absolutely
§ We listen to whatever the “esteemed” boss has to say and carry out all ridiculous orders assiduously; also, we stop complaining about buying his/her coffee/ lunch every day
§ We become overtly religious and go to temples on all sorts of occasions to pray for prosperity; if that doesn’t suffice, call the priest home for some good ol’ Lakshmi Puja
§ We can now escape calling up friends and relatives with easy refrains on the lines of “hard times are here now you know” and “too busy saving my job”
§ We refrain from introducing ourselves as “investment bankers” when asked by pretty girls in pubs or by those cocky real estate agents
§ We have to read forwards like this, instead of this
§ We accede, at least to ourselves, that we are not the smartest alecs in the whole wide world

And some things that have not:

§ We continue to expect to be retained without making any significant contribution to the organisation as a whole; in other cases, we continue to believe that somehow our exalted contribution will get noticed and we will be spared the axe when others are not
§ We continue to expect bonuses better than what we had expected
§ We continue to believe in market pundits who can predict the price of Brent crude oil 30 years down the line when we don’t know how the market is going to react to a 50 bps Fed cut 3 hours down the line
§ We continue to advise our juniors in B-schools to take up those obscure optional courses in Credit Derivatives and Market Microstructures, without which no one is deemed to be a true blue “Finance” guy
§ We continue to book ourselves on flights, paying 3000 rupees (or more) fuel surcharge each way instead of taking the Janshatabdi home

I'd actually thought of a whole lot of points on both sides of the coin, while contemplating life on my daily walks to and from the MRT station. However, senility is getting the better of me these days. So dear readers, I beseech you to provide witty additions to this list in the form of comments. All selected entries will be added to the above list and credited to the author - so here's your one chance of being immortalized on this blog!

Sarkar Raaz

Being a sucker for diversity, here's something to lighten up the mood after all the ethical and moralistic soul-searching that I led my readers to do, after my previous post.

One fine day, sometime in the month of February 2006, we notice our protagonist, a guy named Suvro Sarkar walking towards the office of a guy (well actually, respected Professor) named Sahadeb Sarkar, then Dean of PGP, IIM Calcutta, accompanied by a certain PGP Representative who later became famous as the private statistics tutor for the damsels in distress of our junior batch - but that's an entirely different story and hopefully, the damsels in question may someday add more colour to the episode. At this point, we stop to ask ourselves - what is our protagonist doing here? He has not been seen much to hobnob with the academic faculty, and today he's headed towards the most feared and viled dungeon of all - the PGP office! We asked him later and we reproduce the contents of his reponse verbatim below:

Top Secret Mission: To secure a fresh date for his STEP (Student Exchange Programme) interview, which he had missed, having been away from campus for a week to attend his brother's wedding.

He goes inside the Dean's room, and the PGP Rep decides to abondon him at this point, having more urgent matters to look into - or so we suppose - and so from here on, its a battle of the Sarkars.

Sahadeb (SDS): Yes? Who are you?

Suvro (SVS): Sir, I am Suvro Sarkar (stressing on the Sarkar part, to emphasize possible kinship), 1st year PGDCM student, Sir.

SDS: So what can I do for you?

SVS: Sir, I have a request. Sir, I missed my STEP interview...I had my brother's wedding to attend, Sir. Is it possible to reschedule my interview to today or tomorrow?

SDS: So you were away to attend your brother's wedding?

SVS: Yes sir.

SDS: Which day to which?

SVS: (calculating fast to reduce the number of days as far as possible) 1st to 5th feb, Sir (feeling pretty sure he can bank on senior Sarkar to feel nostalgic about Bengali weddings and let the point drop)

SDS: So, 5 days.

SVS: Yes sir! (feeling inordinately proud of his institute, now that he is sure his Dean can count).

SDS: Have you read the PGP rules book?

SVS: (trying best to appear truthful, unsure where all this is leading) Yes sir.

SDS: Did you miss the point that you have to inform the PGP Office if you are out of campus for more than 2 working days?

SVS: Oh! is there such a point Sir? (oh, that did not come out the way he would have ideally wanted it to - more of a spontaneous reaction he might regret).

SDS: So you did not think it important to read the rule book? (and regret he does)

SVS: (on the backfoot, well and truely) No Sir, I've read it, Sir. This one skipped my mind, Sir.

SDS: So you think you are above all such rules eh? If you good students do like this, what will happen? Eh?

SVS: (taken aback at the assumptions of moral and ethical standards of "good" students) Sir, good student...no sir, I am sorry Sir - I have read the rule book - just missed that point - won't happen again, Sir - I'm very sorry, Sir.

SDS: So you missed 5 days of classes I see.

SVS: Unfortunately, Sir.

SDS: Hmmm...who did you ask to mark ur proxies?

SVS: (aghast - trying to look like someone who has never heard the word proxy before in his whole life) What - me sir? Proxy- sir? No no, I don't believe in proxies, sir.

SDS: Oh is that so? (calls out to one of the clerical staff) Udayyyy (or watever the name was), bring me the - what section are you? - section C - attendance files for 1st to 5th feb...

SVS: (hoping that his over-enthu classmates had not been foolish enough to mark any signatures against his reg number) No problem, Sir...you wont find any proxies, Sir (trying to sound belligerent and brave)

SDS: (flipping through one or two sheets and not finding any proof against our protagonist) Okk I'll ask the PGP Office people to go through all the sheets in detail (proof of how jobless they are, usually)...you can go now - and give me the application you brought - I'll sign it.

SVS: (relieved) Thank you, Sir! and I'm very sorry, Sir about not informing PGP Office.

So our protagonist went on to live another day and sat through the STEP interview and then opted out of it - all this for nothing! - but that again, is another story. There were some other side effects, though, of the above episode. The attendance sheets were indeed checked - no proxies were found against his name (for the benefit of doubting Thomases, he had categorically instructed all his friends not to mark any before he left for his brother's wedding, having calculated that he was reasonably above water in terms of attendance in all the subjects) - but a pattern of regular proxies were found against many other names and as a result, attendances cancelled en masse, students summoned and warned- sparking large scale rows and debates, and putting an end to the mass-scale proxy signature campaigns as had been practised in the previous two semesters at Joka.

Friends, Romans, countrymen - I believe you will herewith bless our revered protagonist for accidentally removing one of the most widespread social evils in Jokaland, which was threatening to erode the very moral fibres of one and all. Hail the protagonist!

Odd one out

The 40” Samsung LCD wall mounted television in our department was turned on a few days ago when news started to filter in about the quake in Sichuan province of China. The official toll started off with 1 killed, 4 injured and 900 students buried but gradually grew to about 10,000 by the time the next day’s newspapers went to press. Our technical analyst, a middle aged bachelor fond of deciphering charts and eating junk food, immediately sprung up and asked around if any company had exposure to the region (before you ask, I am part of an equity research house and we issue recommendations to investors on stocks we follow). Colleagues looked at their coverage and started calling up corporates to enquire about their assets in the region around Chengdu and Chongqing in Sichuan province. Nobody called up to express concern and ask whether their employees or their families were safe, though. Struck me as very odd. I couldn’t bring myself to call up any of my companies to enquire about possible delays in project completions and the like. Guess I am not cut out for this industry. As our technical analyst joked “Your pain, my gain” and issued calls to short any stocks with projects in the affected region, to the accompaniment of quite a few snorts and sneers from other colleagues, I wondered whether the scent of money has indeed, become stronger than the scent of pain, blood and suffering. Or, for that matter, the scent of power, as the military junta in Myanmar has strived to prove.

Your girlfriend must be really beautiful!

This is what a certain Mr. Tony Ho, SVP (Sales & Marketing), Contel Corporation, had to say to me when he had realized the full implication of what I was attempting to do. It was 6:30 in the evening, I was in a car in a perpetually smoggy forbidden provincial town in China called Dongguan and I was attempting to cross the border some 80 km away and reach Hong Kong that night. All this for a 12-14 hour stay, since I'd have to leave HK (assuming I reached there) by 12 PM latest next morning to have any hopes of getting on my return flight to Singapore. Before you ask, the flight was from Shenzhen Int'l Airport. And just half an hour ago, I didn't have a single Yuan on me.

Okk...cut...rewind rewind rewind...

The trip I'm talking about is a plant visit organized for Singapore analysts and fund managers by a Singapore-listed Chinese consumer electronics manufacturer called Contel Corp. The plant is in Dongguan, one of the big three cities in the affluent Pearl River Delta region of China, just aft of Hong Kong. And the nearest airport is in Shenzhen, which is the electronics workshop of the world and also the nearest point on the mainland from Hong Kong. Well the airport is strictly not in Shenzhen but lets leave that for later.

So this trip of mine was initially planned to happen in the last week of September but was postponed owing to lack of interest among other participants. Back then, I was a trifle disappointed since I was quite aware of the proximity of Hong Kong and Shenzhen and on paper, a journey to and forth seemed quite do-able. Anyhow, chance presented itself once again 2-3 weeks later and the trip was happening this time on the 17th and 18th of October.

Early morning flight and I head for the airport in an early morning taxi. Finally, I find myself on the flight, next to a kiddish looking guy and a senior looking guy, who I supposed were also on the same analyst visit. The kiddish guy really turned out to be a kid, fresh out of graduate school into one of the local brokerages. The older guy was indeed, an industry veteran, who had retired from professional life to run his personal investment firm with his family's money. Towards the end of the flight, when people start planning how best to spend the night in Dongguan, I deem it imminent to break the news that I won't be there, as I would be going to Hong Kong. "So you are flying back from Hong Kong eh?" "No, I'll meet you guys back at Shenzhen!” I see some dumbfounded faces around me. But being peaceful Singaporeans, they don't press the matter any further apart from assuming that I must be on some kind of illicit mission to make so much effort worth the while.

I let them assume whatever they could and then I made the biggest mistake of the trip. We land in Shenzhen; I come out of the airport with the group, and being the organizer-type, start hunting around for the tour bus assigned to us and conveniently forget about foreign exchange! Halfway on the hour-long bus-ride to Dongguan, I realize this stark truth and my mood gets gloomier while the others sleep it off. The surroundings don't help at all but I'll spare you a description of the journey on the highways of China. Suffice to say that it is not a pretty sight - especially being accustomed to the lush green paddy fields along NH2 (the erstwhile Grand Trunk Road) and NH6 (Bombay Road) of West Bengal. Probably, with modern marvels like the Singur car factory coming up, we'll get to see less of the same, too.

Having reached Dongguan, and having disembarked at the hotel, I wonder aloud if I might find some transportation to Hong Kong from the hotel premises in the hope that some fellow analyst would care to translate and ask the hotel guys. The only female in our group was a pretty friendly one and she takes pains to find out, from various sources, including the doorman, concierge and tourist booklets, that the last bus to HK leaves at 5:30 PM. Realistically, we couldn't be back to the hotel by that time - my plant visit starts at 2 PM! My spirits suitably dampened, I seat myself at the lunch table and nibble at meats of various species while acquainting myself with executives from Contel. The COO, on hearing my HK predicament, immediately rushes off to enquire about options from the hotel management, but in spite of all the blessings I showered on him and his family, he returns with nothing new. Ditching the tasteless desserts and fetching my bag from my room, I saunter confidently towards the reception desk, where I'd hitherto spotted a foreign exchange counter. Woe and dismay, for they only convert HKD and USD. A big jolt for the Singapore Dollar and to the egos of the Singaporean analyst team. I sms my friend in Hong Kong, asking her not to wait up for me.


The gloomy day turns gloomier as we drive deeper into a perpetual haze covered country interspersed with gaunt white buildings. One of them turns out to be our final destination - Contel factory. After a boring presentation, we get to the Q&A session - and I am praying that my fellow analysts keep their interrogation short. However, it seems that they are intent to know all kinds of inane stuff in glorious detail and I am left in the lurches, counting the minutes as time rolls on beyond 4 PM. After what seemed an eternity, Tony, whom I have introduced before, suggests we proceed on the plant tour as the employees' shift would end shortly. I skip along with the Group, not deigning to ask a single question of the management in truly unprofessional analyst style (though I would end up as the only analyst filing in a plant visit note). As dusk envelops the hazy environs, I am itching to make a dash for the hotel or train station or bus station or somewhere. But not having a single Yuan in my pocket, kind of thwarts all my instincts and I wait for the ordeal to finish. When it’s eventually over, and we have seen assembly lines churning out electronic guitars for video games and LCD TVs and VCD recorders and all sorts of other useless stuff at one-tenth the price that Walmart and Circuit City retail them for, we get back to the Boardroom.

They gift us an E-Bible (if anyone is interested, I can forward it) and people take a lot of time to move out. I place my pleading eyes on Tony and Lip Kee (the CFO) and Tony (good man!) asks around for the best way to get to HK. 6 PM already. I had done extensive research on the Internet, which had informed me of trains at 7 40 PM and 8 40 PM, direct to some station in HK, but they seemed to have no knowledge of it. As I keep getting more despondent, the guy says there is a train to Shenzhen at 6:30 - do I want to try that? It seems people can cross the border there to HK. Of course, what are we waiting for? Our car, the CFO offers, rather apologetically. Some hope, at last, but there remains one last barrier to cross. Currency. And no bank will be open at 6 PM. I turn to the CFO. " Excuse me, do you have some extra Yuan on you? Can I pay you in SGD now...say 500 Yuan or so?" Flustered for a while, the guy fishes out five 100-Yuan notes as we settle on a willing buyer-willing seller exchange rate of 5 Yuan to a Singapore Dollar. "You might use it when you go down to Singapore once in a while", I offer helpfully. Phew! I had currency. Confidence back, I steel myself for a lonesome journey from nowhere to anywhere.

On the journey from the factory to the hotel where the management guys got off, the CEO, CFO and COO of Contel Corp offered me valuable advice on the dos and don'ts of travelling in China. "As long as you have your passport and your money with you, you are safe." "Keep my number. Any problem and you call me. Even if you lose your money, don't lose your mobile". "You know, if you get off and walk on this road, there is no guarantee you will not be robbed right now." Very helpful, all, but it left me feeling much less confident than I initially was. "So how many times you have been to China?” First time, Tony, first time. "So you can speak Mandarin?” NO. "You have been to Hong Kong before, right?" NO. "This is your first time in China, you can't speak the language, and it will be your first time in Hong Kong. And you are travelling across the border, in the evening. BOY, your girlfriend must be REALLY beautiful!!!" And, content in their assumption, they all had a hearty laugh about it. Not really wishing to contest their theory or interrupt their mirth, I joined in. "Oh yes, she is. Good guess, Tony!”

So they get down and the driver takes me to the train station. He gets down, locks the car and comes with me to the train station. Oh no, I can't read a single thing anywhere. It’s all Chinese (no, not Greek). I look on gratefully as the driver-chappie goes to the ticket counter, buys 2 tickets and hands me one. Without a murmur, I follow him as he rushes off towards the platform, and I'm relieved when a train rolls in 2 minutes later, which has a "Shenzhen" sign in English. As I try to push a 100-Yuan note into the helpful chappie's hand for the ticket, he refuses to have to do anything with it and instead motions me on to the train. An empty compartment beckons and I'm about to be in for a shock as the train covers the entire 90km stretch at an average speed of 160km/hr and in some stretches 180km/hr. If you are wondering how I calculated the speed, there was a LCD panel above the door of the compartment, which indicated as much. It took me about 45 minutes I think to cover the stretch. Whoa - China rocking!

As I get down at Shenzhen and follow the direction signs reading Hong Kong, I am reminded of what Tony had earlier told me - "When you exit the train station, you will see the Shangri-La Hotel. Don't go towards it. Go to the building in the opposite direction. You will find the immigration counters on the first or second floor. Be very careful!" - so I follow the signboards and eventually exit the train station at street level. I can see the Shangri-La at some distance but the signboards saying HK have petered out. So I walk all the way to the Shangri-La, click a few photos of night-time Shenzhen and discover that the only building that could be opposite it was the point where I had started walking. No problemos. I am way ahead of time, anyway, thanks to that super fast train. I meander back to the building and find the Chinese immigration counters on the first level. Forms filled out and they happily let me leave China. Oh did I forget to mention that my visa was a double entry visa. I had to re-enter PRC again the next afternoon for my flight back to Singapore.

After a pretty long walk through corridors and bridges of no-man's land, I somehow reach the HK immigration counter and after the guy had taken a look at my Indian passport, and heard my story about landing in Shenzhen, going to Dongguan, returning to Shenzhen, crossing over to HK, then back again and on to Singapore, he must have assumed I'm part of some currency racket on some quick errand. So I'm promptly shipped to the senior immigration officer's office to be interviewed. Frustrating wait and then I shove down the visiting cards of CEOs, CFOs and the like down the interviewer's throat in a brave attempt at intimidation. Bored with my version of events, he lets me continue on my journey of discovery. Dignity restored, I find a restroom, change out of my formals and fork out my maps of the Hong Kong public transport system. Having worked out my destination, I reach the ticket counter, only to realize the currency of business has changed. Bang opposite was a money exchanger, probably offering the worst rates in town, having set up shop to cater to morons like me. HKD in hand, I now had a ticket to East Tsim Sha Tsui (ETST). It was 7 30 when I had reached Shenzhen - it was past 9 PM now.

Anyhow, I reached ETST and then found the interchange to Tsim Sha Tsui - the subway/train system is way too complicated compared to Singapore - and here I met up with my friend AJ. I'll leave out the details of the remainder of the night except for the fact that the time between 2 AM and 4 AM found me having a few drinks with a banker friend of mine in Hong Kong's famed Lan Kwai Fong district and the remainder of the night till 8 AM found me sleeping it off on some other unsuspecting friend's sofa. The next morning brought with it my first glimpse of the great city in natural light and it was quite awesome and much beyond my expectations. There is a certain life in the people and a vibrant all-pervading spirit, quite reminiscent of Calcutta. I guess having a planned city takes the fun out of it. The narrow roads, congested alleys, British styled architecture, street side vendors, and modern high-rises jostling for space all lend to the unique aura the Hong Kong emanates. Singapore, by comparison, is sterile and lifeless.

So having taken in the sights and sounds, I now turn my attention to my return journey. I had gathered from various sources that the ferry from HK across the Pearl River Delta to Shenzhen is the quickest and most convenient way of getting to the airport. Smugly complacent in this knowledge, AJ and I call up the ferry companies but as luck would have it, all are fully booked. 11 AM in Hong Kong and I still have no transportation. Flight back at 4 PM. Will I make it? Tension tension. Train would take one hour to the border. God knows how much time at immigration. And then no clue how to reach the airport from Shenzhen train station and I had a fair idea it was 30 km away. No Tony and no driver-chappie to help me out this time around. I am pretty much royally screwed.

We make our way to the nearest ferry terminal in the hope of some ferry company we had missed out on but we can't even make out which boat is headed where, far less, when. Just when I'm beginning to think that I have to risk the train journey, we find ourselves standing in front of a bus terminal with colourful buses sporting Shenzhen/
Guangzhou signs. After some painful attempts at communication, we discern that a bus for Shenzhen airport will be leaving in about 10 minutes, but I'll have to change buses in between. Still not convinced that I am on the right bus, I try to ask the driver when we would be reaching the destination, but he remained unconvinced too. Running out of options and having already purchased a 100 HKD ticket, I decide to risk it and wave goodbye to AJ and Hong Kong.

A Good Samaritan on the bus decides to be my interpreter for the rest of the bus trip and safely guides me through all the formalities on either sides of the border. Finally, some pretty girls in traditional costumes notice a pink bus company sticker on my shirt as I come out of Shenzhen bus terminal and take me to a mini-bus and a short bus journey later, I'm inside Shenzhen Int'l Airport within one and a half hours of leaving Hong Kong. Wow! A fitting finale to a whale of an adventure. I'm damn pleased as I make my way home and promise to write about it someday. That day is finally here!

P.S. Took me about 6 months to pen this down. Apologies to all concerned :)

Kabuliwallah to Charlie Wilson's War

Lately have had a lot of Afghanistan thrust into all the creative media entertainment that I have been indulging myself in. All = 4 instances, at last count. Well, I accept that to say that the latest Subhash Ghai offering “Black & White” had something to do with Afghanistan would not be correct in spirit, but would be very much correct in letter. So there.

If you are wondering where all this is going, let me say at the onset this is going nowhere. Just had to write about something before all my creative juices dried up in utmost entirety. So why Afghanistan? Well, ask Khaled Hosseini – for he’s the one to blame for my falling in love with the rugged country and its rugged people. The canvas that he painted through his masterpiece “The Kite Runner” – which incidentally I recently saw on celluloid – made, to put it mildly, a deep impression on my impressionable psyche. The snow capped Hindu Kush in the distance and the rugged brown mountainscape in the forefront, the smell of the kebabs roasting in tandoors and the mysterious beauty in the twinkling eyes of the women – I can conjure all that up in the batting of an eyelid, thanks to Mr. Hosseini. In fact, the film doesn’t do full justice to the geography at all, being shot somewhere in Inner Mongolia or thereabouts.

The British, the Russians and the Americans have all played their part in ravishing this beauty for their own petty gains over the last 300 years, and particularly so since the 70’s, when the country became a pawn in the Cold War endgame. The hot-blooded tribes that inhabit the unforgiving landscape have played their part too, falling prey to bloody infighting incited by scheming Cold War powers, that has wiped away entire villages, families, clans and generations. Power hungry warlords have ruled the mountains and fought for control of the Kabuls, Herats and Kandahars – even as foreign invaders were vanquished with the help of other foreign invaders. Why did the US military intelligence wait 10 bloody years before they realized that the only way to win the war was to supply the Mujahideen with anti-aircraft missiles, something that was known on the ground for at least 2-3 years before that? It seems they wanted to exhaust the Soviet Union’s resources in killing the Afghans, so that they could watch the disintegration of the Soviet empire later in gleeful mirth. And then they make films with Tom Hanks to glorify the fact that some Congressman wallowing in drugs and women found it worth his while to convince the CIA to send in those very anti-aircraft guns. And end the movie saying that US didn’t play the endgame very well. Ah, well…didn’t we know that?

As soon as the Soviet army left the land of the Afghans (originally Pashtuns, but also Tajiks, Hazaras, Uzbeks and others), the US conveniently forgot about them until they found a scapegoat in a bearded guy named Osama Bin Laden who reportedly owned responsibility (unproven?) for driving two passenger jets through the World Trade Centre in New York. Till then, the fact that the Taliban existed hadn’t bothered them – the fact that the Taliban exercised capital punishment in the form of stoning innocent men and women to death for adultery during half-times of football matches in Kabul’s national stadium and barred women from education and jobs hadn’t stirred their curiosity (as the global guardians of morality and human rights and such similar crap) – but the fact that they had had the gall to provide shelter to some small time operatives known as Al Qaeda (Arab Afghans) propelled them into a full blown war. Did you hear you saying its all a gimmick to gain strategic military position in Central Asia? You know the global political landscape well then, I must admit! A country, which had not yet picked up all the landmines that the Russians had planted in their land, (some of which were deliberately shaped like candies so that children would pick them up, lose limbs and their parents wouldn’t be able to take part in the war effort) has ever since been embroiled in another war. Some 2-3 million of them still live as refugees, mainly in the North West Frontier Province in Pakistan and in Iran.

The most hilarious part in all this is that the US might have actually sponsored the holy war of terror against itself. Along with Pakistan’s ISI, the US invested heavily in the training and arming the Mujahideen who were fighting the Russians, and some of these same facilities were then used to nurture the young Talebs – madrasahs and militant training camps which came up all along the Pakistan-Afghanistan border has ever since, provided a steady stream of Talebs and suicide bombers to the world at large. The ISI and the CIA (and possibly all the world’s secret services, since it is rumoured all of them work hand-in-hand anyways) have washed their dirty hands off the issue but the fact remains that they are now fighting an enemy that they helped create themselves. Well they are not actually fighting an enemy – that’s just a ruse for getting closer and closer to dominating the oil reserves in Central Asia.

Well, some food for thought – definitely, at least, its fodder for authors and film directors who in recent and not-so-recent memory have churned out novels like The Kite Runner, A Thousand Splendid Suns (again by Hosseini), Shantaram (by the Australian convict Gregory David Roberts who fought part of the Afghan war against the Russians on behalf of a Bombay mafia don) and movies like Kabul Express, Kite Runner (again) and Charlie Wilson’s War – that have kept us captivated. Thanks at least for bringing this beautiful country into the limelight – for those who have been to the upper echelons of the Himalayas where the snow capped mountains co-exist with harsh brown terrain like those in Leh, Ladakh in Kashmir and also north of Lachen in Sikkim, I’m sure they will appreciate the feeling of humbleness in their souls that the awe-inspiring, unforgiving, beauty awakens in us – such environs can only produce the most big-hearted of men for only they can match up to what the unrelenting vastness of nature demands. Will the Kabuliwallah ever return???

Singapore Exposed - the good, the bad and the ugly!!!

5 good things about the city
§ You are never too far away from anywhere. You can reach any place within 1 hour, even at peak hours.
§ There is a shopping mall around every nook and corner-->your girlfriend/ wife will be happy-->you will be happy.
§ You can get food 24/7 and you can get all kinds of food.
§ The sex ratio is skewed in favour of females, most of whom believe in the maxim - less is more.
§ Everything is so bloody well planned and efficient!

5 bad things about the city
§ You are never too far away from office or for that matter, home. No refreshing change, whatsoever.
§ The underground remains crowded even on weekends - full of shoppers and their unfortunate boyfriends/husbands/noisy kids.
§ Much of the small talk is dominated by food - new places to eat & new cuisines to try - that's all people talk about!
§ All the females look alike and you can never tell whether they are aged 13 or 30.
§ There is no excitement - its never unpredictable!

5 odd things about the city
§ People like to make out on escalators in train stations.
§ The Mass Rapid Transit (MRT) services are not that efficient - they can stop in the middle of the tunnel, the doors of the train and those of the platform may not necessarily match and to top it all, they don't even announce which side of the train the next platform is on! (whoa Kolkata Metro rocks!)
§ Booze is so damn overpriced!
§ You'll see more elderly people than children on the streets - the birth rate is like the 10th lowest in the world and the Government provides financial incentives to people having babies!
§ Discussing politics is taboo.

5 ugly things about the city
§ There is a surveillance camera everywhere.
§ Freedom of speech? - even the Singaporeans accept the absence of that la!
§ There is no concept of a family dinner; husbands, wives and children are known to eat out at their favourite joints before coming home.
§ Taxi drivers are amazingly some of the most racist people on the road.
§ And yes - who can forget - Death to Drugs!!!

An Attempt at Narcissism

And hereby, my comeback into the blog arena is being marred by a controversial self-obsessed post, itself inspired primarily by the Orkut profile of Suneet Kumar (well to put it into perspective - even he saw it on a friend's profile so I guess IPR is not much of an issue here).
So here goes my attempt at telling things about myself in a cute way - Its Just About Me :

* My favorite colour is light green. Don’t ask me why.

* I have about 30 friends who would hate me if I didn’t make it to their wedding. I can’t possibly make 30 trips to India in the next 4 years, though. Maaf karna, bhailog.

(Update 1 - 04/03/2009 - I've already missed those of Dhingra, Satrajit & Yash)

* I prefer co-operation to competition. In a competitive environment, I’ll be a dove. As a general rule, I dislike hawks.

* I measure time by minutes and not every 5 minutes. If the time is 4:24, I won’t say its 4:30 or even 4:25.

* I can be the most mature and responsible guy you have ever met, or the kiddiest. Depends on whether you are male or female.

* I prefer tea to coffee.

* The only virtual games I have played with any hint of proficiency are Snake III and RoadRash.

* My favourite novelist is P.G. Wodehouse. If you haven’t read him, you won’t understand me fully, ever.

* I think I’ll make a good boyfriend and an even better husband.

* I wait for Friday every week coz it’s the only day I can arrive in office in jeans.

* I want to do some kind of service to society some day. No clue how to go about it.

* I don’t dream big. Never have. Never will. Take life as it comes.

* I want people to appreciate me at work.

* I love kids. And I don’t like people who don’t.

* I derive much of my strength in life from Joydev. I won’t even begin to describe what this association means to me.

* Illumination and Controls are two of the best things to have happened in my life.

* I have really ever loved only two places – Durgapur and Kolkata. Surprisingly, I miss the cities more than the people I know there.

* I am a hopeless romantic optimist and spend much of my time thinking about non-existent females in my life.

* I have a very good memory when it comes to names, phone numbers, license plates, roads, directions, birthdays and the like. I could never memorize a poem for more than 2 days though.

* I'm a very good listener. Another way of saying that I’m not much of a conversationalist.

* I’m very good at 29. My father never taught me bridge.

* I am one of the few drinkers I know who used to like vodka and whisky equally. Now scotch is all I can tolerate. Never much a sucker for rum, though.

* I can flirt with girls effortlessly while chatting.

* I'm very bad at interviews and group discussions. Hopefully will not have to encounter too many of those in future

* I stayed awake for 61 hours once.

* I used to be a loner and liked it. Till DFE, Patel Hall happened.

* I am a big unabashed foodie. I am recently trying to master the art of filling my own stomach.

* I can play passable soccer, table tennis and badminton.

* I want to have a Fusball table in my house one day, a la Joey and Chandler.

* I have experienced wild weight swings. From 67 kg pre-IIT to 52 kg in 3rd year to 65 kg now.

* I like to dance when I am drunk. I only like to dance when I’m drunk, though. And not with girls.

* I'm usually superficially unfazed in all kinds of situations. As they say, mujhe kabhi load nahin hota.

* I like watching new Hindi releases and don’t much care about reviews.

* I hate chewing gum and bubble gum.

* My sleep is getting lighter these days. Still, do not expect me to pick up your call if I’m sleeping.

* I maintain that cigarettes are highly injurious to health. My health is deteriorating sharply.

* Thums Up is the only carbonated drink I’ve ever liked. Mountain Dew came close.

* Last but not the least, I’m not very innovative or creative, but I can write well. Proof of the pudding is in the eating :))



Okk I must admit - I was bribed one bottle of Jack Daniels to write this post ;)

The Pink Floyd Experience - adapted from the experience and expressions of Sourojit Bhowmick...

The dream of watching the God live is one that most of us do cherish...and I am yet to realise my dream...however, here's a sneak preview of what can be...the words are not mine...rather they belong to my dear friend Sourojit Bhowmick, who is currently pursuing his PhD in the US of A...

"As I start writing this, I just pray that I do not forget, those 3 hrs, in the years to come.
Somehow I would like to hold those scenes in my mind, for the rest of my life. I will write what exactly I saw , felt and experienced. There may be many spelling mistakes and errors .. as I am writing in a flow…almost closing my eyes and remembering every moment of that DREAM…

Let’s begin …. The mega event was at the New England Dodge Music Center (a place where legends like Jim Morrison, Coldplay, Metallica, GnR to the Beatles have played.). So the show was from 8 pm, and we started at 6 (hoping to reach by 6:30). We got the first taste of Pink Floyd hysteria, when we reached the express highway, just 6 miles from the center. Now here I would say, in my 1 yr of stay in US... I have never seen traffic jam in the express ways… not even in the busy NY express way … but mannnnnn... when we were just 6 miles from the center... We could c the line of cars!!!! It was crazy!! People were shouting... Throwing beer bottles... doping … from the cars!! There were all sorts of squads around...SWATS, Dog squads etc etc …. But the best part of police here was … THEY NEVER INTERRUPTED THE FUN!!!!!They didn’t even stop ppl from doping n boozing! They were just watching for vandalism!!!!

Neways... when we reached the arena, the magnitude got me!!! it was like entering a packed Eden Gardens, for the first time !!!!! Around 40,000 people!!! From all age groups!! Hippies … druggrs, rockers, wheel chair bound people, old, young, men women of all sorts!!!!! It was just overwhelming!! So we went and secured our spot… about 40-50 mts from the stage ….. Just below the overhead ceiling. And behind us, was the wiiiiiide lawn sitting area... it was like a hill... And completely packed!!!!!

The show began with the trademark whiskey bottle and cigarette...on the screen... n then smoke came from the left on stage,as if someone was smokin … n thennnnnnnnnnn. .. a black figure .. in jacket & black pants .. emerged, with a guitar in hand.. accompanied by the euphoric thunder of 40,000 people … when they saw the living legend …ROGER WATERS was ON STAGE …in front of our eyes !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! .. I could c people crying... when the first sounds of his guitar hit us... Those first strings from “in the flesh”… as he sang “so ya ..thot ya ..might ..”.His voice reverberated all across the arena,and we were mad . After that … it was just pure magic ….. He gave us one song after the other … in that memorable voice!!! And the awsm vocals of Dave Kilministr, synth of Harry Waters (Rogers’ son)…. With the GREAT Jon Cairn!!!!!!!!!! And Andy Fairweather (The Pulse Concert Guys) …

The Wall part 1 had its usual head banging affect!!!!! There were ppl everywhere... Doping n drugging!! … It was going on…With psychedelic lighting... This led to Syd Berett’s face on screen... “Shine on” was coming...N then when we reached ... “Shine on you”... There was the harrowing picture of Syd Berrett on screen ... and slowly a laser face of Berett appeared on the crowd!!!!!!! …Suddenly he started those famous lines ... “Remember when you were young … you shine like the sun” …. That was it... we were just hysterical!!! Every single person was singing! It was dark ... n everybody was lighting some light. ..And holding it up... And swaying!! It was a scene worth watching!!!!! There was a laser that also swayed with the song.

The lighting and special affects was throughout unparalleled … during “set the controls of the heart of the sun” …. There was a fire on screen .. and then the smoke of the fire .. from the screen .. suddenly started coming out n spreading on the crowd !! such was the affect. It was pure psychedelia , and we were being hallucinated by music and machine !!!! While during “Time” and “Money” .. the whole video was on us !!! as if we were being grinded inside a clock …. I know , u wont believe .. unless u b a part of it .. but this is what each and everyone .. present there felt !!!!

After “shine on”, we could c a radio in the screen, some one was tuning … there was a silence in the crowd... We knew ... what was coming... “Wish you were here”!!!!! The moment those guitar chords sounded …. We just knelt down in respect …. While Roger Waters said “So ...so u think u can tell…”… the affect was heavenly!!!! Millions of small bubbles (like the soap bubble)… came from nowhere...And covered us!!!!! …. I must say here... something was soo emotional... it brought tears to our eyes …!!! Every one was just singing and swaying … everyone had sparkling eyes... tears dripping!!!! Wish You were Here, a song that had moved a generation .. was having its tremendous emotional affect !!! Following this there were other gems like, Fletcher memorial, perfect sense, animal (sheep)… and then was “leaving Beirut” … another masterpiece!!! He spoke again… “Thanks for coming… u have been a great audience”...He explained why he wrote this song ….and then sang it. Those of you who have watched the video of this song in youtube ..must know that its based on cartoons …. And there also it was cartoon, but the only speciality was .. sometime the cartoon figures came on the crowd .. from the screen .. thanks to the laser affects !!!!!!

After this song .. HE came near the crowd .. n said “Its been long .. will take a 15 mins break .. but will b back” Now the break was memorable... coz they left the huuuugeeee pig balloon from the stage... n crowd was passing it ... so that it can come out from below the ceiling area... To the open area ... n man... WE TOUCHED IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It was just AN electric feeling… n then it went behind us… to the lawn area ... finally into the sky!!!!!

The next part of the show was …the main Dark side of the Moon... and I really don’t have words to explain it!!!!! There was everything on stage!! Fire, smoke, moon landing, astronaut, and a huuuge moon!!! (Which became bigger from a small size, in that break of 15 mins) .

Part 2 started with “speak to me”,,Breath , great gig in the sky , on the run … and then came “brain Damage” . So before “brain damage” he thanked the crowd again … n introduced the band members. And then he started “The Lunatic is on the Grass…” and as it started... we could c that there was a sudden cloud on top of us … n then lasers were crazily moving on us …suddenly in the stage there was that world famous prism!! It was moving slowly on us!! It came on top of us,n a light from one end …entering the laser prism…And vibgyor coming out from the other end !!!!!!!!!! The whole “dark side of the moon” Prism logo was there on us... Made by lasers!!!!! We were all speechless to c that creation !! n the lines …“And if the band youre in starts playing different tunes,Ill see you on the dark side of the moon”!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I dunno wat happnd … but I was just overwhelmed by the music .. tears in my eyes .. looking at the greatest music innovator of our times !!! everyone was staring at the laser …. As he sang this song with impeccable precision , as all the other songs !!!!!

The brain damage song signalled that the show was comin to an end …. Then after a few other tracks like eclipse , break in the wall II, and bring the boys back home , Us n Them …. the stage darkend … waters said thank you … n he was leaving !! we were all shouting .. “don’t go” … there was a mass sadness !!! the show was over and we couldn’t accept it !!! BUT SUDDENLY out of the dark .. a ghastly voice said “Is there any body out there?”.. GOD that was like too much of a hysteria !!!!!!! N next that everlasting music .. from “comfortably numb” .. with a whitewash of light !!!!!! … all hell broke loose .. every single living being , must have shouted at that time !!!! .. Roger “God” Waters was singing “hello heloo .. is there anybody in there?... just nod if u can hear me” … the words from the god himself !!!... comfortably numb sounded as if , I was listening to the original track from the CD !!!!!!! ….. again .. we were lighting matches , candles , lighters , ciggerettes , torch .. into the sky !! .. swaying …to the music !! It was crazy !!! Listening to one of the most famous songs of this century .. from its creator ..!!!!!

With “Comfortably Numb” the stage was dark again … n this time it was permanent. We could not believe that the show was over … infact no one could !!! we didn’t even feel that we were standing /shouting and swaying for 3 hours non-stop !! ..so after the song .. everyone was standing ….. speechless .. atleast fr 3-4 mins .. n slowly we realized it was over .. people started movin .. very very very slowly. No one wanted to leave the arena…. We cldnt believe that , we had seen the living legend .. we couldn’t believe that we were so lucky to watch the god himself !!!! Me anurag and Veda , stood there for almost 30 mins more … there were fireworks in the sky … n we were just quite … it seemed that we were just out of a dream …. N then slowly started moving with the crowd …..

I would like to specially add something here about the crowd .. there were ppl .. doping , drugging , boozing all around !! people were druggd out .. n u cld just c them swaying and dancing like a child. And the best part was , beers were being sold inside the arena itself !!! policemen were everywhere .. but what I like that .. 99 % of them didn’t had guns (which u c with every policeman here) .. !!!! they watchd ppl drugging n dopin .. but didn’t stop !!!! they just kept an eye …there were people of arnd 60-70 yrs age !!! am not exaggerating !!n there were wheelchair bound floydians too !!!!.... that’s why they say .. Pink Floyd is not a music group .. it’s a mass movement !!!

So that was my experience .. I may have messed up with the song sequences .. but mostly they are correct.. I cldnt explain every single lighting, and also didn’t talk about all the songs e.g Any color you like , Mother etc .. coz words can explain them .

But I just pray that these memories never die ….. AFTER ALL .. I FINALLY DID SEE .. THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON .."

The race I never ran...

Of late, I have been getting this sinking feeling that I'm losing the race. What race, do u say? Well, for the moment, let it suffice to say that this is a race that the organizers do not know of, and hence, they haven't advertised it nor they have kept any prize reserved for the winner. If that still does not satisfy you, consider it as just another figment of my not too fertile imagination.

The race was never meant to be in the first place. 'Coz there are no other runners. I am running the race alone. At least ostensibly. I forced it upon myself to participate and now I find myself at the crossroads, not knowing which way leads to victory. But I am just too attached to this long distance run of mine to give it up so easily. I'll continue running as I have been doing for the past two years. This race has not brought any rewards to me, neither any accolades. On the contrary, it has caused me untold pain. But it has been worth it. It has been an experience worth reliving.

As I continue my journey unto life, this one race of mine and the sights and sounds associated with it will continue to provide a source of sustenance as nothing else. The race has been long and arduous. But I have been hallucinating of late. Of late, I have being seeing people on the stands, watching me run and laughing at me. Often have I wondered at their mirth. They think that I'm running this race for the prize. I laugh back at them for their naivete. They can have the prize, for all I care. I haven't even thought of the prize, for God's sake!

But as I stated earlier, I'm finding it difficult to continue running at the same pace and with the ame vigour as before. Something seems to be lacking. The sights and sounds have changed. don't get the same thrill out of running anymore. Have those spectators spoiled my fun? Maybe...maybe not. I can't pinpoint the reasons. I am getting tired. I can see but emptiness staring at me with her unforgiving eyes, daring me to continue the race.

I believe I have strength just about enough for one last sprint. One concentrated effort. One last try. One last attempt to breast that tape which seems to move for ever and for ever away as I run forward. Should I preserve the strength and continue my lacklustre race or should I make that one last effort? What lies on the other side? The crossroads seem neverending...

I'm back and I'm tagged!!!

So I'm back to blogspace after a gap of I don't know how many months...forgive me, my fans ( I hope there are some)...but I was too busy and too lazy to write. What I was doing all this time, I think I'll tell you once I'm back on campus but till then, u hava to be content with the fact that I'm writing this on my desktop at office at 12:45 in the afternoon, having absolutely no work on hand and trying hard to figure out what I'll be doing for the rest of the day!

Avinash "Guta" Singh tagged me a long while ago and thankfully so, coz it gives me a definite subject matter to mark my re-entry into this arena.

First the rules of the game -

1. The tagged victim has to come up with 8 different points of their perfect lover
2. You have to mention the sex of the target
3. Tag 8 victims to join this game and leave a comment on their comments saying they've been tagged
4. If tagged the 2nd time, there's no need to post again

This is difficult man! I think this will take up a substantial part of my vella hours today. Good for me! Anywayz I should focus on the job at hand -

So here goes:

1. My perfect lover should be smart, intelligent and have a sense of humour that's on the same wavelength as mine. I should be able to discuss with her anything and everything without things going above her head.

2. My perfect lover should not be a perfectionist but should not be too lackadaisical either. There should be a certain bit of order in our lives.

3. My perfect lover should be very talkative and capable of carrying on converstaions all night. One good listener in a family is enough!

4. My perfect lover should be very adept at shopping. Coz someone has to buy my clothes for me. I suck at it, bigtime!!! ( I can do the grocery bit, though!)

5. My perfect lover should understand my need to be alone at times and allow me the space which I need - I'll need my whisky-on-the-rocks, my floyd, my premiership matches and my novels without intrusion.

6. My perfect lover should not expect me to express myself everytime through words. My eyes and my actions should suffice.

7. My perfect lover should have the capability to love not only me, but my whole world including my friends and family.

8. My perfect lover should have a smile that I cannot do without, fingers whose touch will ease all my tensions and eyes into which I can lose myself.

I think I could have added more, but u have to play by the rules, u know!

So that's all...now tell me folks...what do u think...have I written this with someone in mind or is it all in the air? No biased opinions based on prior knowledge (however faulty that knowledge may be) please.

Oh BTW for those who haven't guessed, the sex of the target is female.

I won't be tagging anyone coz I'm so late on this game that everyone out here has been tagged.