Sledge Hammer Blog

Guest post for Coffee Bean Musings

2011-12-24T16:10:00.006+05:30

Excerpts from the Guest Post on Coffee Bean Musings

Newman's piano was playing in the lift. Every note was followed by an anxious silence. He stared down through the misty glass wall - at the cars parked below, trying not to think. Even as the lift opened to the fifth floor & he walked past the corridor, the music refused to leave his head. He rang the door bell, twice - knowing very well that there's no one home. Yet, in an act of denial, he rang again before fetching for the keys in his jacket. READ FULL POST

Thanks CB for selling me :)

The Banana Republic

2011-12-06T12:35:00.001+05:30

An excerpt. An important one

"..... for example, in India, there’s a mining company that owns steel plants, it does iron ore mining, it makes millions from it, called the Jindals. And there’s a resistance to their projects all over the place; so when you’re mining iron ore, you just pay a small royalty to the government, and you make all those millions. With all those millions, all these mining companies, they can buy judges, they can buy journalists, they can buy TV stations, they can buy everything. The CEO is a member of the parliament, he’s won the right to fly the national flag on his house with the Chairman of the Flag Foundation. They have a law school — like this beautiful campus in the heart of some kind of squalor outside Delhi — where the faculty comes from all over the world because they are paid so well, and they teach environment law, all kinds of other kindnesses. And, they recently even ran a protest workshop. They had all the activists and poets and singers coming and talking about protest and music. So these guys own everything. They own universities, they own protests, they fund activists, they have the mines, they are in parliament, they have the flag; they have everything. The Tata’s [Indian multinational conglomerate] have mines, they have foundations, they fund filmmakers, they make salt, they make trucks, they make internet cables. You can’t get away from them, and they’re not accountable. So, other than being capists and liddites, we demand that no corporation can have this sort of cross ownership. If you have a mine, stick with the mine, you can’t own a television company and the flag and be in parliament and run the universities, you can’t, you know? So, we need regulations like this, otherwise you end up like Italy where Berlusconi owns 99% of the TV outlets."

- Arundhati Roy at an event hosted at City University of New York’s Graduate Center
SOURCE: DELHI WALLA

Singhtales Chapter - 11 - Bail out, Bengali Threat & Anthony's word

2011-11-11T20:43:00.001+05:30

“Why is Mallya calling me?” Singh was obviously annoyed at the untimely beep on his Blackberry. Much to his chagrin was the fact that BB was disallowed at core committee meetings till the time RIM guys allowed the government to decode their fire-wall

“Oh it must be for the bail out. He was trying it with me too” Kamal was quick to assume.

“Tell him it’s not possible. It’s his punishment for not inviting Ajay Macaroni for the F1 race”

“The asshole also wants us to talk to the oil companies. How would I tell him that the oil firms are by themselves asking for a bail out!” Kamal was in mood to forgive.

“Please don’t do any such thing now. Mom-ta has already issued a post dated threat. Let’s not take chances.”

“But it’s unfair how you lobby against the southie business men. Would you have done the same to Armanis or Irlas?” PC was always vocal about the way step child treatment often meted out to men from south.

“Arre chod yaar. Chal Mithaai lele” (Oh leave all this, have some sweet) Ravi of Vayalar tried to bring in some cheer.

“What’s this for Ravi baby?” SG enquired unassumingly.

“Arre, Anthony opened his mouth on something of national importance after a full one year. He gave a tit-for-tat to Omar Abdullah the other day. It’s another thing that he was barely audible in all that lunch hour noise in the canteen”

SG couldn’t believe it. “Really, and where is our poster boy?”

I don’t know. I send him a meeting invite & his out of office reply read;

“Leave me to myself please. Let me celebrate this special day with his close family & local priests

Luv

Anthony”

Chapter 10 - Commies, AFSPA & the rich indian dogs

2011-10-31T21:41:00.000+05:30

“Sir...” a visibly disturbed PC came barging into Man-Singh’s chamber. Obviously, something was not right.

“...this Mani Iyer is with us or with them?” he stopped to wipe the oil dripping through his side-locks.

“Them who?” Mansigh asked, removing a dusty blue file from his shelf.

“Commies. He talks like a commie socialist. He has gone ahead and announced that our PR department is as outdated as its premier. That everything that’s going wrong starting from Hisar to 2G is all due to a terrible PR team. He has also called the F1 race a vulgar event. Mallya blasted me on the phone when I called for a copy of KF calendar”.

“But isn’t he right? I think F1 thingie stretched it too far. 600,000 litres of subisdized fuel burnt in 3 hours PC!”

“Sir! Don’t say that.”

“Alright leave all that. Tell me this AFSPA thingie, I was going through old files. What exactly is this?”

“oho... you cant remember anything other than GDP percentages right? AFSPA is this little trick that we came up with when we couldn’t handle the public in a few states. You know, one of those pick-up & drop service for the junta. We pick them up and drop them dead. No questions asked.”

“So what’s the deal now? Why is Anthony mum on this?”

“When was the last time Anthony opened his mouth on anything of national interest? Except when he had to declare his assets? Sir that guy is useless. And he is scared of the Pathans. Too tall for him”

“I don’t understand”, Mansingh frowned

“Oye you don’t have to Paaji. Leave it to me. They will walk over your dead body, but will not have it retracted from anywhere.”

“My dead body?”

“Never mind. Did you talk to Mukesh Armani? He was very upset yesterday.”

“Why?” ManSingh had not logged into Twitter or Facebook for a long time. He hasn’t seen updates from his peers for a long time.

“Uff... The new richest dogs list does not have his pet’s name in it. And what’s more he himself has lost a few billion dollars this year”

“Yea? Really. Man, that’s right. I have notifications pending on Facebook”.

Search for #richdogsupset on Twitter. You will see a whale of tweets about our mates.

Chapter 9 - RTI Expanding Horizon

2011-10-15T13:28:00.003+05:30

"SG, How are you feeling now?", Mansingh enquired, the despair on his face bright as his blue turban.

"I am okay. Why do yöu ask?" S.G was upset & her retort echoed anger. She has been having a tough time covering up for the old man ever since she took her flight for a holiday in the United States a few months ago. He has fumbled on various counts and put her in a spot in more than one occassions in the recent past. That's when she set up a 3 member team, Anthony a part of that, to see if they could advise this guy out of his nonsensical reactions. Anthony, as usual forgot his brief and was found roaming among the Siachen belts 3 days later. Dug Vijay, the loyal canis, barked Junior Junior throughout, though no one cared.

"You replace me with Junior SG. Maybe I am incompetent" an apologetic Singh.

S.G was as all set to straight talk, "Your incompetency is incontestable Man Singh. No questions there. But so is Junior's incompetency. And that, my friend, is what is worrying me. I need a leader who can lead"

Pranab rushes in yelling "Man Singh! You opened your mouth on RTI yesterday?"

"What do you mean?"
Man Singh always hated Pranab. Not for anything else but his accent. But then who is complaining!

"Arre, you announced to the whole world that it's time to curtail RTI act in a conference that was apparently titled Expandig Horizon?. What's wrong with you zany old man?"

Man Sigh shed his excusatory self and riposted "Alright, before you start hopping Bengali, let's iron out a few things here. One - I am not an old man. Two - It was your friend Ratan who was after my life to put a stop the amount of requests coming in from the Junta! He called me and complained that his agents were feeling "locked up". Therefore if you have an issue with what I spoke of yesterday, go ask your friend. I am fed up being pushed around by this fucked up bully bunch.Mongrels! " ManSingh dropped his ass on the wide wooden chair next to SG.

S.G wasincuplative "Mansigh mind your tongue! This is not a WTO conference room. Junior is sleeping"

ManSingh "Meow"

"Pranab, have you done enough?" SG asked the trouble-maker-turned-shooter.

"Ha yes..kind of.. I convinced both Timeless Now &MDTV to cover more of Ind-England cricket. Fortunately, we won yesterday. But saale, not next time eh!", his eyes fixed on ManSingh.

Singhtales - Chapter 8 - The Free Speech

2011-08-16T15:15:00.003+05:30

Man Singh was accompanied by two men in tuxedos as he climbed the stairs to the qila. They were holding an umbrella for him. Ever since the IB informed them about right-wing extremists plotting an acid rain attack on the premier, Man Singh's security agency has been working overtime. They had even announced a cash-reward program for anyone who could stop rains from falling. A farmer association has blamed the current drought in Northern parts of the country on this experiment. Sibal re-tweeted the allegations with an ROTFL!

"Papa... Papa... Mujhe bhi dekhna hai" A child in the crowd was tucking at his dad's trousers. The man nudged his wife to attend the child. The woman obliged. Every year this day, thousands of people assemble at the qila to listen to the premier's speech. "Mummy, woh uncle chaatha apne se kyu nahi pakadta?" (Mummy, why can't that uncle hold the umbrella for himself?). The mother made a futile attempt to explain the country's feudal culture and the prevailing protocols. The child was fast asleep by the time she ended.

Man Singh entered the bullet-proof cubicle & prodded at the mike to test the sound. He cleared his throat to start.

"Hey guys & girls... what's up? All wet and all eh?"

The crowd gave out a roar in unison.

"Alright, so like always, we are all here once again to mull over the idea of independence. But this time gentlemen, let me remind you all of a profound thought that struck me last night while having butter chicken. Freedom, as we all must know, is a very notional thing. Let me explain. Nobody is free yet, in this country. Not you. Not me. We are all fighting for it. In the late eighties when we got rid of the license raj, I had assumed that independence had arrived. 20 years hence, I am still struggling to get rid of the filthy farmers who are annoyingly adamant when it comes to selling their land. All my life, I have worked towards making this country a better place for me my friends & their family. I have always dreamed of a land where every 4 miles we have a shopping mall & every shopping mall has many MacDonalds & TESCO's in it. I have dreamt of a country where nuclear plants would replace petrol pumps & everything that can be mined will be mined. I wanted to lay highways deep into the forests & get all those animals dumped into cages made of Ratan's steel. I wanted to ensure that all the water was channeled back to the city's water tanks. I wanted to set up multi-speciality hospitals so that none of those filths begging on our streets & living in those shanties ever get treated - that they all die before their age & thereby free us of the torture. I have dreamt of a country where you, me & our-kinda people are only present, shopping & drinking all through the day & night. So to cut the big-story short, I want all of you to go back to your offices and pay no heed to the civil society dogs & lawyer bats. They are only here to pull down everything that we have dreamed about so far. None of them understands business. Not one. They are all here to drag us back into perpetual poverty & what freedom are we talking about when we can't get rid of these moralist bedbugs? Let's eliminate them with my friend's pesticide solution. Let's tell the world that we are ready to take them head on. Raise your fists & shout - United we stand & United we sell. Jai Banana Republic!"

The crowd roared in unison once again.

* All conversations above are imaginary. If that helps.

Singhtales - Chapter 7 - That Closed room meeting & that buck stopping there

2011-07-23T16:51:00.002+05:30

"Sir. You have a knack for spotting things early in life." PC was starting a conversation as he obsequiously passed on the wet towel to his boss.

Man Singh wiped his face & looked around for his spectacles. Ever since he was proclaimed as the poster boy of this group, PC has been living a quarter of his day near Man Singh's bottoms.

"What spotting things?"

"Arre two months after your Africa trip & Ratan has already set up a factory there. Too good you are sir. Too good"

"Haha. Not this time man. Ratan already had plans, even before I left. It's just a coincidence."

Man Singh sat down looking at the new FDI recommendation.

"Oh 51% is where we are closing finally? eh?" A beguiled smile stuck to his face as he looked at Pran.

Pran nodded his head vertically. "That's right. Come what may,Juntapal gets tabled or not, but this recommendation will find its way to approval this monsoon"

"Oh that reminds me. Monsoon is weak this year." Man Singh was pulling out a blue folder from under his table.

PC rallied to reply "When was Monsoon ever strong? Not since I can remember".

"Whatever..." Man Singh laid open the blue folder on his table as Pran adjusted his glasses to read. "....This is that Monsanto guy's proposal. The latest invention is a genetic crop that is designed to survive droughts..floods.. all that rubbish. Killer one this is. Lots of money. The next 5 years are very critical. And Monsanto has promised to buy out a few guys from the Left & the Fanatic Right if we can get this through. I had a two hour call with this guy, the Exim bank chap & World bank guys yesterday night. They are all thrilled. Time for second green revolution boys. This time it has a lot of glamour to it."

Pran looked convinced. "Good that you moved Ramesh out. Jayanti is a lot more open to things. And SG's word his her final word. Such a sweetheart. We are in for some fun eh. Good job Man. At this age too, you put the Armani's to shame with your business acumen."

"Gods are with us too. This blast couldn't have come at a better time. The whole country is now worried again about tiffin bombs & the rest." PC giggled

"But PC, I need a way to get this Apex guys around now. they are putting too much pressure on my boys - Cash for Votes is not a scandal for God's sake. That's a reality in the country. Yet the bastards wake up every two days for updates. I need to bring back our guy from UP to get these morons to shut the fuck up. Throw money, in whatever currency, but tell them no more pulling up."

PC nodded in agreement.

The tri-party meeting was reported later in the evening on MDTV. The anchor, an old hand at screeching on screen alerted her audience.

"Sources close to MDTV has told us that Man Sigh met up with PC & Pran at his office earlier in the day to deliberate on the issues at hand. It is believed that the premier was very worried about the growing corruption and had passed on his displeasure and concern to his best lieutenants. He also asked PC to ensure that all bottlenecks in Intelligence sharing needs to be sorted out and encouraged to have a dialogue with the heads of states.

We ask our viewers - Are Dialogues enough? For how long do we live in fear? SMS your response by typing MDTV and send it to 56263. Because the buck stops here!"

Singhtales - Chapter 6 - That press meet & that permit raj

2011-07-02T10:16:00.009+05:30

The AIR(less) guy was furious. He had to submit a report to his radio’s editor before noon. “I sometimes feel this guy is too filmy for his age. Or is he just being an elitist’s stooge? What’s this drama of calling newspaper guys first and TV guys second? Why no radio?”

The cop near the gate gave him a stern look as the Honda Accord passed by & Man Singh stepped out. It was the briefing day. Strangely none of his colleagues bothered to be around except Janardhan Doublevedi. They rushed into the hallway, highly aware of the predator class of journo closing in.

“Hey, all of you... What’s up?” Man Singh greets the editors lined up across his table.

“No... No...sit...sit” Doublevedi fluttered his hands at an obsequious editor from the Timepass of India group.

Singh cleared his throat to start, “Alright quickly – My take on all this gibberish is this – We are at a stage wherein the market is quoting unheard of prices for everything that’s Indian. It took me 40 years to reach here. And these disparaging efforts by the civil society, their support group of intellectuals & all the other ass-holes out there are only hurting this business. I had a video call with the new IMF chief yesterday & she was sneering at me for not being able to contain you chaps. Where have all the loyalty gone guys? Who has not paid you money?”

His eyes fell on Ramlaxman from The Hindu.

“Oops, he was here too?” Singh looked accusingly at Doublevedi.

Ramlaxman got up, pulling out a copy of Stuffed & Starved that was tucked neatly into his newly polished leather bag. “Sir you would have heard about this book by now & in the interest of the whole group sitting here, I will read out a page from this book. I hope that’s okay with everyone.”

The group did not react.

Mansingh was unaware of what was coming, so he warned

“Not more than 2 mins Ram. This is not a book-reading session. Hope you understand that”.

Ram began with a section titled “The Knowledge Initiative”

...In 2005, Indian PM Man Singh visited the United States and with a version of history tucked into his back-pocket, offered his vision of the future: “We owe our Green revolution to America. Now is the time to herald a second round of Green revolution with America’s assistance”...

[A step back in history]

...Nehru died of a heart attack in may 1964 & when Shastri inherited this country, it was on the brink of starvation. Food riots flared across the country in ’64 & ’65. The protests were seen in US as a sign of India’s dogged resistance.

Sooner when Shastri voiced his disapproval of the Vietnam bombing, the Johnson administration interpreted it as a sign linking India’s slide towards communism. He had to instil discipline & so stalled PL-480 food contract, shifting the approval of food aid away from an annual basis to a month on month basis. By systematically withholding a guarantee of food-aid supply, the US held a knife to the Indian Government’s throat.

But the US also offered an inducement.

If Shastri did not pursue the thought of land distribution & proved more amenable, US would help India with “technological aid”.

NYT report of ‘65– To prod the developing countries in the right direction...India is already being told, for instance, that loans and grants from the Agency for International Development for economic development will depend on the amount of foreign exchange she sets aside each year for fertilizer imports or the equivalent in the new fertilizer plants.”

With Orville Freeman pushing the interests of US fertilizer industry, with India being held hostage by US food aid shipments, and with the choices for social reform effectively blocked by an Indian Congress unwilling to entertain them, the Green revolution began.

To the extent that these are the circumstances under which it can be said that “We owe our green revolution to America”, PM Mansigh did not mis-speak.

Ram, took a deep breath, tucked the book back into his leather bag, cleared his throat & took in two sips of Himalayan mineral water to pop a question;

“Sir, in ’65 also the country was revolting like the way you are seeing now, albeit for a different but a not so different reason. So the mention of BUSINESS in the brief you gave us awhile ago is similar in nature? Are we under pressure from someone?”

Mansingh, prodded by Doublevedi from under the table, woke up& raised his eyes to answer

“Excuse me. Can you repeat the question?”

The press meet was over.

Singhtales - Chapter 5 - LKG Basin, bugs & that phone call

2011-06-23T23:01:00.006+05:30

"I have had enough. After budging to all her demands and covering up for her dead husband's antics this is what i get?" Man Singh was furious beyond imagination. This was a first for Kamal. He had never seen his hero losing his cool like this. Man Singh to him was a symbol of composure. Dhoni would only come second.

"May be SG is not aware sir" Kamal attempted to console.

"What not aware. If Dug Vijay thinks junior Rajiv is ready to lead, that has certainly come from her. Everyone knows that Dug Vijay is her loose tongue" Anthony chipped in his bit. Man Singh walked out to take a leak. Thats what anger did to him always - put pressure on his bladder.

"Abbe Mallu saale... keep quiet yaar. This adding fuel to fire business you grew up with will land you in trouble" PC hated anthony's bitching instincts.

"By the way this new LKG basin scam could put Singh in big trouble. Infact all of us. Why cant these buggers just go back home and fuck their wives?" Deora was careful to keep his voice down. In times when even Mukherjee could be bugged, secrecy was always a luxury.

"Mind your tongue Deo". Ambika took serious offence in his choice of words."Women are not the object of your luscious minds. Dare you use that language when I am around".

"Oops next time I will make sure you are not around soniye.." Deo winked while AS cringed in disgust.

Azad sensed the failing moods and took the conversation Southwards. "Now Deeyemkay wants Singh to be covered under juntapal. That madrasi bugger is using this to avenge for whatevermozhi."

"Arre FREE boy.." Sibal paused to pick up his tea. He often took digs at Azad and was amused at the irony of how someone who headed a state that cried for Azadi all the time was himself named Azad. Sibal often argued that his party's problem northward was two pronged. Azad Kashmir and Azad in Kashmir!

He continued, "That old goggled jerk is not a threat anymore. Amma from south is pretty much in the thick of things. I was there when she met Man Singh. This will work out"

"Bull." PC couldn't take that lying down. So he got up tightened his mundu and continued "Over my dead body if it works out...She wants me out and that's not fair. Who in this country has not committed election fraud? Keep her away. I am warning all of you".

Anthony shooed away a bird chirping in tune from near the window.

It fluttered it's wings & settled near the exhaust window of the washroom, peeking in curiously.
In one corner, Singh was on his BB curve trying to calm down a furious Mukesh Armani.
"Hush hush. All is well." The water pipe was running in full swing.

Singh Tales - Chapter 4 - Pran on the front foot & that shaitan in you

2011-06-13T23:56:00.008+05:30

"Pran da. Yuvar retort has been super. Junta now truly believes that anna & team are a political gimmick" Anthony was all praise for Mukherjee's counter attack.

"Dude. I have spent quite a lot of money to get the tv guys to cover that yoga ass. He saved us. The middle class has started watching roadies again!" Mukherjee stretched his hands out for a cup of coffee.

"But Dug-Vijay Singh has lost it. I am fed up with his mindless rhetoric" PC was vehemently campaigning for Dug-Vijay's suspension ever since he rubbed him off on operation green grass hunt.

"Chill madrasi Chill. By the way Man Singh had his heart in his mouth when anna asked 'em to include him under Juntapal. Imagine... Raja would appear a minnow before our old man's might"
Anthony had a way of putting things bluntly without the necessary polish. Travails of a small town schooling.

"Next time you utter something like that we will declare a war at the border and feed you to those media morons" Mukherjee gave out a stern warning, obviously pissed at anthony's dig on Man Singh.

Sibal intervened, "Okay guys. Calm down. We are all a bit worked up these days. Anyone for Shaitan? I have managed a pirated copy"

Azad set up the projector and PC ordered for Beer.

Anthony was all into Kalkis cleavage after 2mugs. Sunday afternoon was spent in style.

Singh Tales - Chapter 3 - Africa, Sadhu & the clean chit

2011-06-10T22:08:00.001+05:30

The exhaustion from a jetlag was apparent on Man Singh's face. The enthusiasm wouldn't wither though. "Guys, Africa is THE place. My trip this time is gonna bring in a whole lot of money for all of us"

"Us? " Mukherjee wasn't too pleased with Singh's choice of words.

"Well if we should keep you out of this, that's fine" Singh winked at Kamal with a little shrug of his shoulder. Kamal liked that. His hero was in a jolly good mood. At this age too.. he thought.

"That's not the point Singh. We never say 'us' anytime. It's for the junta. All the money we make are for the junta. That's how it should be" conscience spoke for Mukherjee.

"Hell with all that Mukheee. The point is, Africa is just too important to be ignored. I was only dreaming about mines and quarry during my time there. We could just maa-behen that country you know...and mint money. you have NO IDEA!"

"Have we informed the Dosco's & the LEDANTA's about it?" PC pitched in. He was a man of principles.He had been strictly instructed by his ex-employers to allow them the first right of refusal, whatever & wherever the deals that are struck. He just couldn't forget his roots.

But then so was Man Singh. South Commission ten years ago, was not a joke.

"Yes PC. I had talked to them over the phone twice. The Americans & the Russians are all fighting for the same pie. It's going to be tough."

"As long as the americans get it, it's fine. Russians are dicey." Junior Rajiv walked in with his two bits.

"Hold onto this Africa business forawhile please. What do we do with that Sadhu guy? He has gone back on the word." Kapil was under too much stress playing the middleman. The media guys were chasing him for every word, spoken & unspoken.

"I agree" Junior Rajiv continued. "This aam-aadmi rhetoric is my monopoly. That Anna & Sadhu are just hijacking all that I have created. Can't we get them under the sedition act?"

"Sir. Please!!!! Sedition is not something you fight with, everytime someone opens their mouth. Please think before you talk. Please!!!" Kapil was angry. He always admired senior Rajiv. This junior chap is way too stupid to be his son. But then SG is arrogant & adamant to get this chap through. The future looked bleak but there was little that Kapil could do.

"PC. Cant we bring in the force here?" Man Singh.

"Leave it to me sir. I will bring that pandal down tonight." PC could hardly hide the vehement grin.

"By the way GATA's have been given a clean chit by the CBI? Ratan had called to thank, while I was in Africa"

"Oh yes. Infact, there are too many scam stories floating around that even the Apex guys are confused which one to monitor. Cheers" Anthony lifted his toast.

So did everyone.

Singhtales - Chapter 2 - The lawyer duo, juntapal & a radical idea

2011-04-22T14:02:00.004+05:30

ManSingh looked worried. He hadn’t changed his turban in 3 days.

"What’s keeping you awake, sir?”, shoots PC feigning concern. Singh refused to react and walked past to pick up his tea - his third in the last one hour.

Mukherjee looked at PC and gave his head a slow horizontal nod.

“Did that mean shut the fuck up?”
PC thought to himself.

Man Singh could not keep his head straight. The stomach was growling too. He left the room excusing the crowd and Sibal came to life. “He is worried because SG is not too happy about this smear campaign.”

“But then it’s her friends who wanted us to attack the Lawyer duo.” Kamal was not too appreciative about SG’s change in stance. He has always loved Man Singh beyond human comprehension. He would sometimes see his father, at times elder brother and other times his helpful senior at IIM in Man Singh.

PC dug deeper, “You see, things should not be too blatant as it is now. Usually Times and Express come up with fairly credible character assassinations. It has never been so blatant. That’s the tactic. Once when I met Bhaskar over a drink he had mentioned the basic rule of CAT (character assassination tricks). Pick up one odd incident from the past and plaster that on your front page. By the time one can judge the veracity of the news the damage would be done and you would have polarised the junta. Somehow that’s not the way it is this time.”

“True that’s how it should have been but these guys Roy, Shekhar & Bhaskar are getting a little too pricey these days. They think they are the lords of forgery. That chap Rajdeep is a little better.” Kamal complained.

Man Singh comes out yelling,

“What’s with this Sena now? Is it my problem that Fukushima tanked? And whatever happens in Japan does not happen in India. They got their first mobile phone in 1979. We got it 20 years later. So by that logic no earth-quake in India for 20 years”.

Kamal's eyes glowed in respect and awe. Singh was always a man of logic, he thought in his mind as his hero went on,

“...and 20 years hence, would you be alive? Would I be? So what’s the issue here? That French chap is writing me stinkers yaar.” Singh flashes his Blackberry-with-an-odd-curve.

“Oh paaji chill”. Ahluwalia bent to pick up his hand-kerchief, and continued, “I talked to the Sena chap & that Patil too. It’s a plot. We had to pay up UT quite a lot, for him to endorse the cause. It is widely believed and rightly so, that if UT picks up a cause it has to inevitably lose. So Sena will throw a few stones & Patil has asked the commissioner to shed some khaki blood to get things going. The junta there are busy figuring out a leader now. Hahaha” a gust of bad breath hit Mukherjee on his face.

SG walks in for a work-in-progress update. “Man Singh, did that chap Basu submit the paper on Bribe?”

“Yeah. I will forward that to you. It’s a small but radical idea that he has suggested. Thinking-chap he is. Kamal I want you to go through that and study it in detail. It makes a lot of sense. Given that I need to get Goenka & that ADAG guy out, this looks like a saver”

PC was lost in the conversation “Is this something I need to know?” , whispers into Mukherjee’s ears.

“Oh we are just legalising bribery. That Economic Adviser chap has proposed a working paper on how to go about it”

“What?” PC’s holler disturbed SG.

“Tichh..” She reacted swiftly, her finger to her lips.

Footnote

All the conversations above are imaginary. If that helps.

Oh by the way the link to Cheif Economic Adviser's working paper on legalising bribe is
http://www.thehindu.com/opinion/columns/sainath/article1712689.ece?homepage=true
Sainath's article on the same is

http://www.thehindu.com/opinion/columns/sainath/article1712689.ece?homepage=true

Singhtales - Chapter 1 - World cup semi-final & that minor quake

2011-03-29T10:35:00.006+05:30

Mr Man Singh has a wide grin on his face these days. Dhoni has saved his ass.
The cash for votes scandal and anti-Jaitapur power plant protests have shrunken in news, each finding the other in the 3rd or 5th page of the morning daily. Even Jaitley sahab is busy betting on akthar's chances of playing in the semis. Things are shoved beyond the farthest memory of the junta, and Singh lets out an air of relief secretively from god-know-where as he shares a joke on Berlusconi with a visibly serene SG.

"Italy is THE place to be", PC throws one from behind. The protrusion in his mundu is just a coincidence. Mukherjee though isn't convinced. "World-cup will end soon. Then?"
PC runs his fingers through his oiled hair. "IPL! I was thinking of cooking up a bomb threat and shifting it to Pattaya.". The protrusion on his mundu is still a coincidence.

Singh also chips in, " Ratan had dropped in yesterday. Productivity had gone for a toss, he says. People are all glued to TV and work isn't happening". He gulps in a black-cat-approved glass of water and continue, "Thats good for us. Junta would be too stuffed with backlog work once this is over".

Sibal walks in with a lost look on his face. "I misplaced a 2G file it seems."

Singh reminisces the ex-telco guy. "He was a sweet chap. Went sour with all that money around him. I had an anonymous caller sounding like Jaya warning me that this guy would soon be hanging on a ceiling".

"LOL" SG borrows a Gen Y response code. "Whats with all that knee jerk?" she looks accusingly at PC.

"It's not what u think it is. I guess this is an earthquake". PC cries out, sweat beginning to mix up with his nasty hair-oil.

SG vanishes in a whim. So does the rest. Singh is left behind. Old age perils.

* All the conversations are imaginary. If that helps.

Goose chase that life is

2011-03-28T05:30:00.000+05:30

Is there a better metaphor to this mad race than the sea? One wave eating up the other in a wild roaring chase and that moment of valour is overrun by a wilder one not too far behind? Your celebration of a notional conquer is doused by another that's equally futile. By the shore as i stand, i can't help but pity the bloody rush awaiting me in the city.

Short Story - Ripples in the Water

2011-03-21T11:27:00.000+05:30

Long ago, there was this boy, cheerful & jolly and all he wanted to do was just play cricket. Take that stickered bat, hold it tight and loft the ball high above the boundary for a huge six. He dreamt of a crowd roaring & cheering for him from the stadium -one of them his girlfriend, who seemed to clap till time eternity. It was a simple dream with a happy ending all the time, but dreams alone don’t take anyone anywhere. Do they? Many years later he would remember with shame his inability to hit a six ever in his life. Those arms were just too weak, or those boys around him were just too big for him. All that he could manage once on the big ground was a flick on the leg side & the pace in the ball carried it to the boundary – quite easily. But a six would never come.

Somewhere in the course of those playing days he realised that this little dream would forever be beyond reach & so he moved on. Thereafter every time someone called him out to the pitch, he would refuse to join in. “That game is just too silly man” and he would walk away not giving the boys a chance to tease him.

This was school. By the time it ended he just didn’t know what to do. School was peculiar. It kept him in a gated compound where he could just hang around with his set of friends, throw a secret stare at his girlfriend, pass letters in a book, bask in the glory of punishments, discuss about adventures of college life as seen through the lives of an elder brother or neighbour, so on and so forth.

When it all ended, he was asked to step out of those closed gates and he found it scary. Those people outside were new & they sounded rude.

“Your academics won’t help you much. You should be heading to that local science college in the town”. Voices around him would sigh & the dejection in the air was unbearable. The local science college sounded like a grim dark corner of an otherwise beautiful world. He was just too scared to accept that fate. That’s when he wrote an exam like many of his friends did. The results came & he managed a seat in a far away engineering college – thanks partially to his caste. “Bud, that place you are talking about is on top of a hill. It’s one of the oldest colleges in the state. Huge campus & I have heard all good things about this one. You are set to take off man. Mechanical division there, I heard is the best”, voices around him were all praise for this new turn in his life.

He felt proud & was dreaming again about growing up into this one tough guy who could take the world head on.

College came and with it friends. Some of them are still around. Very often and many years after college, they would all chat and reminisce – about the first bike, adventure trips, late night drinking, bankrupt Sundays, girlfriends & their friends, bunking lectures, tryst with the local goons, stupid mistakes of a roommate. The list would never end. The fact is that his college was just like any other college and his friends like any other friends. All those things that he did were nothing new. Yet he relished all of it. This was his life & he seemed to be in control.

And from one dark turn in that memory lane would emerge an old plan. One that was made over a coffee-break with a friend whose contact he lost long ago. These guys didn’t want to complicate their lives. So they just wanted to set up a state of art mechanic shop, in the port city – where the best cars in the world would come for repair. They would discuss endlessly about the technology, the unique idea that seemed to have struck only them and nobody else (thankfully!) and the deliberations would go on till the coffee shop shut. The idea was to lead a simple life, where you did what you wanted to do. But they didn’t discuss this again after that night.

One day college got over. Four years had passed & all that he managed was a few friends who would stay on with him for the rest of his life.

“Is that all you are carrying home after so long? One bag?” Voices at home couldn’t hide their surprise and disgust. But that’s all he had. He had to sell his old, battered, unheard-of cell phone to buy a ticket back home.

Two months at home & sound of disgruntlement was loud and clear. It was time to make money, stand on your feet and give it back to the ones who provided for you all this while. He was scared again, though he would barely make it evident.

So he travelled to the city far away, where everyone went hunting for a job. The world was just too crowded for him, he would soon realise & the interviews just too complicated to crack. Gradually he was beginning to see life as it is. There was this big bad world with a whole lot of people in it and everyone wanted a job. He was the good guy, timid and silent and such people had no place in the world, he thought. So in his unwritten autobiography, he made himself into a hero who would inevitably meet a tragic end in the end like Jesus Christ.

That’s when he struck with a friend who wanted to make a movie. The movie was about an unbearable angst that was eating up a young unemployed guy. He cried the night he wrote the climax. He felt the movie would take him places. His friend and he, they thought were certainly a band apart - just too important to be caught in the quotidian commute of life. The movie was never made. It died soon after the opening scenes were shot. The friend who promised to fund it, would scream and scowl at the two’s lethargy.

Thus life went on. He went to a college again, in a different city that by itself was on top of a hill. More friends, more fun & then one day he found himself working in a place that he thought would be the most exciting of all offices. He met this woman in the city and spent time with her, day in and day out. Many movies, theatre & drinks later, they married, an event solemnised by friends and family. The chase behind a good life has been steadfast since then.

Later one day, as he leaned onto his parapet breathing in the dusty odour of a mid-summer drizzle, he spotted children playing cricket in a makeshift park beneath. Two of them were chasing a ball, determined to save it from taking the boundary. He glanced at the boy holding the bat. The ball eventually braved the resolute chase & crossed the imaginary rope. The boy with the bat, he noticed, glinted at him with joy. He clapped and smiled back at the little guy.

Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us
To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side
Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again
Dragged by the force of some inner tide
At a higher altitude with flag unfurled
We reached the dizzy heights of that dreamed up world

The Road

2011-03-20T18:05:00.001+05:30

As my driver turns left from the busy corner and steers down FC road I feel unsettled. I can only see my past. The cigarette shop, breakfast at vaishali, goodluck biryani, beautiful women too haughty to return your glances, the bench by the road, a bike that ran out of fuel... They are all here still. Intact and living out another day.

It's just that i am not part of it anymore and they have comfortably become somebody else's story.

I lose them all in a snap when my driver honks furiously at a reckless biker boy. Sigh.

I am on this side of the glass window now, yearning to touch and merge with those colors again only to forfeit my wishes to a ruthless reminder that all what is flashing on the road is PAST.

Are they teasing me for all the tall claims I made on top of a run down kinetic years ago? Do they miss me the way i miss them?

Bluewater line & me.

2011-03-08T21:18:00.006+05:30

The burning ball has lost its sheen. It's sinking fast and lets out a grim warning with every descent. I will take the blue water line along with me, it says. It will vanish and you will row till the end of nowhere, it shouts. I feel threatened. The good life as promised is beyond the blue water line...a home...2 cars... happy wife...insured folks...peace...

I am rowing with all my might. My old man is calling out from the shore.. Come back son, he cries. I ignore and row faster. It's for all their good, i reassure a wandering mind. The ball is inches away from water..

The blue water line has vanished long ago, yet i hope that it's there. Row against time, my hands oblige. Am i losing sight? I prod my mind..refusing to accept the darkness.

Will i get a chance again?

I cant hear my old man's cry anymore.

Have i come too far? Will the blue water line ever be back?

I am lost in the vastness of the night. A blot in the mid-sea.

Is the blue water line for real?

I await the dawn, ready to play the joker again.

The sound of silence is shredding my wits.

Copyright vs. Copyleft

2011-02-24T00:38:00.000+05:30

...the primary beneficiaries of this new system of knowledge ownership were publishers, since all authors assigned their copyright to the publishers before publication. The concept of the modern proprietary author simply created a useful euphemism for protecting the rights of publishing companies to copy...

read the full article

Shortest Story - Khanabadosh

2011-02-20T14:17:00.003+05:30

The digital screen at the corridor was flashing one of east asia's numerological reservations - 4 it claimed, was an unlucky number. A good birthday reminder, Nanda mocked at the coincidence.

Chaira had not rang up yet and he was growing increasingly impatient. The canteen boy passed by with an amused look on his face. Am i givin it away? Nanda wondered not noticing the man near the stairs who has been keenly observing him.

Shard had promised his son a trip to Brahmakand today and his annoyance at the plan not working out was apparent on his face. Will this man make a move soon? He wondered while carefully staying out of Nanda's sight. He admired the way Nanda was fiddling with his phone.

A distant memory of Das teasing him with a drumstick in her kitchen brougt a smile on Shard's face. He often wished if they could have continued with the affair a little longer. Notwithstanding the wanton temptations, Das had soon left him to get back with her husband. Lucky bastard. Shard cursed, his gaze fleetingly chasing a pigeon.

Change is Constant - the new best seller at the upmarket store was displayed in a full length standee with it's Indian american author posing to the shutter eye with a polished elegant glee.

Nanda's phone rang to interrupt.

"Yea. Right infront.. yeah..I can't see you.. Alright now i can." Nanda began to walk quickly towards the cafe at the north end.

Shard scanned around for the caller's face. The CD vendor on the pavement shouted out the latest release to him. Khanabadosh...starring Khamir Hans..

Nanda was now shaking hands with the woman. Shard zoomed in from the raised platform near the jewellery store. She wore a deep necked top. Teasingly revealing. He clicked in succession - all showing the woman's face clearly. She must be in her mid-thirties, he thought. The clock was showing quarter to two. He picked up the bag and turned around. The CD vendor called out again. A new adult movie was selling like hot cake, he claimed.

Shard deposited the roll in the unused bin at the turn of the exit. Later, while on his ride back home he received a call confirming the receipt. Samar was alseep when he reached home. The maid wanted to leave for the evening procession. He saw her off till the door and returned to the couch by the TV. The doorbell woke him up. Samar was calling out from inside while he checked the amount on the cheque.

"Papa, has the match started?".

The note with the cheque read "Thankyou. Das."

Scenes from a Marriage - Ch.1 - Facebook

2011-02-19T15:51:00.002+05:30

Shortest Story

2010-09-08T18:52:00.001+05:30

"One full circle, that's what it is. From a city of dreams to a city that gave you no time to dream at all. I was intimidated by the sight of this city when I landed here. Just about everything was new to me - lit up malls - the people in it - the clothes they wore - the language they spoke - the richness - the proximity of slums - the lack of regard - the lack of space - just about everything. I was in no mood to go back though. So I stayed on. Roamed around the city, signed up for online meet-ups, spent time in public parks, drove by the beach, tasted street food, wrote & read stories, looked for flings, jerked off when I couldn't find one, cried when I was alone, binged at a makeshift bar to get over a self inflicted imaginary sorrow, received my friends, showed them around the city, drank with them, found a job, hated it yet stayed on, got defensive about staying on, found a woman, drank with her, argued over beer & rum, slept with her & married her. From the state of being intimidated to a state where this feeling of an incredible emptiness is seething within. Is it the emptiness of not having achieved something that was never clearly defined in the first place? Still figuring. Maybe I am still seeking - seeking what? Do not ask. I am seeking though. Like a friend said, Man's unending quest for meaning - Quit while you are ahead. Quit I did."

Venu was in full mood yesterday. He is leaving tomorrow.

Ministry of Truth?

2010-08-24T22:06:00.007+05:30

VPRO International's - Google - Behind the screen is trying to put different perspectives in place while deliberating on the ethics of information sharing & documentation. An extremely important & relevant documentary on how information is getting into private hands and an impending threat this poses in pushing us towards an Orwellian Society.

The 45 minute feature provides arguments & counter-arguments about both the business & philanthropic intentions of a private firm in it's attempt to gain monopoly over public information.

Google has 42% market share in US & just about 99% in Spain. How good or bad is this?

VPRO International, often maintains an admirable sense of neutrality in most of it's features, whether it's about the prolonged US occupation in Afghanistan or when it is talking about the new face of Urban India in "I am Gurgaon".

In this one too, they wind up the whole event with a brief from Vint Cerf, the VP of Google trying to counter the allegations of being a BIG BROTHER followed by another one from Ian Brown, member Open Rights group, citing the risk of public consciousness being censored/manipulated. Essentially by doing this, the feature is allowing the viewer to decide for himself the good bad & the ugly side of Search Engines.

It also subtly tells you the business model that is being followed by Google & how organic results work besides a sneak-peek into the much talked about Google Campus!

Shortest Story

2010-03-11T00:50:00.006+05:30

One's self I sing, a simple separate person

- Walt Whitman

Every malnourished child in Kerala looked like me, that's what my mom thought. It's in the inward cheek, slender brittle frame & big head where she found this resemblance. I can't blame her. I am sure she wouldn't be enjoying this whole comparison thing herself. It's difficult on the mothers they say. Kind of questions their mothering abilities, which I too feel is a serious allegation - quite insensitive to someone who had spent a significant portion of her lifetime rolling chapattis for her son. Why are fathers not blamed for the stunted growth of their sons? One of the many faultlines in a patriarchal society maybe.

But beyond a point I dont get bothered by this anatomical scrutiny. Infact i've been more or less okay with this repeated exercise except for one thing ,which i found rather annoying. This time around, she was comparing me to an 11 year old kid in a popular reality show. He was a kid by all possible definitions! And I am 28! This chap was a generation apart from mine, attending reality shows & worse, crying in them -unlike me or any of my contemporaries in the 80's. Yet my mom spotted a similarity between us?? Isn't that an unfair way of looking at things? You can't compare Sachin to Bradman, they say! Plus this flimsy chap is growing up at a time when McDs and BGs are sprouting in every corner, like Milma outlets used to in olden days. (The former is high on fat, I have been told.)

I had voiced this complaint when she brought the whole thing up.
"Mama but he is just a kid.", my grouse.
She had an answer, "I am not saying he looks like you now. But I think he would grow up to become like you... and forget looks, he has this obnoxious way of talking, which reminds me of you". I gave up.

My thin frame had created me quite a lot of embarrassment in the past. I had been taken for the ticketless chap in trains, salesman in retail stores, receptionist at my office and what not.

Last winter, my girlfriend had to give up on her insistence on marrying me because I was not seemingly fit enough to be a husband. To prove it right, I had this health test when her dad came down, in which i failed miserably- (quite to her embarrassment more than mine).

The old man had asked me to carry his suitcase to the taxi that was waiting below. I slipped on the stairs while doing so, which did not go down quite well with him.

"How would he carry you when you fall sick?".Fairly good point he had there because his daughter was clearly and significatly heavier than that suitcase. In the event of a personal mishap, I wouldn't have delivered.

Her mom's concern was deeper.
"You can't be healthier than your man. It has to be the other way around in India".
That's again true. A majority of folks in this country have laid down various rules for their daughter's marriage. Weight is one. The groom has to essentially weigh more than the bride.

If it's the other way around, then he has to be super rich to qualify.

Some things money can only buy.

I faltered on all lines.

Finally, she gave up on her insistence and married an administrative chap in the home-ministry. He had a pot belly that gave him an obvious lead in the whole thing.

I was down and out for months that followed. Depression stemming from the sudden absence of sexual company. Life had lost it's meaning and I was growing a beard, barely visible from a yard's distance. My collegues would have their fingers pointed at my chin,

"Are you growing something there?"

I would nod yes, to which, they would amusingly reply,

"I thought so".

Growth has to be inclusive. This apply to just about everything - country and it's men alike. In my story &my country's, this has never been the case. And look at where we are now. I am not complaining.

Broken Images - Quick Review

2010-02-12T13:24:00.000+05:30

Karnad, through his latest work, is attempting an ingenuous inspection of the construed reality that we are all part of in a 'digitalised' world. The tweets, blogs or facebook status messages are (at it's best) mere symbols of a "wannabe ideaology" that we would want to portray to the outer world. The control is in the hands of the writer and in the context of a globalised world, for someone sitting in Turkey or UK, his Indian friend's identity is represented by his Twitter messages or Youtube videos. You shape your opinion about this person based on these virtual symbols he has created oft at his or her will and often half-representing the truth!

Broken Images, with Shabana Azmi in the lead, is an attempt to bring out this "wannabe" in all of us. It is a clash of identities in the life of the protagonist, who is caught between money fame and ethics.

How would then a world that is caught in the mayhem of 24x7 news channels & scripted reality shows respond to this reality, which has been the creation of the protagonist? It is juxtaposing the reality of real life as against the reality of reel-life.

Come to think of it, in this world that we live in, these two realities often blur into one another, distorting the credibility of the news/interview/cricket match/movie review we watch on TV. It's a world of half-baked news and half truth! The advent of blogs, social networking sites have only added to the noise around us!

The play is a must watch!

*****************************************************

Directed by Alyque Padamsee

Written by Girish Karnad

Shortest Story

2010-01-16T00:11:00.012+05:30

I looked at Taj Mahal with an unfathomable resentment. History says that over twenty-thousand workers and more than a thousand elephants were employed to set this up. Just imagine their plight – for nearly two decades they dug and drudged, carrying these super-heavy marbles that meant nothing - from over seven hunderd miles away. What a rogue this king would have been, putting the oft-extolled human compassion to shame? Did he do this out of grief? Really? Or out of some barbarous haughty pleasure? I felt a silent grudge growing within that was too menacing to contain. To hell with him and his symbol! Sharda nudged me to move ahead and permit her more space on the parapet that we were standing on.

“Click one with the dome in the background”, she said while passing the camera over.

“What’s with these backdrops anyway? Won’t you look any better without them?” The thought was amusing.

Her photo came out well though. She was looking good in the red shawl wrapped around her white top petting her faded blue jeans. Convinced, Sharda insisted that we should be clicking a snap together. It made me uneasy. I did not want my photo clicked with this flinty imperial monument behind us! Yet, I obliged. Out of regard for a holiday that couldn’t go wrong now? I sulked and blinked my eyes to the flash. Our holiday had just begun.