Saturday, 29 December 2012
IN MEMORY OF THE HERO WHO WOKE UP AN ENTIRE NATION, LEST WE FORGET
REST IN PEACE, 'CAUSE YOU HAVE MOVED ON TO A BETTER WORLD AND LEFT THE PREVIOUS ONE IN A BETTER SHAPE
Saturday, 22 December 2012
PLANET X-TINCT
NEW YEAR IS AT OUR DOORSTEP!
But sadly, one thing i miss is Planet X. Even its advertisements in the papers were a class apart. The ambiance, the food and of course the Go-kart, were Mysore's first. It prominently featured in many must-visit places of travelers lists. Of course the foreigners of the city, yoga enthusiasts and college students alike, flocked to its bowling alley and the games arcade. And the locals followed to oogle at them. The Hookah bar; man that was some place to be! Only couples were allowed. So it made complete sense if you could pass off your aunt as your girlfriend and just get in to experience the wist and whiff of aromatic hookah, gurgling scented water in the background.
The bar was the adda of many. My favorite, was how the menu and the orders were taken. It was via Blackberry and Kindle. To the Mylari dosa eating people of Mysore, this was something new. In fact many believed that the chef was a robot from Star Wars, a jedi warrior chopping up veggies and preparing soup.
The new year eve party was the best. The girls were totally worth the money. But all hands off the merchandise, 'cause Big Brother was watching. The bouncers at Planet X were as reputed as the place itself. Big muscular Sunny Deol copies, able to throw you up in the air so high, that you would land in the next year.
The guy who started it all, Panduranga Shenoy, was truly larger than life. My favorite was his red colored Mercedes. Plus his lavish lifestyle, which included going to South Africa with his staff. His gifts to the who's who of the city are well known. Too bad some got greedy and decided to draw first blood. Like a Go-Kart flipping out, the place got toned down. No bars, no hookahs. But still, the restaurant was definitely worth it. My favorite was the dessert, Apple Pie. It instantly transported me to the heavens, as if i was eating it off Nigella Lawson's fingers. OOOOH the feeling of the crust!
Finally, getting tired of the yet-to-be named Heritage City's bureaucracy, the place was shut down.
RIP Planet X. You will definitely be missed.
But sadly, one thing i miss is Planet X. Even its advertisements in the papers were a class apart. The ambiance, the food and of course the Go-kart, were Mysore's first. It prominently featured in many must-visit places of travelers lists. Of course the foreigners of the city, yoga enthusiasts and college students alike, flocked to its bowling alley and the games arcade. And the locals followed to oogle at them. The Hookah bar; man that was some place to be! Only couples were allowed. So it made complete sense if you could pass off your aunt as your girlfriend and just get in to experience the wist and whiff of aromatic hookah, gurgling scented water in the background.
The bar was the adda of many. My favorite, was how the menu and the orders were taken. It was via Blackberry and Kindle. To the Mylari dosa eating people of Mysore, this was something new. In fact many believed that the chef was a robot from Star Wars, a jedi warrior chopping up veggies and preparing soup.
The new year eve party was the best. The girls were totally worth the money. But all hands off the merchandise, 'cause Big Brother was watching. The bouncers at Planet X were as reputed as the place itself. Big muscular Sunny Deol copies, able to throw you up in the air so high, that you would land in the next year.
The guy who started it all, Panduranga Shenoy, was truly larger than life. My favorite was his red colored Mercedes. Plus his lavish lifestyle, which included going to South Africa with his staff. His gifts to the who's who of the city are well known. Too bad some got greedy and decided to draw first blood. Like a Go-Kart flipping out, the place got toned down. No bars, no hookahs. But still, the restaurant was definitely worth it. My favorite was the dessert, Apple Pie. It instantly transported me to the heavens, as if i was eating it off Nigella Lawson's fingers. OOOOH the feeling of the crust!
Finally, getting tired of the yet-to-be named Heritage City's bureaucracy, the place was shut down.
RIP Planet X. You will definitely be missed.
FROM INCREDIBLE TO INDESPICABLE
I'm writing this as i'm seeing the Home Minister of our country at a Press Conference, addressing the media about the steps taken in the Delhi Gangrape case. It has become a huge issue, with many facets. One of the most prestigious places of our democracy, the Parliament, has seen an unprecedented gathering of youth. This reminds me of the black and white footage i saw, of dhoti clad Indians being lathi charged by British controlled police, during Independence. Today, Lee and Nike wearing guys and girls of Delhi got the same treatment, with a dose of the modern tear gas. Incredible India indeed!
Flashback to the Arab spring, where the youth led an entire region's fight against repression. Facebook, Twitter and Youtube emerged as the new tools of getting your voice heard. Voices of support, whether its cut and paste comments or candle lights, are being channeled through the same tools. We have found our Arab Spring, although this is about the right of women to walk on the streets, heads held high. It is a fight for emancipation of women.
Having said that, a word of caution. Arab Spring ushered a new beginning. But those countries haven't got back on their feet. Egypt, Tunisia and Syria are still under turmoil. Protests make good footage on the 9'o clock news, but history teaches us otherwise. Change begins from within. Change begins with an idea. An idea that leads to us to believe women are humans, beautiful and caring.
This situation is similar to the song of the Minions, from the Indespicables. The two guys on the front are our courts and the police. They echo what each other says, never trying to even have a look at each other. The guy at the back is the government, who lends background voice and tries to raise his above others, making sure they are numbed out.
The last person, who blows the paper whistle, is you and me. It's us. We try to work with all the three. We play along and do our best to better the society, only to realize that we are frowned upon and our expected to shut up. When we do try to keep going, we are slapped.
Happy Indian New Year my friend.
Flashback to the Arab spring, where the youth led an entire region's fight against repression. Facebook, Twitter and Youtube emerged as the new tools of getting your voice heard. Voices of support, whether its cut and paste comments or candle lights, are being channeled through the same tools. We have found our Arab Spring, although this is about the right of women to walk on the streets, heads held high. It is a fight for emancipation of women.
Having said that, a word of caution. Arab Spring ushered a new beginning. But those countries haven't got back on their feet. Egypt, Tunisia and Syria are still under turmoil. Protests make good footage on the 9'o clock news, but history teaches us otherwise. Change begins from within. Change begins with an idea. An idea that leads to us to believe women are humans, beautiful and caring.
This situation is similar to the song of the Minions, from the Indespicables. The two guys on the front are our courts and the police. They echo what each other says, never trying to even have a look at each other. The guy at the back is the government, who lends background voice and tries to raise his above others, making sure they are numbed out.
The last person, who blows the paper whistle, is you and me. It's us. We try to work with all the three. We play along and do our best to better the society, only to realize that we are frowned upon and our expected to shut up. When we do try to keep going, we are slapped.
Happy Indian New Year my friend.
Tuesday, 18 December 2012
I'M SORRY MY LADY
Yes, all i can do is apologize to the victims, past, present and future, of rape. Be it Delhi, Bangalore or our Mysore, rapists prowl the streets. What makes it worse is alcohol, which makes even a gentleman give in to his lust. It is our priority to ensure the safety of women, be it a minor, sister, aunty, mum or the cute chick you were staring at. Chances are they might not make it home in one piece and dignity intact.
Yes, we Indian men are ironical. We are Rams' and Krishnas' for keepsake and Duryodhans' in reality. We take immense pleasure in letting the Hulk out of us, than the Gandhi. We follow the episode of Draupadi getting molested in the hall, while her husbands and other "respectable men" watched. We have been on both sides of the hall. But the Krishna in our society is long gone. The police can arrest, but the politicians haven't armed him enough, either with laws to shoot or imprison. Worse, if he did intervene, he gets shot. De`ja-vu the Punjab episode of the cop getting killed when he confronted his daughter's eve teasers. Plus, the rapists have a politicians contact number in their cell phone. One tring, few rings and he's out.
The media does take up arms and "campaigns". But it is only for that prime time. A few hours later, it is back to sack Dhoni, bring in Modi, and cheer the RBI. The nation will sing to "Hello honey bunny" and will comfortably forget about the rapes.
Yes, we all go ga-ga about the Saudis, saying rapists are hanged and women can go out wearing jewellery at night. Well, if you are frowned upon for not wearing burkha, your freedom is curtailed based on gender and because religion says so, i believe its better to be in our country. Plus, marital rape is unaccounted for.
Rape has always been used as a tool for fear and to destroy a person from within. Wars have always been synonymous with rapes, be it WWs', Iraq, Afghanistan or our very own Kashmir. Men use it as the ultimate psychological weapon. Getting the zipper down is one step closer to acheiving victory. This, i firmly believe, is cowardice and i would take immense pleasure, joining you, in kicking the balls and sending the message loud and clear.
But to the ladies, carry a pepperspray and a knife, and learn how to kick ass, literally. Even your friendly men are helpless to protect you. And pray for loads of luck, 'cause somewhere out there, no matter what you're wearing, or with whom you are and wherever, your Krishna might be watching out for you.
Sunday, 16 December 2012
"ASS" YOU LIKE IT
The other day in the news, i heard temple authorities, agreeing with our Indian patent moral police, that jeans should not be worn by women and girls when visiting temples. So much for God and gender equality. This must have deflated the boys and men, as their only excuse of visiting temples is now gone.
I agree to some extent that dress etiquette is important, specially when you're knocking on the doors of the Big Boss and Big Brother. Imagine you knelt down, closed your eyes, prayed and VOILA! you are bang facing the curves of a cute butt. All religion goes right out of the window and you're soon drifting into la-la land. Your eyes follow her everywhere and soon, all kinds of hymns and mantras magically come to your mind.
Figure hugging and custom fit don't make matters easier for the male homo sapiens. He is confused and knows it is wrong, specially when the priest is watching and frowning. But sometimes, even the priest can't help but steal a peek!
God doesn't see the clothes you wear or the brand of jeans that is obviously too tight for you in the first place. He sees how honest you are. But ladies, the men around you aren't pious saints. Hell, saints have been lured away from their tapasyas by saree clad maidens in BC and long before someone coined BC. And we men are ordinary mortals in 21st century, 2012. Levis, Wrangler, Lee or whatever your brand is, the men are not checking out the label. They are oogling your maxius gluteus and then, the lady who is the proud owner of the merchandise.
You can pooh-pooh the men and log out in disgust, but that is the truth. God created man, man created jeans and together, they made the women wear it. So you see, there is God's hand in it too.
Whether you choose to wear jeans or drape in a saree, men will be men. But when they see you ladies in jeans, they become boys all over again. Teenage deja-vu and WOOHOO! a jack pot of eye candies. The men truly believe, for that moment, there exists a God.
I have no right to say that jeans and ladies combo should be avoided from the prayer getaway. This land is made of Gods, Goddesses, democracy and the Kamasutra. But to the guys, please do not give I stare 'cause i care excuse. That's totally lame. Instead, close your eyes, fold your hands, take a deep breath and when no ones watching, smile and give a thumbs to the Gods. For all you know, denim is the answer to your prayers.
I agree to some extent that dress etiquette is important, specially when you're knocking on the doors of the Big Boss and Big Brother. Imagine you knelt down, closed your eyes, prayed and VOILA! you are bang facing the curves of a cute butt. All religion goes right out of the window and you're soon drifting into la-la land. Your eyes follow her everywhere and soon, all kinds of hymns and mantras magically come to your mind.
Figure hugging and custom fit don't make matters easier for the male homo sapiens. He is confused and knows it is wrong, specially when the priest is watching and frowning. But sometimes, even the priest can't help but steal a peek!
God doesn't see the clothes you wear or the brand of jeans that is obviously too tight for you in the first place. He sees how honest you are. But ladies, the men around you aren't pious saints. Hell, saints have been lured away from their tapasyas by saree clad maidens in BC and long before someone coined BC. And we men are ordinary mortals in 21st century, 2012. Levis, Wrangler, Lee or whatever your brand is, the men are not checking out the label. They are oogling your maxius gluteus and then, the lady who is the proud owner of the merchandise.
You can pooh-pooh the men and log out in disgust, but that is the truth. God created man, man created jeans and together, they made the women wear it. So you see, there is God's hand in it too.
Whether you choose to wear jeans or drape in a saree, men will be men. But when they see you ladies in jeans, they become boys all over again. Teenage deja-vu and WOOHOO! a jack pot of eye candies. The men truly believe, for that moment, there exists a God.
I have no right to say that jeans and ladies combo should be avoided from the prayer getaway. This land is made of Gods, Goddesses, democracy and the Kamasutra. But to the guys, please do not give I stare 'cause i care excuse. That's totally lame. Instead, close your eyes, fold your hands, take a deep breath and when no ones watching, smile and give a thumbs to the Gods. For all you know, denim is the answer to your prayers.
Saturday, 15 December 2012
"TOTALLY" FINGER LICKING GOOD
While on a trip to Bangalore, i was fascinated by Indiranagar and the Old Airport Road, leading up to Murugeshpalya. I chanced upon Total Mall and decided to check it out. My name being the same as the locality's, i flashed my driving license to show the cashier that the area is named after me. She didn't buy that and asked me to pay up, though i insisted that i'm a celebrity. (In reality, i don't even have my bike in my name, let alone an area in a metro). Anyway, on the ground floor, i chanced upon KFC. I ditched McDonalds because the joker had spoilt my stomach the last time, and i went to complain to Colonel Sanders (he's the guy on the KFC logo).
I had to address my hunger pangs first. So i ordered a burger. I noticed that the guy at the counter pointed to me and didn't utter a word. I figured out he was deaf and dumb. I just smiled and using gestures, i had the burger delivered to table. I saw some young girls at the corner and to show off, i pulled up a bar stool, in style. BIG MISTAKE. It took me 15 minutes to sit. I'd become a Xmas turkey.
Chomping on my burger, observing the counter, i realized that except 2 staff members, the other 5-6 did not speak. All of them were specially abled. They communicated using sign language. I had never seen a restaurant managed like this. It reminded me of a Manipuri play i saw at Rangayana in Mysore. Except one guy, who looked like he ate the Dasara jumbos for lunch, the rest of the cast were dwarfs.
Anyway, my point is, language and communication are different. You don't need to speak the language in order to communicate. And importantly, the ability to change society, for good, is possible even with MNCs. So if the retail FDI provides employment to the disabled, i'm all in support of it. They (disabled) don't need our pity and charity. They need a platform to prove themselves. I empathize with them 'cause i know how much a struggle it is to be born with a disability that changes your entire life.
Yes, the chicken tasted more like roadkill grill and the fries, i guess, were from potatoes grown on the moon, 'cause they put my stomach in a vacuum. I don't recommend KFC. But i will definitely suggest the outlet at Total Mall. Just go and try to have a conversation, without saying anything. And walk away with "finger licking good" feeling in your heart.
I had to address my hunger pangs first. So i ordered a burger. I noticed that the guy at the counter pointed to me and didn't utter a word. I figured out he was deaf and dumb. I just smiled and using gestures, i had the burger delivered to table. I saw some young girls at the corner and to show off, i pulled up a bar stool, in style. BIG MISTAKE. It took me 15 minutes to sit. I'd become a Xmas turkey.
Chomping on my burger, observing the counter, i realized that except 2 staff members, the other 5-6 did not speak. All of them were specially abled. They communicated using sign language. I had never seen a restaurant managed like this. It reminded me of a Manipuri play i saw at Rangayana in Mysore. Except one guy, who looked like he ate the Dasara jumbos for lunch, the rest of the cast were dwarfs.
Anyway, my point is, language and communication are different. You don't need to speak the language in order to communicate. And importantly, the ability to change society, for good, is possible even with MNCs. So if the retail FDI provides employment to the disabled, i'm all in support of it. They (disabled) don't need our pity and charity. They need a platform to prove themselves. I empathize with them 'cause i know how much a struggle it is to be born with a disability that changes your entire life.
Yes, the chicken tasted more like roadkill grill and the fries, i guess, were from potatoes grown on the moon, 'cause they put my stomach in a vacuum. I don't recommend KFC. But i will definitely suggest the outlet at Total Mall. Just go and try to have a conversation, without saying anything. And walk away with "finger licking good" feeling in your heart.
Saturday, 8 December 2012
WHOSE WATER IS IT ANYWAY?
Morning. Still sleepy from a 16 hour journey to, from, within and under Banglore, i heard the soft and gentle sound of a stream. I thought i'll wake up with British tea served along with French toast and American pancakes. To my dismay, i found that water was overflowing from the Indian washing machine. This has become a habit for my mom. Turning off the tap, I took up the day's paper, had a glance and marched like a Nazi soldier towards her. I pointed to the front page news, in bold headlines printed, about the Cavery agitation. Mom sighed, apologised for formality and remarked, "Well, whose water is it anyway?"
For a second, i was dumbfounded. Such a simple, yet thought provoking question. It gave a kick even better than Nescafe. Water is nature's gift to us. Do we have the right to own it, just because it flows in a state whose borders were drawn in an agitation? Before you raise the topic of home security and border security and rights, how much water did U waste today? Anyday, the ongoing metro work punctures a pipeline or the next upcoming mall or it's builder's new house digs up a road, water pipe is also included in the JCBs claws, along with a few loose cannons here and there, literally.
I'm sure people back in Tamil Nadu squirm, squint and shake their heads in disbelief every time they see water wasted by us in Karnataka. Blocking the highway, by political parties dressed as farmers, sure gets the attention of prime time news, but real farmers would rather have it opened. The highway is important for transporting their crop, to carry their sons to engineering colleges in the city and to bring the daughters back from factory work. Plus, the numerous tea shops and hotels, which dot the highway, some owned by the farmers themselves, clearly incur losses. By the way, judging the number of hotels built on farmland, agriculture doesn't seem a viable option anyway. This would mean that pretty soon, we would have to get our rice and roti ingredients from our neighbors, including Tamil Nadu. With what face should we go to them then?
Tamil or Kannadiga, tractor farmer or BMW honcho, water is our basic right. Politicians will get their mineral water, O2 purified, delivered to their homes. For us, our only hope is the tap. Our hope lies with nature and judicious use of water, not fighting over who owns how much of it.
For a second, i was dumbfounded. Such a simple, yet thought provoking question. It gave a kick even better than Nescafe. Water is nature's gift to us. Do we have the right to own it, just because it flows in a state whose borders were drawn in an agitation? Before you raise the topic of home security and border security and rights, how much water did U waste today? Anyday, the ongoing metro work punctures a pipeline or the next upcoming mall or it's builder's new house digs up a road, water pipe is also included in the JCBs claws, along with a few loose cannons here and there, literally.
I'm sure people back in Tamil Nadu squirm, squint and shake their heads in disbelief every time they see water wasted by us in Karnataka. Blocking the highway, by political parties dressed as farmers, sure gets the attention of prime time news, but real farmers would rather have it opened. The highway is important for transporting their crop, to carry their sons to engineering colleges in the city and to bring the daughters back from factory work. Plus, the numerous tea shops and hotels, which dot the highway, some owned by the farmers themselves, clearly incur losses. By the way, judging the number of hotels built on farmland, agriculture doesn't seem a viable option anyway. This would mean that pretty soon, we would have to get our rice and roti ingredients from our neighbors, including Tamil Nadu. With what face should we go to them then?
Tamil or Kannadiga, tractor farmer or BMW honcho, water is our basic right. Politicians will get their mineral water, O2 purified, delivered to their homes. For us, our only hope is the tap. Our hope lies with nature and judicious use of water, not fighting over who owns how much of it.
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