Mandira Bedi, a grey and white sari, and 281

Apart from Australia scoring 281 in 38 overs, Gilchrist's fantastic innings, and my stupid and silly insistence that it is not over till it IS over, I was extremely impressed by the way Mandira Bedi handled herself w.r.t. the furore started by the morality brigade (ugh, not again...) over the Indian flag pasted (was it?) on her sari. She was graceful in her apology, and I seem to get more impressed with her by the day. She has not just picked up the nuances of the game, but also a fair bit of diplomacy. Good job, lady. No point courting unnecessary shit controversy, na? I guess there is more to her than just a pretty face and body.

[Celebrity name throwing alert: She did come across as quite a dumb bimbette though, the only time I actually met her]

This is to the grey and white sari then.

And Mandira, please put the BCCI flag / logo on your sari next time.

[Edit: They, the Lankans did try. Proud of them. But well, I guess the best team won. Can't really complain.]

Holding on

Holding on to the Lara post. I have to, I know. Perspective, perspective, dear. Hold on.

U2-esque enough?

DON'T GET YOUR KIDS TO MOVIE HALLS!

Especially if you cannot control those bloody pests. Especially if they insist on creating nuisance for everybody around. Especially if they ARE doing that right now.

You got those monsters here on earth, ok? So it is your bloody responsibility to control them, or at least see to it that others are not getting bothered (and majorly, as it was in this case), by their actions. Get it?

So here's the story. Had gone to see 'Bheja Fry' (which is surprisingly good, is recommended, rather watchable, ok?), for the 10pm show at PVR at Forum. And this kid insisted on kicking the backrest of the seat in front of her (on the other end of which, unfortunately, yours faithfully was sitting). All throughout the movie. So, 15 minutes into the movie, I turn around, give a big smile and request the kid to please not do that. Any effect? Zilch. 5 minutes or so, and it starts all over again. Turn around. Request again, even more nicely, with an even bigger smile. Zilch happens. 5 minutes, and boom boom boom yet again. So I, even more politely, turn to the mother and request her to please ask the kid to stop the nuisance. The lady does not even look away from the screen. I continue asking her, but to no avail. So, I sit up and continue to watch the movie in that pose, backrest be damned. Come interval, I request the dad, sitting next to the mom (both of them dressed rather sophisticatedly and all that), to please control the kid .....
So the second half is alright, na? Bullc**p. The boom boom boom starts probably even before the movie's even started. And this time I again turn around and insist on the dad and the mom to stop this nuisance. Stony silence. Both of them simply look away.

Now you know, there's only that much shamelessness I can bear. So I turn around, and continue to watch the movie sitting up.

So, not finding any fun from the kicking, now the kid starts to scream and shout. Grunts of disapproval from the people around. Requests to shut the kid up. Anything results? Zilch. Nada. Illa. Nothing. The kid continues to be a nuisance all throughout the movie. The parents don't even react.

Post the movie, I tell Banner that I am planning to talk to the couple. Banner says, and very correctly if I may add - will it make an iota of a difference to these people? They are what they are, and that is trash, right? Right.

So, balding man in white shirt and fancy well trimmed beard, and his wife over-painted fat woman in green and red salwar, sir, ma'am, YOU are to blame. YOU are the culprits. Of course for shameless thick-skinned creatures like you, this will hardly make a difference anyway. But if any of this gets to you. Please know.

Well, here's something. I had been a major nuisance for a full 5 minutes in the first movie that I went to see with my parents at a movie hall. At the first complaint, Baba, Ma, apologetically, walked out of the movie hall, taking me along with them. That was the last movie I saw in a movie hall for 10 years. And that was in what some of you will call hinterland, not in fancy metropolis Bangalore, and not especially at a multiplex with the movie tickets costing what is more that what some people in the same country earn in 5 days.

And don't you, reader, say "Bachcha hee toh hai". Please do know this, that Bachcha hee hai, lekin aap kee hai, Ek-sau-pachhattar rupaiye, on the other hand, meri hai, coke meri hai, popcorn ka packet meri hai and bloody hell, teen ghantein bhi meri hee hai.

Addendum: As you can see from the first comment to this post, I don't speak Hindi much. Well, am trying.

Genius ! Magic !

It's been 21 years. And yes, the wait has been long... And the wait's over now.

Messi / Barca / 16-Apr-07 / Getafe / Copa Del Rey / Semi-finals / 29th minute / Report.

Meandering thoughts, rains, and a prayer

You know, I am scared to put my own pieces (as in, what you call creative writing) on to this blog. Yeah, I know the my-blog my-personal-space go-take-a-hike yadyaydayada. But ….Why is sinfully pinstripe, this caustic, cynical creature, somehow mired in self-doubt while writing fictional pieces? Because my observations, my arguments, my judgments, my verbosity, my vociferousness in all other cases can be backed up with real data, with facts. For creative literature, it is me vs. the world, where the piece has to stand on its own, and can not be backed by reason. You know, while writing on things that have actually happened is the same as putting my observation of worldly facts under test (whereby I am posing as an analyst, definitely my happiest and most confident avatar, or at the least, as an observer); on the other hand, imagining up an event which has probably never happened, maybe a feeling which I only have encountered, and putting it up for public perusal is akin to baring my creativity, baring myself to the analysis and criticism of the world. Here I am then, subject, not observer. And that is uncomfortable. I would prefer any day my observations, and not me to be the subject of scrutiny.

So, I remain Sinfully Pinstripe. Fearfully Creative.

And so, today, Bangalore was drenched with rain. Torrents. Gushes. And I like rain. I hate traffic. And stopping the motorbike on the wayside soaked to the skin, picking up deep-fried, piping hot chicken kebab down the dirty shop streetside, trying to balance the kabab (onioned, lemoned, on a banana-leaf-and-newspaper plate) in one hand and the wet, crumpled Classic Milds in the other, trying in vain to escape the rain under the miniscule cornice …. It reminded me, if even for a bit, of Asansol. Asansol keeps coming back, through some convoluted path of memory, somehow, to the conscious, to the today. I guess Asansol, still, in bits and pieces, is me, somehow.

And comes also Aadorer nouko. That haunting paean to Calcutta. Calcutta, minibuses, rains, La Martiniere, Minto park, Kalighat metro… few, very few memories. But I can understand. I can identify. Vaguely. But yes.

And yet, Virginia Tech happened. Singapore writes - I know you don’t like (reading) Falstaff, but here, he has put forth a point. Please read.
He has. With clarity. Very poignantly. Please read.

And one of my favorite people in Bangalore, is having a bypass surgery in a few days.. I will be selfish in my fear, in my concern, in my anxiety, in my prayers. In all my prayers. Uncle will be discharged from the hospital in a week or so, but till then, I will have my thoughts and my prayers for him. Please spare a second, you too, and pray for his speedy recovery, could you please?

Damn! Another cricket post...

To continue on the barrage of posts for the day, here goes a copy-paste of two emails I wrote, talking about the state of Indian cricket with a group of friends.

Mostly trying-to-be-funny, mostly failing-to-be-funny, mostly harmless.

Post 1:

Discussion string: How to improve the state of Indian cricket, and Subhash Chandra trying to boost the future of Indian cricket...

Well, in all honesty, Subhash Chandra is trying to boost the inflow into his bank account. And doing a mighty good job of it.

To actually make Indian cricket get anywhere, what's needed is for the ranji trophy to be abolished and replaced by a pan-india club level tourney. The clubs could be sponsored by corporates. Pretty much like the Indian super football league ('super' - ah, the hilarity of it all!). Corporates will not be bothered about boosting cricket, any sport for the matter if there is no chance of revenue generation / brand building yadayadayada....

But then, one should look at the unification-of-the-nation aspect of it. Sample this. The moneyed Mysore Sandal Bangalore tyar-sadam XI buying in Sourav Ganguly for a 3-year contract, and Simoco Kolkata Bagher bachcha XI branding him a traitor for defecting a-la Luis Figo... you remember that, na, guys..... And after a few super innings by the prince of Kohl-koota, when we hear paeans about 'namma maga Ganguly-anna' in the Bangalore buses.......... Ah, that is when we will really become one country.

..........................

Discussion string: On a more serious note....

On the holy cow syndrome - completely in agreement. But that's the equivalent of world peace. Hero worshipping, in India, will never stop. It will not change. Cannot really blame the countrymen (and women) for something which is so deeply embedded in their psyche. We are a nation of hero-worshippers, a nation of hierarchy. Be it politics, sports, cinema, everywhere, in every sphere. So there's our own dad's army for the world cup, and assorted Rajani-appa Rajkumar &c, and gerontocracy.

Funnily, we are equally likely to bring down our failed gods. And poor Dhoni's house gets destroyed.

Performance back home - I disagree. All countries make tracks to suit their team. It is called home advantage. If anything, looking at the playing tracks on offer in the windies (slow turners, small grounds where mishits go for six), we should have done well, really.

Selective amnesia - A manifestation of point 1. Agree.

So ok, why am I blabbering and cracking sidey (which, clarification for the highbrows, would mean inane) jokes? Do I have anything sensible to offer? Maybe. here's reason, at least in my book.

Cricket is a team game, and increasingly, a power game. Specifically, one day cricket.

Indians are traditionally bad team players. Indians, traditionally, are on an average, bad at power sports. So here's story. We will, unless a miracle of some sorts happen, not win anything major in cricket. In one day cricket. Ever again.

Test matches are, yet, not as much a power game as one day matches. One can play controlled innings and plot and plan the opposition out. Check the performance of india in test vs. one-day cricket in the last 10-15 years. Home and away. You get your answer. I got mine that way.

As I said, mostly harmless.

On my to-read list

"Bangalore Tiger" by Steve Hamm - If for no other reason, because I love his blog. And recommend it to all and sundry. He is even more bullish about India that I am. And the debates (and even the rants) are extremely entertaining.

"The Halo Effect" by Philip Rosenzweig - Nice review here. The guy, Rosenzweig, apparently, is a cynic and a pragmatist.
Check this out

The delusion of absolute performance diverts our attention from the fact that success in business means doing things better than rivals, not just doing things well. It is potentially very serious because it may cause us to take our eye off rivals, and to avoid decisions that, although risky, may be essential for survival in a particular context of industry and competitive dynamics. Believing that success follows predictably by following a simple set of steps misunderstands a key element of business success.
................................................................
Why then are so many business books of questionable quality so popular? Not because they are based on solid evidence, but because they work well as stories. They inspire us and comfort us. They reassure us that our good efforts will lead to success. They provide a sense of certainty. But they do not accurately grasp the reality of the world around us.

Blogging in Bangla

Someday, someday, when blogger makes this happen in Bangla, I will create a blog in my mother tongue.

Miss India

Veena Parshuram was a classmate of ours at RV. And well, one of those ‘that female is crazy, man’ classmates if I may add. Hailing from Kengeri, a rather déclassé suburb of Bangalore, and armed with a pronounced Kannada accent, and with the announcement that SHE IS Miss Kengeri, it wasn’t long since she was the subject of polite titter. Skinny like nobody’s business, with hair coloured brown (the color of which I have heard being compared to that of water left behind post dishwashing), with absolutely zero dressing sense and the abiding ambition of becoming a supermodel (and honestly, she wasn’t a bombshell in college), she was quite funny really. She was sorta ok with us wild boys, we anyways made fun of everybody and everything and she was a good sport, but the prim-and-propah Baldwin’s and Sophia’s girls had their bit of fun at her expense. Well, one had to credit her for two things. a) She was totally fearless and b) Never for one day did she compromise on her dream. She was Miss India in her head the day she joined RV, and sure as hell she didn’t relinquish that position the day she left the college. Oh well, what is she thinking anyway, people laughed, does she even have a clue?

But well, someone mentioned once, ‘You know what, you see her after a while, and she would have improved something in her. Maybe the dressing sense has got better, maybe the accent is neutralized somewhat, maybe the hair colour is toned down, maybe she has picked up some class…. she is, you know, improving everyday…..’

And well…

Thursday, when I was out drinking at Purple Haze with office friends, I had a frenetic call from Gina. Conversation as follows…
G: Dude, Veena Parshuram has made it to Miss India. She is on TV right now! I am having a heart attack, man!
I: What? You serious?
G: Yeah, really. Seriously.
(and the rest of whatever she said was drowned amidst a barrage of heavy metal)

I forgot about the call … well, the first of April was not so long ago….

Next day, morning. Raghav.
R: Dooode. Veena’s participating in Miss India, maan!
I: Yeah, Gina was telling me that yesterday also. Really?
R: Yeah dude. Check the net, or the TV.

Come to think of it, remarkable.

No, seriously, you can keep the titter to yourself. And also cynical comments about how hollow and baseless these Miss India contests are, and assorted belittling remarks. Here’s some appreciation, from the whole of our batch of RVCE Instrumentation Technology to the spirit. She has really made it, hasn’t she?

Veena, dude, win the title, alright? Really, this is something to be proud of for all of us. And well, not too many people get to say that they studied in college with Miss India, isn’t it? So win it, ok?

Cost of traffic congestion, anybody?

Read this article by Swaminathan S. Anklesaria Aiyar. Very topical, very relevant. Have a look.
And while there are many pertinent questions and points raised there, I will especially like to bring your attention to these two.

The Centre for Science and Environment has launched a campaign to make drivers of cars and two-wheelers pay the full social cost that they impose on the economy, which I fully support. These costs are typically invisible to the public, but are real and gargantuan.
……..
Fourth, we suffer high costs of congestion. Time wasted is money wasted. Slow traffic consumes more fuel and pollutes more. In the US, says Sunita Narain of CSE, the cost of traffic congestion in 85 cities was estimated at a staggering $63 billion in 2003, on account of time wasted alone.

Fifth, cars impose high social costs by occupying parking space. Residential space in Delhi sells for Rs 1.5 lakh per square yard in most localities. So a parking lot 100 yards long and 20 yards wide has a social cost of Rs 30 crore. A single parking space of 23 sq m has a social cost of Rs 37.8 lakh. A car occupies more space than an office desk, yet the desk space pays full commercial rent while parking space costs just Rs 10 per day. This is a huge, unwarranted subsidy, especially to those who keep their cars parked all day. In New York or Washington DC, parking costs $9 (Rs 400) per hour. CSE's efforts to raise the parking rate to Rs 120/day in Delhi were kayoed by the middle class and politicians. The parking space occupied by cars is estimated by CSE at 11% of Delhi's area, as much as all its parks put together. That is a measure of the social cost.

I think point 5 is especially relevant, and is something that we commonly fail to notice. And point 4? We do notice that, don’t we?
So how much do we in Bangalore, at an average, lose due to traffic congestion? That’s a research paper in itself, but I will just provide some basic numbers. At an average, let us assume 5 minutes (why, I will reduce it even further, say 2.5 minutes) lost everyday due to traffic congestions for every employee in Bangalore, (realistic I guess, and this is not including opportunity cost lost, and this is assuming, and knowing that many companies anyway have a float of 30 minutes or so for the employees before start of the business day).
So where does that leave us? As per this Hindu article, we lost Rs 500 Crore due to the Bangalore strike in Feb. Calculating from there on using our previous assumption, we have about 104 Million dollars in business losses every year due to traffic congestion! Nearly the same, higher infact than the loss incurred due to that day in Feb. And I thought I was working with very conservative numbers. Bad, na?
As you could well have figured out by now, this started off as a rant after an impossible amount of traffic faced while traveling down to office yesterday morning.

The joy of Indolence

In La Martiniere, the first essay that we were made to write by Harry (yes, the same Indrashish Laharry, the slowest handkerchief-slinger in town), was on “the joy of indolence”. A very long time ago, in fact almost exactly 12 years ago. And only knowing what indolence means and not the significance of it, being a rather hyperactive kid myself, I made a hash of it. But that will be Tom Robbins-esque meandering from the topic of discussion …

The significance is that today, for a bit more than half an hours, I experienced the absolute joy of indolence.

I like Bessie more than Marina in whatever little of Chennai that I have experienced. But today, between 1600 hrs and 1630 hrs, sitting on the Marina beach with the harsh sun beating down, sunscreen and sunglasses-adorned I was reading about Sissy Hankshaw’s hitchhiking romp across beatnik America while listening to tales of the music celeb who has a blister on his little finger, and maybe one on his thumb, and the one banging on the bongos like a chimpanzee….

Absolute indolence. Joy. Transitory, yes, but there isn’t anything such as perfect happiness, as war-hardened professionals like us will know. Na?

Just a mention. I realize that I tend to gravitate towards art which has a crafted feel to it, and natural be damned. I like the edges (just as Knopfler is edgy, just as Robbins is edgy), but not the jagged, rough edges of say a Palahniuk or a Kobain. In my music, in my reading, I like order. The overwhelming completeness of the U2 sound, for example.
Some suggestions?