Terrorist: 'Run, it’s a gesture!'

What is it with these gestures? A recent ‘report’ (one of those where there’s not much reporting) was about how the Bollywood fraternity did not celebrate Eid (on Dec 9) and chose to wear black arm-bands to condemn the Mumbai blasts. Now, me being the cynic that I am, have my doubts if the terrorist organizations have read about this daring gesture and have become so demoralized that they have planned to blow themselves up. Unlikely, I feel, though Dia Mirza might disagree, who’s quoted in the ‘report’ saying that her band will “give out a token signal against polarization in the nation.” Wow, I don’t think I understand such complex jargon…well, as long as she does.

The only one person speaking with a characteristic measure of sanity in the whole thing was Naseerduddin Shah, who said that the problem with such gestures is that we think we’ve done our bit.
Candle-light marches, rallies, protests, arm-bands…does it really help? Well, maybe it would, if we had a government that would feel the need to react to them and show some proactive measures. But, well, an imbecile Shivraj Patil resigned only for Chidambaram’s ‘shoe-filling’ party to be actually celebrated by party members! Wow! Doesn’t that call for celebration!
It’s like pelting a rhino with stones – the skin is too thick! Did you see Manmohan Singh’s speech after the Mumbai blasts – you couldn’t tell if it was the fear that his residence would be blown up next, or if Sonia Gandhi had just woken him up, and forced him to give a speech before he was able to brush his teeth… I strained to catch a tone or look of passion…none! I’m sure I’ve seen the quiet-Surd doing the fist in the air for the pre-election rallies! What was the point of the speech then, Mr President? Token of hope or a gesture that said, “Ok, I’ve done my job…condemned them…what else do you want me to do? I can’t catch them, can’t kill them, can’t equip our forces any better. I can’t, alright…now, let me brush my teeth.”
Pratibha Patil was for once better (and that’s saying something). She at least looked fully awake, and had actually some perk about her. I wondered if she’s used the brand of shampoo that a friend gifted me (Tea Tingle; It will make you jump out of bed…). She “strongly condemned” the terror-attacks and looked proud of herself for having done so…Oh gosh, poor terrorists, how they would run if they could see her.
So, where does that leave us? Trapped between the insanity of gun-toting brainwashed zealots and the even more frustrating theatre of politicians and celebrities waving their precious petty little gesture-flags and arm-bands? Give us something to wave too…

Now showing…Pirates of News: The Curse of 24x7

Woah… ‘India’s 9/11’… ‘War on India’…sounds damn intense and moving! The entire nation’s woken up, thanks to you folks! Everyone’s talking…taking part in the debate…the rise of the voice of India!
Great, alright, so we got the message. Good show, guys, but it’s time for a wrap. Pack your bags, lock away the creative faculty, and for God’s sake (and for Allah/Ram/Jesus/Satan…the whole halo club), please turn the camera off now!
But oh, you can’t right? Now I get it…you’re 24x7…can’t shut off, news or no news! Oh, I’m sorry guys, I really didn’t understand why you have to do this…oh, poor things, it must be so painful to have to constantly say something on the camera, sense or no(n)sense, to sit and interview socialites and politicians, and to come up with ‘Breaking News’ headlines like ‘Puppy falls in the well’ and ‘Amitabh gets up on the wrong side of the bed.’
And that’s why you can’t keep your hands and cameras away when a terrorist attacks or a hotel burns down. You unleash your very best, letting all of us know how charred the bodies are or gathering reactions from the dead Sabina Saikia’s husband, prompting him to have an emotional breakdown before the camera as you ask what he’ll tell his children. I mean brilliant stuff, boys (and girls). You took the real Breaking News (instead of the manufactured ones) and squeezed out every bit of drama, right down to the pith. Good emotional stuff! But seriously, you’re wasting yourself here, my boys (and girls). You should be in Bollywood…you have a bright career in (e)motion pictures. You know just how to get the best performance out of your cast. And…gasp!...you do it live! No scripts, no rehearsals, documentary stuff, man…real cinema!
India’s on the Truman Show, and hats off to you boys for it! Take a bow for “gunning down” the news! How bored would we be without you!

The Rs10 middle-class ticket

The term ‘middle-class’ has to be the most overused (read, abused) adjective in the whole of journalistic repertoire in India. From the manicured fingers of the self righteous Shobhaa De didactically writing about her super-Indians to the the frontpage of the newspaper, you just can’t miss the expression. Well, we writers find it extremely convenient, to shove everyone possible, from the card-swiping IT couple to the man squished on the local train, to the chaat-shop owner into this bracket. Unless you have a car, maybe. Well, if it’s a Maruti 800 or a Santro, you could yet keep

your middle-class membership, though. Everyone’s middle-class, apparently. Kinda makes you wonder, is there a line that tells you who really is middle-class and who isn’t? What is it? The car, the house, the shirt-brand? Anything more definite and less conveniently blurred?

Yes …the Rs10 bus ticket.

If you live in Hyderabad, the sight of the LCD-display A/C buses that ply between Secunderabad station and VIT Park, Hi-Tec City, wouldn’t be unfamiliar, though it could be rare, sight. Rs10 is the minimum fare to get onto the bus. And at office-time when it’s absolutely crazy to try and utilize the public transport system, this comes as a real relief. Who wouldn’t shell out Rs10 for a ride from Panjagutta to Secunderabad in the seated comforts of an A/C bus, as opposed to fighting for footboard-space on the ‘ordinary’ bus?

Well, that’s your clear demarcation of the middle-class and the not-middle-class. No obscure, all-inclusive set, you can either afford it or you can’t. Not everyone does choose the Rs10 ride of comfort over the Rs4 madness; for not everyone can shell out Rs10 for the daily ride home.

So, I sit comfortably inside the 47V A/C bus, reading a second-hand English novel or listening to music on my refurbed ipod, as the other ‘ordinary’ bus, tilted to one side with people hanging out of the doors, passes by. Thank God we live in a country where the middle-class is so empowered, I think, and continue reading.

40 hours of Train-ing!...Part 2

(…continued)

Howrah Bridge
Have you ever stood on the Howrah Bridge? I mean, stood, as in stood still, without walking? Those who have will know how the entire bridge shakes, as if there’s an earthquake, with every passing bus and car. It’s actually quite an exciting feeling, and if you look closely enough, even the lights on the poles along the railing shake! These vibrations on the bridge, somehow, have become for me, a feeling I’ve always come back to, making the Rabindra Setu (the bridge’s Bengali name) one of my favourite spots in Cal.
I know you’d say that’s peculiar, but for me, if you stand there and see the busy cars shoot by under the dazzling lights of the busy metro, people hurrying along, to travel to or from the city (mostly middle-class travelers on sleeper coaches) – you’ve felt the pulse of Calcutta, with the movement under your feet conveying the intensity of life as it flows – hot, racy, and ever-alive, round the clock. It’s the artery through which people pour into Calcutta, like a life-vessel.
It made me remember the time when my friends had blindfolded me and brought me here (they knew I loved this place, and the river) on my birthday, before we went on the steamer. Even then, I knew where I was soon as I had stood still.

Ghoosh to shoot here!
I had my camera tucked away when I went onto the bridge, for I knew shooting from here was prohibited. There was also a more-or-less conspicuous metal board announcing the same. But being in India as we were (without meaning to generalize), we do take notices at scoff-value, and do exactly what it asks us not to! So, invariably, there was the odd first-timer to Cal, killing time (much like me) before his train perhaps, shooting the bridge from the bridge (and that honestly makes for a lousy shooting angle) with a point-and-shoot, or the more common mobile-phone camera. Well, as you would have it. The mama (that’s the slang for the policeman in Calcutta, literally meaning ‘maternal uncle’) is on the prowl and surprisingly sharp to take to task every megapixel-sized offence. The long arm of the law…or wait a minute, what’s this? Mamu’s more dexterous than you anticipated, as I discovered standing there looking at the drama (I still had time to kill, you know) – the offender gets promptly taken to the side, and then a quick exchange of hands means a 50rs note and the ‘seized’ shooting-device have changed hands. Another story about Cal told in brief…ghoosh (bribe) is good side-business here, and a 50rs note is always handy, if you’re driving without license, need to get a truck past the traffic signal anywhere in Calcutta, or… of course, if you're shooting the Howrah Bridge from the Howrah bridge!