Defence

I started this off as a comment but have made it a post now.

I respect shoot-straight-from-the-hip Subbu's opinion a lot. My article on blogs was half-researched and too generalized. But there is a bigger idea underlying that I want to talk about.

Idea of comedy

I am heavily inspired by Thurber in writing and George Carlin in stand-up. GC calls stand-up comedy "knowing where the limit is - and then crossing it". I know a lot of people find him gross and vulgar. But I think he's a new brand of philosophy.

This brand of irreverant writing where you just bash out the popular opinion (in this case, the power of blogs) has the effect of elbowing in an alternative opinion in a sea. This is similar to militancy brand feminism, caste-racial-ethnic affirmative opinions - The idea is that if you don't shout and swear, you will not be heard; if you don't demand a mile, you won't get an inch.

Where I disagree

Yes, I am not a prolific blog reader; but I am a prolific reader and know bad writing from good. And the idea of the blogs is to comment without "earning the rights". Everyone who is party to a phenomenon has the right to comment.

Where I agree
I agree of my not exploring life as much as I should. I am trying. I also am guilty of generalizations all the time: but I try to keep the exceptions floating in my mind somewhere.

Ultimately...

My points converge to the all-pervasive mediocricy and lack of ideas of our times. Despite the power that a blog gives you, most blogs are full of the same everyday platitude that invades us from the media-barons controlled media (read Pankaj's Chomsky's review where he talks about Manufacture of Consent). Seldom do I come across an original idea and irreverance.

To Shantanu

Shantanu, my boss from Symphony-IRI, died on Thursday. I still can't imagine a guy so alive, sensitive, intelligent and complete no more.
After coming to Wal-mart, I actually missed the intimacy that Shantanu affected in the entire team - his loud jovial Hi to everyone as he walked up to the cubicle beside me - greeting 80 odd people by names, stopping to question 30 odd on their personal lives.

Shantanu died at 40 odd - young but lived completely. I never, repeat never, saw him lose his temper even an inch in the three odd years I spent with him. And we both saw some crises that would have blown the lids of many patient managers.

His death has led me to think of the way I want to spend my bachhi-khuchhi life. Two lessons I will try to take forward -

1. Respect everyone - never belittle or hurt anyone.
2. Don't live as if this is the first day of your life. Live as if it is the last.

Shantanu, I wish I had realized your condition and been there in the final moments.

Blogs demysified

I looked at some blogs and here are my findings:

1. Most people are stupid and don't have anything worthwhile to add in terms of ideas
2. Peopel trying to manage a multiple audience at the same time are the worst offenders:appeasing and full of feel-good ReadersDigest-Archies-Chickensoup simplistic mediocrity
3. The good bloggers don't care to get back at your comments: having something meaningful to say is the motivation, not recognition/attention
4. Avoid blogs with the following words in the title - Random, Dreams, Lovely/Beautiful (if coupled with dreams - kindly switch off the computer for a peiod of 17 days to prevent any lethal contamination), the name of any flower, list to continue...
5. Discount any comment made by Indian male in a blog with a female profile with photograph attesting to at least average looks
6. Escapism rules in the Indian landscape

PDS, democracy and atheism

The amount of grain stolen from our beloved PDS last year was worth Rs. 31,500 crores. The FM will put another tax liability on us, the PM would jitterly chirp on conspicuous consumption; but this blatant looting will be silently ignored.

Has the government become redundant now? Do we really need "elected" representatives to rape our nation? When will we finally turn our heads in disgust as politicians in UP and Karnataka hit the nadir of nadir to bury their vile gnawing teeth into the state coffers and the rich fat flesh of infrastructure development funds? When will we just start killing these m********?

Coming to another point, the masses. Why do we make so much out of the masses? Give me one work of genius that has come out of the masses? (If violence was an art - then perhaps - they have created geinus works like the butchery of partition, the gory segregation in South US, lynching, genocides, et al.) All genius has emanated from the elite; even the very idea of fundamental rights. Remove exploitation, assure equal opportunities; but giving the rule to the mob without educating them, liberating their petty closed minds is killing everything what democracy purorts to stand for.

I see all the religions advertising themselves on their numbers - fine. But aren't the masses inherently foolish? Isn't the mainstream merely the mediocre? Hence, isn't the strength of your numbers proof to the fraudulent simplistification you stand for thriving on the intrinsic fear and superstition of the masses?

Interestingly, in all the major religions, the atheist is held even more in sin than the kaafir. Believing in a false God is more extenuating than not believing at all since the former is a proof that you are willing to kneel down and get buggered from behind to the very depths of your thought, language, opinions, tints: you are merely getting buggered from the wrong guy. But kill the bastard who refuses to even kneel down.

Waking up to no god is like waking up from the Matrix. It rends your heart at the secure make-belive escapist closure-driven fantasy you're leaving behind; but, believe me, you feel more alive, aware and sentient.

Try it. Get out of your SantaClausian fantasises of frothing mad, insanely egoistic, choleric and narcissistic old fathers up above.

Become your own God.

Handicap of beauty

I had a friend who was amazingly "conventinally" pretty; but, curiously, very unsure about herself. I discussed this with another common friend, somewhat elder to us, but very beautiful herself (inside out). She gave me an amazing insight - when you are that pretty, sometimes you're not sure which beuty of yours is being appreciated.

Some of my blog friends and photo-bloggers are very much in consonance with the defined aesthetic standards of our times. I find taht though some of their pieces and photos are of some value, but the value is over-exhorted by the peers - largely male - in extreme hyperboles. If someone tries to offer some counter-view, the person is conveniently ignored in the gushing sea of of over-the-top Amazing's and Wow's .

What if some of them, in the wave of this half-honest peer review, give up their career and mistakenly embark on a journalistic or photographic career? They might have promise but they're certainly not prepared yet.
Are all the "beautiful" people out there truly aware of this biggest handicap of beauty?

Thinking aloud

Is cynicism really idealism disguised?
People hurt that the world does not meet thier ideals?

Do people really change?
Are you any different from the kid years ago? You might have wisened up, have heaps of scartissues to show, become bitter - but is your first reaction any different?

Are the people with the answers the most clueless?

Taxed resources

For the past couple of days, I am grappling with the issue of sales taxes. And I have gained quite a mastery of it.
I have proved sometime that the retailer actually makes negative margins because of the taxes.
I have proved that, de facto, tax is a myth.
I have proved many things and I have disproved many others.

But one proof I have established beyond doubt is that taxes and I go together like Scotch and Harpic!

Broombastic

Yesterday, I walked into Spencer's and walked out with a broom. My maid had been complaining about the one I already had. As I stood debating over the choice of the plastic sheaths to choose from - red, parrot green or aquamarine blue - a gentleman in the mall decided to throw a bakhera of shouting and abusing regarding some perceived drop in standards of service. A typical case of feudal mentality hoarding the gizmotic treasures ofmodernity but struggling to grasp the more effort-demanding egalatarian ideas of inclusion, respect for others, dignity of labor and some base equality.

I mused if I could do the same with my broom. Walking up to the person responsible for the aisle, scowling at him and asking gruffily 'How do I know this works?" I could ask him to sweep the aisle for me as I watched sulkily and made him go over certain spots again and again. If not satisfied, I could probably ask him to go over the entire 50000 sq.ft. department. The scene would probably end up in the store manager trying to calm my spit-laden "Iski himmat kaise hui mere se aise baat karne ki!" with a flock of store clerks behind.

We, Indians, understand power only by its abuse.I once walked into a restaurant with a friend who I had, till then, assumed to be very mild natured. The way the gentleman behaved with the waiter that evening prompted me to ultimately leave the place altogether. Even my father would make it a point to work up a temper every time we went out eating.It's simple logic - That guy's job is on the line, not mine. I saw a similar scene in Reliance Digital last month, a store far beyond the standards of the stores we have put up with so far. And yet an old man insisted on shouting down the entire store down.

I feel that for a retailer, the adage that "We serve Everyone" should be taken in a context. If the securitymen had asked the two gentlemen to walk out, you might have lost one customer, but made it easier for several others to decide to walk into your store next time.

Tango and Cash

Last week, I saw two movies. Cash and Gandhi, My Father.

Anyone who knows me would have a good idea of how I would trash Cash, so I won't go there. Enough said that I was dragged to the show and even managed a small nap in between.

Gandhi, my father is definitely a flawed attempt. Great idea but the execution could have been better.

First, the bone structure of the series of conflicts could have been given the flesh of some character development beyond the scope of the conflict. Imagine watching a movie on Gandhi with no Nehru, no Jinnah, no Patel. Harilal's fall could have been shown more gradually. He appears as an inebriated beard-sporting Muslim, re-converted clean-shaven Aryan Samajist and a wild, bearded inebriated beggar in successive scenes.

Second, yes Akshaye Khanna was good blahblahblah. But such intense roles require trained actors. I have always argued that why tolerate a B grade actor when you wouldn't want anyone less than a maestro in other performing arts of this scale. Bollywood has lowered our standards of expectations so much that one-trick ponies (a trick he could never repeat beyond English August) like Rahul Bose are claiming to be thespians! Acting is not about tones only, there are layers and layers of undertones. Akshay has acted well in depicting the effect of a mahatma father in his life but the undertones of his own academics shortcomings, inability to execute and wagairah wagairah are not etched out so well.

3. Lastly, the background music is very uninspiring. In a movie which is explicitly not about the Mahatma in India( remember the missing Nehrus and Jinnahs?) but the father who had to be a Mahatma, the music could have drawn inspiration from quarters other than the expected Vaishnav jan. It might not be Beethoven, but RDB Shakti did a far better job!

All said and done, the effort is commendable and the movie worth going.
Given me 10 "Gandhi, my father"s for every Cash!

Poems

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.

- Edgar Alan Poe

Looking through the melting glass
As time chooses how fast to pass.
I wonder why were even here
I'm overwhelmed with sudden fear.

I try to speak but only mumble
The walls around me start to crumble
I look down and close my eyes
I cant tell the truth from the lies

Is this real or just a dream
The voice inside me starts to scream
The screaming peaks then fades away
Tomorrows just another day.

-CJ