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

Buddha in a Strange Land

I entered my guesthouse yesterday to find a very interesting elderly gentlman seated there. He sat there intensely absorbed in a Dharmendra-Aditya Pancholi type starrer. Evidently, from some Uttranchal village (he was clad in a khadi kurta, gandhi topi and dhoti).

He viewed the film intensively, but strangely seemingly-detached.

I talked to him for some time. He told me that he had come to visit a son of his who served out there. I clicked a few snaps of his and walked off.

I don't even know why I am writing about this.

But being back in a place where I can understand the native tongue has made me realize that I feel more peaceful and "earthy" when I can talk to these people usually invisible to most of my peers. The cab drivers, the tea vendor and this unknown gentleman in a hotel lobby assaulted by the blares of a TV and the dust clinging to his clothes; and yet exuding a calm and peaceful dignity.

Every day as I climb one step more, I leave the earth further below.

So far, my most peaceful moments in Gurgaon have been the evening visit to a tea-vendor in a semi-dehaat area. An old man stis there like a statue for hours on end and rickshaw-pullers, kabadi-wallahs and farmers flock around.

I want to go back to the basics; the life beyond consumerism, frameworks and cleverness.

The greatest courage was in the sacrifice of Siddhartha.

Confessions of a homeless wretch

For some reason, living in a hotel room makes you feel like you're on the run. Probably you are; life is in a pause, you're between things and no responsibilities of looking over the cleaning, cooking and bills.

There is only a huge double bed in my room with a TV that I never use, an almirah, a chair and a desk and a sofa with a center table. And, of course, the adjoining washroom.

You can only read that much. Hence, I switched on the idiot-box for a brief while last night. Some Hindi crap starring KK, Fardeen Khan and Mukul Dev. The plot might have been interesting if the acting had not been so ludicrous.

Bollywood seriously needs to get out of the cult of "stars". Our stars don't look Indian and they can't act for monkey's nuts. We mistake looks for personality. Fardeen Khan, with all his smug affectations, hardly possessed the finesse and suaveness that his character was supposed to convey. What was worse was that the only decent actor in the lot, KK, whose sheer magnetism sizzles the screen, was playing the sidekick to this yet-another-Khan-lad. Look at the Hollywood greats. With the exception of Brando, none of these actors would pass the "looks' test. Dustin Hoffman, Gene Hackman, Jack Nicholson, Daniel Day-Lewis(OK, I admit, he's gorgeous!), Joe Pesci, De Niro. (Al pAcino has starred in far too many the-Recruits for me to be included here).

And forget the personality. Actors are supposed to act! Would you stand a sub-standard musical performance? Or painting, architecture, literature? Any other art for that matter. All but the art of acting. As an actor, it's always infuriated me how Indian cinema (and even theater for that matter) is dominated by models; the very people who are trained to parade strutting and pluming over a ramp with deadpan expressions.

Bu, of course, Bollywood is an industry dictated by untalented, mediocre, semi-literate and mammon-worshipping production houses. Let's just call it that.