Piku : Lovable

Pi(c) ku of the bunch!

Piku is that melodious strain of santoor, that welcome first drizzle of rain that soaks your soul ever so gently and makes you want to be a better person, at least till the effect lasts. And the best thing is that it does that without preaching, nothing is overt here but the messages are loud and clear. And they make you suddenly realize that it is possible to be better - a better father, daughter or a friend. The sheer positivity is the film’s biggest strength.

Shoojit Sirkar, whose last outing was the brilliant ‘Vicky Donor’, which was around the tricky, could-have-been sleazy topic about sperm-donation, revives the old Hrishkesh Mukherjee world in Piku and deals with the endearing father-daughter relationship under the guise of a family battling with… gawd-help-us…. constipation.

Piku is about the road-trip the father-daughter take from Delhi to Kolkata, and Rana, the person who wily-nilly ties the fussy father’s make-shift ‘mobile’ potty atop his cab and drives them there.

The film opens like that hidden window through which you eavesdrop on this cantankerous Bengali family consisting of just two members – Piku (Padukone) and her 70 year old father, Bhaskor Bannerjee (Bachchan). It’s quite a different thing that the old man is more than a handful, with his perennial obsession with his constipation, his eternal suspicion of maids taking him for a ride and his firm belief  that marriage is for women with ‘low IQ’ not for Piku.

 We see and empathize with the frustrations of the hectic life of this working, unmarried girl as she juggles with a demanding career, her difficult father, her household with all its attendant problems of quitting maids, choking drains and accumulating cobwebs. Along with all this she tries to maintain some kind of a social life alive too. She seems to have given up the idea of ever marrying as she feels duty-bound to care for her cranky, old father and doubts if anybody will agree to take her along with her ’70-year-old child’.

 The way the father gets on his daughter’s nerves with his eternal pre-occupation with his health in general and his bowels in particular and the way she shouts back at him is so ‘us’ that we thank God that the days of mutely self-sacrificing daughters and angelic dads are finally over. We also completely identify with the real concern which lies just under the surface, in those small moments and unsaid things like the soft looks the father keeps for her daughter and the way she skips four stairs at a time when she hears that her father is unwell.

Rana Chowdhary (Khan) enters this volatile equation in the unenviable position of the man who has to ferry them to Kolkata in his cab. Caught between the baffling duo, he earns their respect with his common –sense and ready wit. The old man finally meets his match in him when his unreasonable demands are rebuffed in no uncertain terms. The understated attraction between Rana and Piku is again a reminder how love happens in the real world.

The performances in ‘Piku’ are decidedly among the finest for all its actors. The paunchy Bachchan excels while throwing tantrums about just about everything and is hilarious when he gets sad that all his reports were normal! It is magical how this man conveys more with a blink than any other actor with pages of dialogues! Padukone can chalk this too up as a winner with her nuanced portrayal of a frustrated but arrogant girl finally finding her peace and balance with the earthy ‘Rana’. And as Rana, Khan speaks more with his eyes and body and conveys as much as he does with his sharp one-liners. On screen after years, we find Chatterjee as Piku’s aunt, as vibrant as and feistier than she was in her hey-days, giving back as well as she gets from her brother-in-law.

The biggest credit goes to Juhi Chaturvedi for her brilliant screenplay and dialogues. The screenplay is the hero of the film which overrides any need for over-the-top drama or larger-than-life platform to bring home some pertinent questions whether it is about caring for one’s parents however problematic that may be or true woman’s emancipation by the way Piku unself-consciously admits to physical needs and the ultimate truth that our roots are us. Chaturvedi manages to pack this and more in without once going preachy or moralistic.

Cinematographer Kamaljeet Negi deserves applause for bringing alive the milieu of the dusty narrow lanes of Chittranjan Park and the beauty of Kolkata without taking us on a scenic-city-tour. And finally, hats off to the captain helming the show, Sirkar has the advantage of being a Bengali, but it also needs minute attention to detail to bring alive the sheer Bengali-ness. The nighty-clad lady of the house, deftly chopping vegetables on a ‘boti’ (a gadget typical to all Bengali homes to chop anything from vegetables to fish) ; the circular ‘alpana’ in the open yard; the way a simple conversation can explode into a full-blooded verbal battle and yes, the hypochondria every self-respecting Bengali suffers from is guaranteed to bring a sheepish but delighted smile of recognition on every Bengali lip.

With ‘Piku’ Shoojit Sirkar has firmly established himself in the pantheon of this new breed of directors like Rajkumar Hirani (of Munnabhai, 3 Idiots, PK fame) and  Vikas Bahl  (Chillar Party, Queen) who may just bring back story and performance- oriented movies which do not need the crutches of violence and sleaze oozing out of every frame.

Piku : Lovably yours!

Pi(c) ku of the bunch! Piku is that melodious strain of santoor, that welcome first drizzle of rain that soaks your soul ever so gently and makes you want to be a better person, at least till the effect lasts. And the best thing is that it does that without preaching, nothing is overt here but the messages are loud and clear. And they make you suddenly realize that it is possible to be better - a better father, daughter or a friend. The sheer positivity is the film’s biggest strength. Shoojit Sirkar, whose last outing was the brilliant ‘Vicky Donor’, which was around the tricky, could-have-been sleazy topic about sperm-donation, revives the old Hrishkesh Mukherjee world in Piku and deals with the endearing father-daughter relationship under the guise of a family battling with… gawd-help-us…. constipation. Piku is about the road-trip the father-daughter take from Delhi to Kolkata, and Rana, the person who wily-nilly ties the fussy father’s make-shift ‘mobile’ potty atop his cab and drives them there. The film opens like that hidden window through which you eavesdrop on this cantankerous Bengali family consisting of just two members – Piku (Padukone) and her 70 year old father, Bhaskor Bannerjee (Bachchan). It’s quite a different thing that the old man is more than a handful, with his perennial obsession with his constipation, his eternal suspicion of maids taking him for a ride and his firm belief that marriage is for women with ‘low IQ’ not for Piku. We see and empathize with the frustrations of the hectic life of this working, unmarried girl as she juggles with a demanding career, her difficult father, her household with all its attendant problems of quitting maids, choking drains and accumulating cobwebs. Along with all this she tries to maintain some kind of a social life alive too. She seems to have given up the idea of ever marrying as she feels duty-bound to care for her cranky, old father and doubts if anybody will agree to take her along with her ’70-year-old child’. The way the father gets on his daughter’s nerves with his eternal pre-occupation with his health in general and his bowels in particular and the way she shouts back at him is so ‘us’ that we thank God that the days of mutely self-sacrificing daughters and angelic dads are finally over. We also completely identify with the real concern which lies just under the surface, in those small moments and unsaid things like the soft looks the father keeps for her daughter and the way she skips four stairs at a time when she hears that her father is unwell. Rana Chowdhary (Khan) enters this volatile equation in the unenviable position of the man who has to ferry them to Kolkata in his cab. Caught between the baffling duo, he earns their respect with his common –sense and ready wit. The old man finally meets his match in him when his unreasonable demands are rebuffed in no uncertain terms. The understated attraction between Rana and Piku is again a reminder how love happens in the real world. The performances in ‘Piku’ are decidedly among the finest for all its actors. The paunchy Bachchan excels while throwing tantrums about just about everything and is hilarious when he gets sad that all his reports were normal! It is magical how this man conveys more with a blink than any other actor with pages of dialogues! Padukone can chalk this too up as a winner with her nuanced portrayal of a frustrated but arrogant girl finally finding her peace and balance with the earthy ‘Rana’. And as Rana, Khan speaks more with his eyes and body and conveys as much as he does with his sharp one-liners. On screen after years, we find Chatterjee as Piku’s aunt, as vibrant as and feistier than she was in her hey-days, giving back as well as she gets from her brother-in-law. The biggest credit goes to Juhi Chaturvedi for her brilliant screenplay and dialogues. The screenplay is the hero of the film which overrides any need for over-the-top drama or larger-than-life platform to bring home some pertinent questions whether it is about caring for one’s parents however problematic that may be or true woman’s emancipation by the way Piku unself-consciously admits to physical needs and the ultimate truth that our roots are us. Chaturvedi manages to pack this and more in without once going preachy or moralistic. Cinematographer Kamaljeet Negi deserves applause for bringing alive the milieu of the dusty narrow lanes of Chittranjan Park and the beauty of Kolkata without taking us on a scenic-city-tour. And finally, hats off to the captain helming the show, Sirkar has the advantage of being a Bengali, but it also needs minute attention to detail to bring alive the sheer Bengali-ness. The nighty-clad lady of the house, deftly chopping vegetables on a ‘boti’ (a gadget typical to all Bengali homes to chop anything from vegetables to fish) ; the circular ‘alpana’ in the open yard; the way a simple conversation can explode into a full-blooded verbal battle and yes, the hypochondria every self-respecting Bengali suffers from is guaranteed to bring a sheepish but delighted smile of recognition on every Bengali lip. With ‘Piku’ Shoojit Sirkar has firmly established himself in the pantheon of this new breed of directors like Rajkumar Hirani (of Munnabhai, 3 Idiots, PK fame) and Vikas Bahl (Chillar Party, Queen) who may just bring back story and performance- oriented movies which do not need the crutches of violence and sleaze oozing out of every frame.

A Day in the Life of an Alwarite While the rest of the world gets up with ‘Good morning!’ , we, the Alwarites, get up with ‘Jaldi karo paani chala jayega, bijli chali jayegi’. But have you ever wondered how ‘caring’ our public departments are? You may not care about your health but our Water-works does! Take health for example. Would you get a regular work out if it wasn’t for the philanthropic water-board? Firstly, it decided to transform all slothful citizens into early-birds by starting the supply at 5:30 a.m., then to prevent the inevitable wastage, it releases just a wee trickle which can at the most fill your underground water-tanks. Add to that our wonderful Public Works, who, for some reason are digging up the city, which inevitably means a broken water-pipe every day, left unattended as long as possible. Both of these combined means that on the lucky days when no pipes are broken, you have to be up and running and bending to reach the tap in the tank the moment your eyes snap open. Should you mind it so much? No! Look at the benefits, hubby is bright-eyed and bushy tailed even without the first-cup of tea and gets a vigorous work-out running, bending, bending and running again to ensure all tanks and buckets are full for the day. Electricity board chips in with a power-cut so you don’t even think of cranking the booster-pump on. In one stroke, they’re saving electricity, giving you a free work-out and saving water, as you wouldn’t dare to waste such hard-earned water. Actually, these two boards are not just thinking of only your physical well-being, think of the emotional boost, the sublime sense of achievement when you see the tank filled up to its brim with sparkling water. Where else could you get this valuable lesson in being so happy with so little? There is also the greatest lesson ever of self-reliance- why rely on any board for basic-necessities? Get your own inverter, your own water-pump and free yourself of dependence! Employment generation is another thing which is often overlooked by people cribbing about bad governance. The streets are humming these days with a number of water – tankers. On the days when the Public works is successful in disrupting the meager water-supply we turn to these helpful people with their water-tanks. Imagine the number of people who must’ve got regular work because of this! And then there are those who refuse to buy water- their basic necessity, they say, and take out rallies in protest. But have you ever wondered how many people get work writing placards or making those combustible effigies? For that matter, dare you blame corruption for a number of things including bad roads which disappear with the first shower of rain? If you do, you’re plain myopic. Such roads ensure steady work for a number of contractors, engineers, laborers etc. etc. for years, didn’t you know? Where would they be if roads lasted for years together? And if you look a little deeper, who’s behind it all? Our governance, of course! Ineffective, you think? Just be in their shoes for a while and imagine what all they have to contend with. Starting with making plans full of loopholes, to handing out work which ensures steady income- for them of course, (what did you think?); to ensuring nothing progresses smoothly and then the most important part- make sure of following the ‘monkey on the pole’ principle- 3 steps up, 2 steps down- this way nothing will ever be complete, which will ensure years of work for everybody! Do you still blame the authorities for not taking their work seriously??

Withered blooms

How green is my garden!

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/home/opinion/edit-page/Withered-bloom/articleshow/12222990.cms

Our gardener and I share a love-hate relationship. I love seasonal flowers and he hates them. He thinks of flowers as pests and keeps wondering what earthly use are they. If he could have his way he’d transform our little garden into a vegetable patch. “You can eat fresh vegetables everyday!” is his standing argument, for which he has encroached a third of the area and planted his utter favorites – gourds, methi and spinach.

No amount of persuasion with this ‘maali baba’ works, so I usually pitch in myself, while he watches with a disdainful sneer. My experiments always start with sowing the seeds, waiting patiently for a month for the plants to sprout, losing patience and invariably ending with a shamefaced visit to the nursery for plants ready to bloom. Despite the fiascos which happen every year with monotonous regularity I haven’t lost faith in myself- one day I’ll grow, and not buy, my seasonal flowers.
And a month ago I found the big polythene bag bulging with seeds. They were not labeled but I was sure that they were the same I had painstakingly collected last year. I rushed with it to the garden- getting our all-in-one office boy to strew them in the characteristically empty flower- bed was a matter of minutes. And then the wait began.

This year it looked like my persistence was about to be paid off. Tiny, bright green plants sprouted and soon covered the barren flower-bed. Excited I emptied a bucketful of fertilizer and was rewarded with a fresh burst of growth which threatened to choke the bed. Getting to thinning down the plants, I carefully plucked plants by handfuls and replanted them in all the flower-pots and remaining flower beds. Still there was a surplus and working on the ‘do unto your neighbors ….’ principle, I distributed it freely to neighbours, advising them sagely to plant not more than four plants per pot.
“What is it?” one of the ladies asked, eyeing the tender green plants.
“Oh, flowers…,” I said with a superior smile, these people knew so little about plants, “multicolored flowered, they’ll bloom in March!”
“They look familiar, you know…” she said a bit doubtfully. I couldn’t help laughing, “Oh, they do, but don’t worry they’re those lovely flowers…”

I rediscovered the joys of nurturing- watering the plants diligently, swatting away our pet when he tried to eat the labours of love and everywhere in our garden I could see the pearls of my hard-work.

But something was missing. The one thing I do know about flowering plants is that they start budding when the weather turns warm. And mine were just going on sprouting more and more leaves. Maybe they would bloom late, I told myself and sprinkled some more fertilizer in the hope that it’d hasten flowering. They became positively luxuriant but still no budding.
And then, the other night it suddenly struck me, how come we had such a huge packet of seeds? Our measly buys from the nursery yielded hardly a spoonful, so where had that big polythene come from?
The next morning I surreptitiously compared the leaves of Baba’s spinach patch and my plants- they looked distressingly, alarmingly similar. I bit of tiny pieces of both- they tasted exactly the same!

I brought out the offending polythene bag and held it under Baba’s nose, “Which seeds are these?” I asked him, half-sure of his answer myself.
He took out a handful, peered carefully and put it back, “Spinach” he said happily, ”Keep it safely, we’ll use it next year,” he beamed more broadly, “this year you’ve done a very good thing by filling all those silly flower-beds and pots with spinach….”

Did I wait to hear more? I did not.
I was on my way on the oft-beaten track to the nursery.
And the neighbors are yet to know the truth.
******************************************************

A small voice: Celebrating Myself!

A small voice: Celebrating Myself!

http://www.womensweb.in/articles/celebrating-myself/

Celebrating Myself!

Celebrating Myself!

Wow and thanks for giving me this opportunity to actually get around to think whether I am celebration-worthy! And Lo! What do I find? I am! Like so many of us ‘unsung heroines’ out there; like every lady with gumption out there!

The problem with us unassuming types  is the ‘Oh, no, it’s nothing’ syndrome, no matter how good we are, how tough and fruitful our journey has been, we brush it off with ‘oh everybody does that’. Yes, they do and we do and that’s why we ought to feel pride in our achievements – however small they are. Our humility, I can assure you, has only one outcome- being taken for granted and rightly so, if we can’t appreciate ourselves, why in the world anybody else would?

So, the title got me thinking- furrowed brows and all! Have I really done, as in, done anything stupendous? What is it about me that I can celebrate? Is there anything at all? Does being my mother’s only support in her last days count as important? Is raising a fabulous kid an achievement? Is holding a family together worthy of an award? Could I or would I give any credit to myself for becoming and being the person I am? Has my journey from a gawky girl to a self-possessed forty-something (you’ll never know forty-what!) been as simple as it looks?
Noooooo!!! NOT AT ALL!

I think, the fact that everything about me is a lesson in DIY- Do-it-yourself, is cause enough to celebrate. From choosing to study Literature when everybody around me was hollering ‘MBBS’!, to finding my soul-mate, to sticking to being a full-time mom and leaving a lucrative job against popular wisdom, to finding my passion for writing (you had guessed it, hadn’t you?) , to getting over rejection slips and plodding on till I got it right and published…..the list is long….I did do them all!
Add to that, that I was a novice at everything, being a wife, mother, teacher and writer and didn’t have the benefit of ‘mentors’, not even a Ma-in-law to teach me the basics of home- management!

And I learnt it all one tough step after another by myself! And I think I have proved myself in every field. Well- my hubby has survived 26 years of me, sonny is a source of pride and joy, students have been tremendously successful and more than anything, have become friends to me and lastly, kind editors are publishing my work- if that doesn’t entail a full-blast celebration- what does? Bring on the roses and tulips (glasses, I mean, but naturally!)
On a less boastful note, I take pride in saying that people who matter to me and vice-versa can always and I do mean, always, count upon me for love, support, sympathy and yes, hard-knocks when they’re needed. In a world that is increasingly becoming all about facades, with me, you get what you see – no pretensions, I personally feel, it must be so exhausting to pretend to be what you’re not. And I am proud, very proud of the fact hat I belong to the endangered species of those who never need to pretend; who have the courage to be always themsleves.
There have been many contributors in creating the person I am- the direct and the indirect influences; some taught me what to do and some, what not to..….both equally important.

And I think that means bottoms up for them all and yet another celebration!
****************************

Sarv Shiksha??

Sept.1st- historical as Didi retired from her 23 years of teaching music. A trip to the village where she had been transferered a mere 15 days before-- the Govt. / the Edu. Deptt., at least of Rajasthan, functions in mysterious ways! It must have seen some sense in all the unneccessary paper-work and hassle- creation for a person about to retire!

Anyway, the trip was an eye-opener in more ways than one. Villages and villagers are nicer than small-towns, people simple and friendly and of course, no pretences. Plus, unlike Alwar, lovely breeze blows all the time. A 'prohper' send-off was arranged for didi- the 'do- shabd's by some teachers, the gifts of shawl and the customary clock and chai-paani. Sweet.

But then, arose the question why were there so few children when such good infrastructure is there? Why were the teachers so sleepy? Why the black-boards untouched and why the children still unlettered? The bigger pity was that of the 9 students, most looked pretty sharp.

A pipe dream??

JUST A PIECE OF CLOTH

It is a piece of thin muslin cloth, an old chunni, past its accessorizing days, being recycled in true blue Indian style to serve as the roti-cloth, curd-hanger, sprout-tier and now as this ingenious instrument which works where many a skilled plumber failed.

The whole story is something like this- a kitchen tap, wrongly installed  off-centre rather than in the center, due to lack of foresight was the bane of my domestic help’s life as it sprayed water unstintingly over her and all over the cooking slab. At intervals, different plumbers came, cursed the previous ‘ completely useless’ ones, had tea, tinkered around, pronounced the tap cured, swore on their dear, departed mothers that it’d stay that way for at least a year and left. For a few days, things would be hunky-dory, the spray would restrain itself to the sink, spare the slab and Krishna Bai’s sari. And then would start the sinister spluttering again and we’d be back to square one.

And then one day, KB’s daughter came, took one look at the offending tap, decided that she certainly didn’t want to be sprayed, took the afore-mentioned piece of cloth, tied it firmly at the tap’s mouth and that was that. The shrew was tamed, the spluttering stopped effectively and everybody was happy.

The simple yet eminently effective method- just a bit of the (un)common-sense and the will to check a problem -  got me thinking. The builder had made a mistake, we had accepted it as our fate mainly because it was not directly troubling us, we hardly ever needed to work at the sink with the faulty faucet as that is K Bai’s territory and things had remained the same for the past few years.

Isn’t that our general attitude in almost every sphere of our lives? Our famous ‘chalta hai na’ attitude at its worst? Be it the clogged drains- we press our perfumed hankies on our noses and move on; our use of polythene bags- everybody does it so we too join in, they are convenient after all and then when we find the outskirts of any town strewn with the colored bits of polythene, we wince and move on; whatever pangs of conscience we may suffer are effectively taken care of by forwarding impassioned SMSs by pressing ‘send all’ in almost the same breath as we forward the latest Santa – Banta jokes or ‘liking’ similar messages on Facebook and then, yes, we consider it a duty done and move on.

So fond of moaning ‘what to do, this is India, after all’ we have learnt too well to take things in our stride, be it ineffectual administration, babudom, more loopholes in every system than its fabric and of course, corruption.

Right, things have been bad, our systems not really the best in the world, we have made incorrect choices but who says things should continue like this?

Some of the ‘plumbers’ we chose could not spot the trouble nor stop the leakage of our resources till we got this ‘Lil’ ol’ man in topi’ , our own piece of cloth, which just might work where the mighty anti-corruption measures failed so spectacularly. He doesn’t know politics or even administration, what he knows is that he is no longer going to be taken for granted.

What prevents us from being little pieces of cloth and stop nonsense when we see it? Is it our ingrained ‘why bother? It isn’t affecting us directly!’ Or is it fear? How many of us, those who are vociferously supporting Anna on FB or cells or by attending candle-light vigils can and will desist passing on that surreptitious green-note to facilitate a pending file? Why must we wait for some BIG miracle to bail us out?  If we can be our own small but worthy miracles, Anna has won.

He can fight the bigger wars, we, the smaller battles….and please don’t tell me it’s a pipe dream.

**********************

Counting Blessings- Small town diaries Part II

What is convex and black and small? A beetle? Nah- an aunto-rickshaw's vinyl roof and when you see hundreds of them without an inch of space in between, you're bound to think -it is auto-rick apocalypse. But apparently it isn't. I'm told smilingly that it is the 'normal' evening rush in Mumbai and 'No, I won't take you where you want to go,' the rickwalla's smile is broader. He's sympathetic, it says, but not mad. I've no option left but to walk, more than a mile, in heels, when finally the roads started to open a little.
I'd never have faced this in my beloved small-town. Traffic has increased, it is unruly, encroachment has narrowed the roads and there are strays aplenty but few jams. True you have to avoid a pit here, a puddle there, a dog here, an apprently deaf cyclist there while steering clear of the ox (which is considerably bigger than your car) by the road side, but jams? No sir. This small town may crawl but it doesn't come to a full-stop.
Space- that is also what a small town gives you, physical if not otherwise. You don't need to be a millionaire to afford a 3-4 bhk, and the h can be huge, a garden, roof and spacious verandah thrown in for good measure.
And the biggest blessing is - hold your breath- savings. You can't spend no matter however much you want to so you save per-force. And why can't you spend? Let me count the ways- 1. No unhealthily expensive but inviting eating joints, the ones that are there have made inconsistance their hall-mark so you don't want to challenge your luck too often. 2. No malls (yes, in this day and age) - the one which opened recently has three shops with all the rejects from Delhi or someplace. 3. No movie-theatres (forget multiplex) unless you want to brave rat-infested, gutka smelling and gutka colored walls of the two existing 'picture-halls'- Thank God or whoever for the Dish....
The list continues tomorrow..................

  

The Stepford / Small town Wives

I was watching 'The Stepford wives' last night. The unbelievably 'Perfect' lives- happily busy, perfectly turned- out wives churning out one perfect dish after another, managing households on well-oiled wheels, satisfied husbands happy in their club ... and I was eerily reminded of the ladies around me, the house-proud ladies who revel in in their kitchens, take pride in doing 'EVERYTHING' themselves (ref. to the first of  'A small voice'). The Stepford ladies were robots, I daren't even think about what kind of brain-washing goes on here......it's scary.
 There too 'the perfect world' was a smart lady's brainchild, here too I see many versions of that lady. The sar-pe-palloo types who look down upon others who don't conform to the 'work-temple-work-kitty-work-TV...work......' schedule in which they've lived for ages.
On the other hand, they appear to be more contented with their lives than their so- called emancipated counterparts juggling with careers and homes and kids.....
On yet another hand, is that what a woman's life should all be about?  I'm confused. 

Cirkit!

No, that's not a spelling error. This is how it is pronounced here, by quite a few eunthusiasts.
Cricket and Math. are much the same for me- they both deal with obscure (to me) numbers which I just can't understand- hence both are dealt with supreme indifference.  I know I might get lynched for not liking cricket- anti-cricket is almost anti-Christ here- but honestly how can one like something one doesn't understand? What IS the fun staring at folks standing, squinting in the sun, looking at a ball and another guy hitting it..........but like they say, each man to his own.
But I would say one thing for the game, introduced ironically by our oppressors-the Brits - btw, whose worst things we copied quickly but didn't give a second glance to the qualities which we should have, but that is digressing...
About the game, yes, it is almost magical how it brings people together. Last night, we were at this joint- the customers, the waiters, the cooks (that explains my undercooked uttapam) everybody was engrossed, every eye fixed on the TV on the wall, every sigh, every 'Yay! India' synchronized!! And on the way back, people thronged the usually empty paan-shop as he did a brisk business while people absently ordered paans, their attention wholly fixed on the small TV inside the shop.
If we could join hands like this against corruption, ineffeciency, red-tape..................
Too good to be true?
Who knows?
:)

Small town diary- Part I

‘Peaceful’. Period.

“Well…I like small towns like ….., they have so many things which glitzy metros don’t…like, y’know…they’re so peaceful and…and…and….”

Got the gist? Life in a small town has ‘so much’ to offer, we start and after saying ‘peaceful’ , we come to a dead-end.

Like they say, the grass is always greener on the etc. etc. Friends who drop in here for a few days, gush and I mean GUSH…”Wow, you’re so lucky, living here!” Followed invariably by the query, “Could I invest in some property here?”

You could, buddy. If you’re ready to put up with some inconvenient truths.

We are a peaceful place and people and that is the beginning and end of the story. If you’re on the verge of retiring or already retired you’ll like it here. Invest in a chartered helicopter and you’re all set. Why helicopter? How else do you intend to reach New Delhi or Jaipur instantly in case of a medical emergency?  You know anything can happen at that age and a train or taxi or an ambulance will take you 3+ hours. You might as well say goodbye to your folks when you leave, you never know, you know… We have hospitals, of course. What do you take us for? But somehow……….you get it?

You could also come here if you want to study, because we apparently have the maximum numbers of educational institutes here. Schools, colleges, professional, technical institutes…you name it, we have it. You/your kids will have a lovely time here and will be able to compete with the best anywhere in the world, provided they are self-sufficient, y’know, self-motivated, dedicated individuals who find their own way, without expecting any expert help from the hallowed institutions. Or if they are doing the ‘professional’ courses, they have to have Budhdha-like zen, contentment of the highest order, and of course they should know better than to compare (and cringe in horror) with the lakhs they pay for the education to the thousands they’ll earn (if at all) after graduating from here. Of course, we have opportunities for the young, just don’t ask what kind. A small town teaches you contentment like nothing else.

That brings me to another virtue- patience……which we small-towners have in abundance. But we’ll take it up tomorrow, ok? See, your first lesson of patience. J

Why Ekta Kapoor Reigns

"I've never kept any maid, I do EVERYTHING myself" (accompanied with a proud smile)
"I have a washing-machine, but I wash clothes by hand" ( acc. by a virtuous smile)
"The mixy (mixer) is ok but nothing to compare to the masala ground on 'silbatta' " (acc. with a fie-on-you-you mixy-hound look)
"I spend two hours at the temple, writing "Ram' a thousand times everyday" (this one's son is a step short of a juvenile deliquent, but maybe that's why the thousand 'Ram's are required!)
"I make everything at home, nobody at home will even look at store-bought sweets and snacks" ( acc. with a horrified you-inflict-store- bought- samosa- on- your family' look)
"My husband misses me if I go away even for a day" (Implied meaning- yours doesn't because you don't hang out his towel or wash his shaving brush for him)
"Her daughter-in-law talks to everybody, mine doesn't step out of the house without my permission!" ( acc. with, you got it...a PROUD smirk)

Just a few ways  small town ladies keep  so occupied and fit!!! And the one reason why Ekta Kapoor still reigns!