The Street of Peter Nagar

Tall houses queued up in a neat row on either side of the street; Peter Nagar had its old memories hidden beneath its thick tar roads. Puddles of water would ornate the moist red sand road with crisscrossed and rutted gutters making the street adventurous for any rider. Deciding to dress the red naked road with black tar, the municipality authorities would rob the street of its sheen burying the natural look it adorned. It should have witnessed every phase in the lives of Peter Nagar inhabitants – birth, death, failure, success, grief, hate, passion, anger ……it had managed to conceal their secrets under its dark tar coated mask. It remained a silent spectator when we witnessed Paapa-akka’s life taking a twist; it chose to remain still when her husband tumbled down gasping for his last breath. It was still, when the incorrigible alcoholic Albert kicked the bucket; it did not react when Allwyn, the state topper, adopting priesthood frustrated with materialistic life. It remained calm reacting to none.

To me, the street of Peter Nagar is more than just a street, it was my arena where I exhibited my cricketing prowess, it was my favorite rendezvous where I made friends for life with whom I shared moments which I would carry to my deathbed and even beyond. It is where we held our clandestine meets to decide and host our “Group Study” and we would vote the absolute choice as Appu’s place, as he was the only privileged one to possess a VCR then. Appu & I would stroll up and down this street sharing lighter moments, trying to impress the Patrick’s girls who managed to ignore our superior stunts. With no four walls around, it is where we disclosed our dark open secrets, debating on trivia, thumping on accomplishments, expressing our love, friendship and envy.

Appu & I, befriended Hemchand with the strategic intent of leveraging his cricket kit, since then, cricket was even more fun with keeping gloves, BDM stumps and a fresh SS willow. Hemchand, I should say, gave a new fillip to our street cricket. His long run ups to bowl the most expected wide balls demanded him to take long strides like a bulky monster rummaging the already dent road. The blue TVS champ (had been the most coveted to make fun trips after winning matches) wearing his constipated smile and self proclaimed “I, me, myself” stories were his Unique Propositions. After Class X, Appu & I drifted away from his company and I would occasionally meet him up to exchange pleasantries. Otherwise, he was almost a forgotten entity.
Few days back, Dr. Hemchand fell as a prey to the ebb tide of his ruthless life which left him crippled and his legs amputated. When Ramesh apprised me on Hemchand’s ill fate, my heart was drowned in pain as I sympathized with a young lad dreaming to make big in life. As a kid he dreamt of marrying the actress Meena, riding a Tata Safari, starting his own hospital. The street of Peter Nagar would no more feel the real legs of Hemchand denting it; the fate made the street devoid of the rummaging that Hemchand would make on it, the road would no more be privileged to see him running mad after he picks up a wicket in a wide ball. I walked the street with a heavy heart unable to digest the fact and wishing it was a nightmare, while the street lay silent trying to offer me solace. The street should have seen many good times and bad yet it remained calm trying to empathize with my thoughts hiding its own sadness it should have felt for Hemachand. It hid its sadness beneath the dust laid tar road as I walked down the street searching the past.

Sivaji – The BOSS (Bachelor of Stupid Show)

A Hyper-hyped India’s most expensive movie starring India’s greatest style icon raises a simple question. Why the hell the movie was made?

Conspicuous, throughout the movie, is the dilemma that the director should have faced – either to present a Rajini movie with no content or to direct a Shankar movie and deliver a message in his own extravagant style – and successfully failing to create a movie which is neither of the two. Invariably, a normal viewer might miscomprehend Vivek as the protagonist and Rajini as a comedian who accomplished an unsuccessful attempt to make the first part of the movie a slap stick comedy, thereby making a gleeful suicide attempt.

Horrendous comedies, awful screenplay, pathetic direction, poor characterization, weird re-recording and appalling acting constitute the movie Sivaji. Sum of parts is always greater than the whole and the role of Shreya is mere a constant C in the equation y=mx –c and she balances the failing, down-sloping equation. Evident it is - both Shankar and Shreya should have forgotten their brains in their wardrobe. AVM should have been frugal enough to spend on Shreya’s costumes, as the only cost they should have incurred is on a couple of Maagi noodles pack. Wearing these threadbare noodles in all the songs, she reveals all the interesting and barely managing to conceal the vital.

In short, Sivaji is a poorly executed low-quality movie contributed by powerful band of bigwigs thereby enlisting it as another stupid movie produced by the mighty Indian cinema house AVM.

Sivaji vaayula mannu thaanda(pallavi) ….
Sivaji Thalayula thundu thaan da ….
aaheke right a Sivaji right a
aaheke right a Sivaji right a (chorus) …

FAITH, the road more traveled

Hitting the road, the spotless white Indigo danced to the tunes of the convoluted serpentine road which twisted and turned on its whims and fancies. Watching the world move behind me, I was spoiling myself in the plush leather seats as my ipod was playing its 1GB magic in my ears. Waging an authoritative altercation I was successful in disapproving the list of topics carefully chosen by dad & mom and let sleep creep in their exhausted minds to prepare them for the next round of lists which I would certainly disapprove of. Though I realize, mental paradigms could not be changed in just wink of an eye, most of the times, I feel quite sad and stupid as my parents fail to understand the needless pain they invite upon them in the name of religion, belief and superstition. This is one such “pilgrimage” for my parents in their pursuit of a heavenly after-life while I was enjoying their presence and living the current moment to my heart’s content.

Starting with a holy dip in Nala Theertham of Thirunallar (a temple for Saturn god) in a belief that it would make us devoid of all the future ill-luck, the trip un-winded as we visited Thirupampuram (Kingdom of Serpents), AnandhaMangalam, Swamimalai(A place for the war god Karthikeya), Uppaliyappan and Vaitheeswaran Kovil. Curious to know about the stories made around these temples I had started to collect the documented history(Thiruthala Varalaru) and was busy criticizing the well cooked up stories while my mom was fuming in fear that their mighty God might punish me.

All throughout the trip, I was quite successful in winning never ceasing arguments with dad and was brimming with pride for having exhibited glimpses of my analytical brain. Turning impatient, as I could see my dad enjoying the defeat, I was determined to humiliate him further and chose to discuss about the core of their beliefs – FAITH. Questioning their faith and their obsolete religion I was close in winning another battle until my dad uttered his closing sentences in his own unique style. FAITH IS ALL THAT KEEPS US MOVING AND ALIVE. IT IS THE ONLY LINK BETWEEN MAN & MAN and MAN & GOD. ONE WHO LOSES FAITH LOSES EVERYTHING. I found the answer convincing, and for the first time in the trip, I was defeated but yet felt the real joy in losing to my loved one and having rediscovered a known fact. Silence crept in and dad went back to his hibernating mode while my mind was furiously thinking about the truth in the fact called FAITH. I could see the world moved past as the Indigo cruised along in the road more traveled.

Ennangalin Mozhi...Kavithaiyo!

Story of Bachchans, Britney & the Stupid Media….

"We have to fight like Gandhi"....the words keep drumming in my ears.

Holding a copy of the Delhi Times, Amit asked "Would you recommend the pictures of these almost-nude models to an 8 year old kid?”. "As business students, appreciate the fact ......It’s our business" replied the Delhi TOI Editor after a momentary silence which revealed her capitalist mind successfully grappling her consciousness. Her sobbing consciousness hid under her black suit should have lost its balance, when she managed to restore it by gulping a glass of water. Having created ripples in an otherwise silent crowd, Amit was suddenly viewed as an outcast for having surfaced his "uncouth" behavior in a guest lecture.

After the seminar, I tried appeasing him, "Come on Amit, understand the realities of life". Ouch...my ego hurt when he slammed back "You are a selfish spineless Indian. This is a cancer and this evil should be fought against. We have to fight like Gandhi”. “Your hyper actions would never take you places. This is not a cancer it is just business” I said slapping back. I resolved never to discuss with him on this topic anymore and I was fairly successful.

Time passed by, TOI fervently captures market share in Southern cities of India. Business, as usual for Bennett Coleman & Co., busy filling its coffers to feed the already fat-rodents called shareholders. The so-called “Sensational” news which appeared in Page 3 found its swift way to the main page under the TOI banner. I could observe tremendous improvement in the quality of articles which is a must-read for every responsible Indian.

Headlines published are superlatively phenomenal and highly appealing to the salivating mouths of the well grown voyeurs of the great Indian democracy. The editor and the readers probably would chose Aishwariya touching Abhishek’s feet as a sensational feat and as critical as kargil when the likes of Katara elected to the Lok Sabha would be busy trafficking people. Yes, crucial is the big fat bollywood wedding when the efficacy of our MPs is not worth pondering.

The (ir) responsible paparazzi daily news paper would chase Britney and be concerned about her shaved head and arm pits, when Antrix Corporation(for the uninitiated it is the commercial arm of ISRO) makes huge strides. Liz Hurley washing her dirty linen in public is our top priority when Indian citizens are contemplating to avert the water crisis this summer. Guess what the headline is tomorrow…..Would the silica gel of Pamela Anderson grow bigger???

TOI is just an analogy, when the whole “media market” is busy chasing the craziest and stupidest things under the sun. It is high time to take account of our mistakes as these so called “businesses” provide what “we” want. It is time to start weeding the evil that has mushroomed in our fast paced economy corrupting our imaginations, thought and actions. It is the penultimate time to stop demanding newspapers and channels that makes us true voyeurs and mindless citizens.

Shedding my ego, I called up Amit to let him know that I have ceased to be a spineless citizen. "We have to fight like Gandhi"....the words still keep drumming in my ears.

How to name it?

Train journey is something that offers you a new experience everytime...

Should I call this Oedipus complex???

Left in a romantic mood.....getting drenched in fresh rain....on my Hercules MTB...I could not think of anything but this.....
Walking down the end of MG road in bangalore. People wandering with lust is a common sight... Should prostitution be legalized??...I have no opinion...I'm thinking ...Should prostitution exist???

Blisters of Solitude :-)

I was riding my Pegasus in solitude. The solitary ride could bring the best in many and could make a novice express naiveté. I'm unsure what it did to me, as it needs careful introspection but I prefer calling the outcome of this process as blisters of solitude.