The roomies

Six years of my life I have lived as a bachelor. With bachelors. Countless number of times I have talked to people who have lived/are living this way. The inference of all those talks and shared experiences I am sharing below:

1. The place: Can be a room, an apartment or a whole house. Will contain desktops if you are a student or a television, refrigerator, inverter, and probably a washing machine if you are working.

2. The smell: Is same as Chandni bar on Sunday morning.

3. The balcony: If there is any, is strewn with hanging ropes with an assortment of underwears, baniyans, socks and towels.

4. There will always be a lazy guy who will always wake up late and wear the same stinky t-shirt or shirt to college/office.

5. There will be one person who will never wash the utensils. Similarly, there will be one person who will always wash all the utensils.

6. There will be one bachelor who will wear the same underwear for days. His mannerisms will be like Sachin Tendulkar on crease.

7. There will be one person who will always be on phone. If they are in college, he will be the dude of the room.

8. There are smokers. Occasional – they will occasionally smoke a cigarette during a daru party. Loaners – who will never buy one but ask for a kash or a whole cigarette from another. Light smokers – will smoke after lunch and dinner. And then there is the Guru, who believes that the fire at the end of the stick is God-sent and shall never be doused – eternal. He has at least twenty cigarettes lying all over the apartment at strategic locations so that he will have fast access to it in case of an emergency. He has at least three packs in his cupboard/almirah/suitcase in case of sudden apocalypse. He’s the one people go to in the middle of the night: “Abe sutta khatam ho gaya hai, ek de de bhai…”.

9. Pan wallah: He’s the Guru in a completely different sense. His demeanor exuberates calm, saint-like tranquility. Like a sadhu on maun vrat, he remains unperturbed from the ecosystem which surrounds him. People around him find peace near him. People not usually around him think he’s an introvert. Neither is true, it’s just that his mouth is always full of Pan Parag or Rajnigandha or Tulsi.

10. There will be one person who will always be late in matters related to rent payments, contribution for daru parties, etc.

11. Sharaabi: Irom Sharmila isn’t the only one who’s on a liquid diet. There are people who drink whiskey and/or vodka and/or rum and/or wine and/or beer and/or desi and/or any other kind of liquor more than the Volturi drink blood. They may also often be seen with a joint in the other hand. You can see them in the morning with their head in their hands complaining of headache because they didn’t get to drink the previous night.

12. The aam aadmi: He’s the one who will get up on time in the morning, get fresh, bathe, do a small prayer in front of a small photo of a deity (ranging from Lord Shiva to Sai baba) and go to college/office. When he returns, he’ll wash his clothes, watch some news, or Big Boss, or Pavitra Rishta, eat from the kitchen and go to sleep. He can often be sighted holding a glass of pepsi in a room daru party. These guys are usually good cooks and do a part time job as handyman if you want a pack of cigarettes or a quarter of Blender’s Pride from the market if he’s going their for his packet of milk.

13. Tharki: He can describe Lalita Pawar in such a way that she’ll look like Pamela Anderson the next time you see her. The pinnacle of human equality, every girl/woman is same for him.

14. Gadget freak: In school, a friend of mine used to be called a gadget freak because he owned a scientific calculator. Now it has been replaced by the latest Apple product (which frequently gets replaced by another Apple product). These guys have credit card bills in the multiple of ten thousands. They will not believe they are standing in front of the Taj Mahal if Google maps won’t confirm it.          

While I can say that I miss those days, my wife is the most avid reader of this blog, so I’ll say that I’m happier now.

The tub

I am a huge fan of bath tubs. Being a very very lazy person, I hate bathing. It’s very hard for me to get up from my comfortable bed, go to the bathroom, open the shower and gasp loudly as the first drops of water trickle down the spine, then rub your hands all over the body (I categorize this act as rigorous exercise), apply soap and wash again (exercise again). This is during summers. Don’t get me started on winters.

A bath tub skips all this exercise. There is something very pleasant about lying down in the tub neck deep and let the water and bath gel do its work. And of course, I love the foam.

I have been alive for thirty-one years now. And up until three years ago, I have never lived in a house with a bath tub. Three years ago, Dad renovated the house when I was getting married and built two completely new bathrooms, one with a bath tub. I was ecstatic. I have never bathed in that tub till now. But I plan to.

Once, I mentioned my love for these little cubicles of pleasure (bath tubs, not the cubicles of cyber cafe) with some friends. The ladies didn’t like it.

Lady friend: “Guys have a one track mind. All you want from a bath tub is having sex in it.”

Me: “Of course I want to have sex in it. Who doesn’t?”

Lady friend: “Next thing you’ll be telling us is you want a woman in that tub. Like she’s just a commodity for you. All you guys think of women as sex objects.”

Me: “I don’t think women as sex objects. They are human beings…who object to sex.”

Lady friend: Middle finger.

I guess this love for bath tubs started when I was very young. Back in the Doordarshan days, they showed an advertisement of Lux soap with Zeenat Amaan in a bath tub. My first reaction was to jump into that tub. I don’t remember if I wanted to jump into an empty one or the one with a wet Zeenat Amaan in it. I ordered Mom to buy only Lux soaps for me.

In summer vacations, we always went to my mamaji’s place in Kanpur. It’s a huge property with the house, gardens, and even small farms inside it. There was (and still is) a well with a haudiya (rectangular, cemented, open water tanks) close to the farms. All the children used to bath in it every other day because usage of soap was prohibited in it because the water went to the farms. So one day we bathed in the bathroom (which I hated) with soaps and the other day we went to the haudiya.

One day, I brought the soap there because I didn’t want to bath the next day in the bathroom. After everybody went away, I took out the soap and washed myself. I went to the house a happy man, but I forgot the soap there. Next day, there was an enquiry commission to determine who the culprit was. The abandoned Lux acted as evidence. Rest of the family, being Vinod Khanna’s fans, used Cinthols.

Last action heroes

I watched Expendables 2 some weeks ago. It was evident that the script was as strong as any recent Sallu Bhai movie, but it was as entertaining as any recent Sallu Bhai movie. People like me, who grew up in 80s and 90s, on a steady diet of Rambos and Rockys and Terminators and Die Hards, will know what it feels like to watch Norris, Willis, Stallone and Schwarzenegger standing side by side, guns blazing in their hands and killing bad guys.

But then after watching this movie, some thoughts ran in my mind. What if Bollywood made this movie? With our greatest action heroes (and I am not talking about the Jaani Dushman ensemble)? What will it look like? More importantly, what will it feel like? I tried to make a list.

Dara Singh

He’s the Gandalf of Bollywood action heroes. Looked menacing right up until his very last movie. But his most memorable role still remains Hanuman in the iconic TV show Ramayan. Just like Prithviraj Kapoor and his Zin-e-Ilaahi, it’s hard to imagine anybody else in this role.

Dharamendra

No list of action heroes is complete without “the” man who threatens to feast on the blood of his enemies. The only man who could be macho even in a skirt. It was he, who co-created the dhai kilo ka haath.

Anil Kapoor

Dude, he killed Mogambo. Not to mention the assorted bunch of thugs he’s routinely tackled with, plus the umpteen number of times he has played a deranged bhai. All machismo, all the way.

Jackie Shroff

If there was one person from Bollywood who could have played the role of James Bond, it was he. Gaand, Maushichi Gaand. The most suave of all the action heroes.

Sunjay Dutt

A gun never looks better and more at home than in his hands. The favorite bhai of Bollywood. The original bad boy.

The Deol

Hundred kilos men flung ten feet up in the air and pin-wheeling with just one punch. Uprooting a hand-pump from the ground like plucking a flower. Hundreds of men maa-behened with that hand-pump. An entire battalion of Pakistani army, equipped with tanks and helicopters defeated by a rickety old truck. If there is one man who can make you believe it’s possible, it’s our sunny paaji.   

Akshay Kumar

Veeru Devgun once said, “If I can think it, he can do it.” Nowadays, he lets his comedy provide the kicks. But beware, he can still slap you with his feet.

Salman Khan

There is not a single gym in the whole country which does not have a poster of Salman Khan. The laws of physics are scared of him. That’s why they don’t apply themselves when he’s around. He does not have a lion-like roar like sunny paaji, he just takes off his shirt. And all hell breaks loose. In the movie and in the movie hall.

The Bachchan

No biceps, no chest, no abs, no roar. Then why is he the greatest action hero? It’s the eyes, and the voice, and hell yes, the attitude. That’s why Deewar – which made the angry young man – has only one fight scene, and is still considered as one of the greatest action movies. That’s why the look he gives in Sarkar, while sipping his tea, can put any roaring Tara Singh to mute.

There are many more here. Ajay Devgn started of brilliantly with his two bikes, but became an “actor” later on. He’s trying to come back to old ways. Sunil Shetty, with his O-mouth and bulging biceps was a sight to behold. Hritik looks good while performing action sequences but to me they look like dance steps. Aamir Khan is overpowered by his brain – whether it’s a sharp-minded cop in Sarfarosh or a fifteen-minute-minded bauna shaitan in Ghajini.

There are two more people I omitted – Rajnikanth, because he’s not really Bollywood. And Mithunda – out of sheer respect.

These people are more ferocious and magnanimous than the Schwarzeneggers and Stallones because of the more deadly villains out here – a post on whom I plan to write shortly.

Thou shalt not…

I was talking to a Bangalorean today. No, they are not an alien race. Although, a race in themselves. No matter where in India you are from, if you live in Bangalore, bangalorean you are. There are local bangaloreans, there are north Indian bangaloreans, and there are the neighboring bangaloreans (Telugu, Tamil and Kerelites). Talking to them is an experience in itself. Not that English is our mother tongue, but since it’s common language (in a country with eighteen official and hundreds other languages), we converse in the same.

Something I noticed while talking to him, is how Indians (myself included, obviously) twist this most popular language in the world. And I don’t mean like Masterji twisting ears, but like Gangu halwaai twisting jalebis. Tasty.

1. Taking things

“I’ll call you later as I am taking lunch right now.”

Taking where? To the fucking pool for a swim? Why can’t we just have lunch, or have rest? Is it because we take things for granted?

2. Basically…

“Basically what I mean is, basically, we import toothpicks.”

We software engineers are often told that regardless of the ever changing technologies in our field of work, what matters most is, you should have your basics clear. This might be the reason why basically is our favorite word.

3. Updation

The moment I typed this word, MS Word drew a red line beneath it. And so does Outlook Express. Then why, oh why, do we write mails with lines like,

“When can I have an updation regarding this issue?” (Red line again.)

If this were a java code, all hell would have broken loose.

4. Myself…

“Myself Chutinder Chadda.”

If you want to say your name, just say, “My name is Chutinder Chadda”. Unless you want to fail your job interview.

5. Put

It is our universal way of shortening sentences. Instead of, “Switch off the light.”, we use, “Put the switch.” But then, we have people who use neither.

“Off the switch!!”

6. Would

“I would be traveling to Wasseypur tomorrow.”

ICSE board, laughed at in my times, for being too easy (“Arre ladka compteesan kaise dega?”), made one thing absolutely straight. You will have impeccable grammar. Nevertheless, for stoneheads like me, my English grammar is as impeccable as Javed Miandad’s cricketing career. But this use of would instead of will would surely have guaranteed a pat (a hard one) on the back by the teacher.

7. -ing

“When I will be going to my hometown, I will be bringing insanely smelling sweets for you.”

I am always dying and hearing bells ringing when somebody is saying these irritating wordings to me.

8. Shorthands

“c if u cud mk it psbl fr 2moro its gna b osm prty…i nw u bsy nly bt gv it a try naaa…cheerzzzz yaaa...”

These headache inducing shorthands are harder to break than the Enigma code. Finding the God particle is easier.

9. Only

“I am here only.”

As opposed to just being “here”? This is the least lonely and most overused word in Indian-English.

The reference to bangaloreans earlier is not typical. It’s just that these gems came to mind after talking to one of them. Come to think of it, punjabis and gujaratis and biharis and all of us use it. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. After all, this is our brand of English.

We are the only ones in the world who prepone things.

My favorite movies: Mughal-e-Azam

It took eleven hours to watch this movie. Every scene was played twice, and sometimes thrice.

When you haven’t seen a very popular movie, you always wonder what all the hoopla is about. Every now and then I would watch a movie and wonder who the hell are Salim and Anarkali? Akbar’s son was Jehangir – according to class VIII history book (ICSE certified) for crying out loud.

Then the day arrived. Dad bought VCD (yes, it was that late) of Mughal-e-Azam – three VCDs actually, since DVD was yet to be invented. It was sometime in March 2001, the next day was my Chemistry exam and I was seeing benzene rings instead of those irritating worm-like strands every time I closed my eyes. I put the CD in the player deciding to take a half hour break. Ten minutes later, I heard this:

“Insaaf ke is mukaddas taraazu ki kasam, zindagi mein ek baar Akbar se jo bhi maangogi….ataa kiya jayega..”

I shook my head like a dog after an unwanted bath. What the fuck did he just say?  I paused the movie, went to the phone, called my cousin Peeyush and told him to come home right now. We both shared the passion for music and were starting to realize that songs have lyrics too. We were in the process of migrating from “Oonchi hai building..” and “Chalti hai kya nau se baarah..” to Kishore and Rafi oldies - hence my decision to call him and invite him to watch the movie together. For me, the fun of appreciating something, movies for example, doubles with a partner. And Peeyush was the ideal one. His “O bhaisaab..!!” and “Ye kya bola bh*****d..??” like anecdotes may lack lateral thinking but pack a punch with the same impact as Sunny paaji’s dhai kilo ka haath.

So when after a mind-blowing qawwali, Salim offers flowers to Bahaar and says to Anarkali,

“…tumhare hisse mein ye kaante aaye hain..” (Peeyush: “Kya chutiyapa hai..”)

And Anarkali replies,

“Zahe-naseeb…kaanto ko murjhaane ka khauf nahi hota...”, even the anecdotes were silenced.

To call this movie successful would be like calling Sachin Tendulkar a successful batsman. It just doesn’t do justice. It’s a cult classic (which, incidentally, is the highest rating I have for movies). However, to achieve such success (and rating from me), there cannot be just one or a couple of contributing factors. There has to be many, which I would like to list below.

The grandeur: Dad always said about Mughal-e-Azam that K. Asif’s greatest regret was that he didn’t make the whole movie in Technicolor. The first thing that came to mind was that he was right. The grandeur of the sets was unmatchable, and probably still is. The sheesh mahal can anytime give the titanic a run for its money. Simply said, you will just have to see it to believe it.

The cast: Because I saw this movie so late in my life, I had the chance to see different actors play the role of Akbar in various movies and tele-series, and some were actually impressive – like Vikram Gokhale in the TV series Akbar Birbal. After watching Prithviraj Kapoor, they all seemed laughable. How can you even imagine any other actor portraying that role? You literally start to shit bricks when you see him catch Salim and Anarkali red-handed.

Dilip Kumar is, well, Dilip Kumar. It was difficult for the first few minutes to watch him playing the role of a youngster (having not watched his earlier movies). The challenge was – it was not only the role of a crowned-prince, it was more a role of a dissatisfied son who, after so many years, still carried a pinch of grudge towards his father for sending him to battles as punishment instead of having a dad-to-son talk.

And o you beautiful Madhubala. A thousand Marilyns fade before you. She was the reason. If you ever, ever get a chance to see beyond her face, see her eyes. They are full of mischief in “Mohe panghat pe..”, innocent in “Teri mehfil mein..”, defiant in “Pyar kiya to darna kya..” and blank in “Mohabbat ki jhoothi kahaani..”. I rest my case.

THAT scene: Even when she closes her eyes. Damn it. People debate about the most erotic scene in the movies. Ladies and gentlemen, forget Basic Instinct, I give you Salim, Anarkali…and the feather.

The lines: Right from a one-word “Takhliya..” to the entire dialogue of Salim and Anarkali –

“Meri aankhon se mere khwaab na chheeniye shahzade..main mar jaaungi..”

- every line in this movie was poetry. For me, this was the real highlight. That’s why it took such a long time to watch it. Check this out, a meesenger comes to the court bearing news from Salim and asks permission to read the message. Akbar could have said something like “Go ahead dude..” or a simple “Padho..”, but hell no. What, instead, he says is,

“Ba-aawaaze-buland padha jaye..”. Damn. Another rewind.

1. Akbar: “Insaaf ke is mukaddas taraazu ki kasam, zindagi mein ek baar Akbar se jo bhi maangogi….ataa kiya jayega..”

2. Anarkali: “Zahe-naseeb…kaanto ko murjhaane ka khauf nahi hota..”

3. Salim: “Mohabbat jo chhup ke ki jaaye, wo aiyyashi hai..”

4. Anarkali: “Shahenshah ki inn behisaab baksheeshon ke badle ek kaneez Jallaluddin Mohammed Akbar ko apna khoon muaf karti hai...”

5. Akbar: “Tumhari maujoodgi naafarmaani ki daleel hai..”

6. Jodha: ”Ye hindustan koi tumhara dil nahi..koi laundi jispe huqumat kare..”

    Salim: ”To mera dil bhi koi aapka hindustan nahi..jispe aap huqumat karein..”

7. Akbar: ”Agar aisa hua, to Salim tujhe marne nahi dega, aur hum, Anarkali, tujhe jeene nahi denge..”

8. Salim: "Be-khauf hokar kaho. Kabhi kabhi daave dilchasp bhi hua karte hain.." 


9. Anarkali: "Unke huzoor mein tamannaayein bhi gustaakh nai ho paati.."

Classic. Cult classic.

UP-B and Bollywood

UP-B stands for Uttar Pradesh – Bihar. The badlands. Too often associated with lawlessness and corruption. For many outsiders, looking at these states with unjustified superiority, UP-B symbolizes a state of mind that has no use for the discreet veneer of democracy that hides the ugliness of corruption in their own states.

No wonder Bollywood has ignored, if not completely avoided, these states as settings of its stories. In the bygone era, UP-B was always the preferred setting for movies with rural background and stories – be it Ganga Jamuna or Do Beegha Zameen. Both these films belong to the golden age of hindi cinema – a time when UP-B was home of some of the most brilliant minds in the country.

Despite the neglect caused by Bollywood and the rest of the country, some really outstanding movies were made about or in these regions. Well aware of my biases, I always arrange these lists, if possible, chronologically.

1. Nadiya Ke Paar

My dad used to tell me the story about when this movie was released. Villagers from surrounding as well as far-off villages use to come in their carts and camp outside Maya cinema hall for a week or even ten days out. Just to queue up outside the ticket window and somehow manage to get them. Take that, Potterfans. This movie defines simplicity. Version 2.0 became the most successful hindi movie ever.

2. Bandit Queen

Brutal. The story, the lines, the lass, the lads, the land. For a pampered sixteen year old like me, it was more hard-hitting than today’s fuel prices. Although, a lot of questions were raised about the intentions of Shekhar Kapur, especially by Arundhati Roy, it doesn’t chip away the facts.

3. Shool

Another uncompromising story set in a small Bihar town. If Bihar is a byword for lawlessness, this total disregard for law and its enforcers is represented at its worst in a small town cowering under the heel of the local politician. Into this den of iniquity walks the upright, uptight, short-tempered Inspector Samar Pratap Singh (Manoj Bajpai in a towering performance where rage and sensitivity are finely balanced). The confrontation between the law upholder and the maniacal law-breaker unfolds like a series of well-placed time bombs. The script was tight, eminently plausible, except for the climax. If E. Nivas had opted for a muted ending, Shool would be in a class of its own - at the top.

4. Gangajal

Based on the infamous Bhagalpur blinding cases, Gangajal confronts us with a moral dilemma. What should you, as a police officer, do when you are thwarted at every step by a) politicians, b) gundas c) social workers or d) all of the above, while performing your duty? Should you bow your head, hunch your shoulders and accept the reality? Or you turn into vigilantes and render your own justice? Shehenshah style. Or Gangajal style.

5. Bunty Aur Babli

Lucknow, Kanpur, Agra, Bareilly, Bulandshahr, Varanasi. This movie is like a kaleidoscope of Uttar Pradesh. Romance, comedy, action se bharpoor. And of course, the greatest item number ever made.

6. Sehar

Out of complete boredom, I went to watch this movie without having a clue about the story. There was a criminal who was maintained by politicians of UP. His name was Shri Prakash Shukla. The film is based on how some dedicated policemen gave their lives away in trying to crackdown this guy. Having grown up in UP at the time when Shri Prakash shukla stole regional headlines, I was able to relate to the film totally. This is a tribute to those film makers who subtract flamboyancy from the narrative of the film based on real life incidents. All this was secondary. This movie had me at the first line: “Ye kahaani shuru hoti hai Gorakhpur se…”  

7. Apaharan

No one in Bollywood knows Bihar better than Prakash Jha. He seems to have intimate knowledge and the despairing rage of a commentator who can see the terrible history of his state with surprising objectivity. After the Gangajal revolution, he now examines the prevalence of and the reasons and justification for another peculiarly Bihari industry: kidnapping for ransom. There are no easy answers. It is perhaps enough to pose the questions.

8. Main, Meri Patni Aur Woh

Take a look at Indian society. Look closely at our hang-ups with marriage : caste, creed, gender, height, color, weight, wealth etc. Into this prejudicial society introduce a short, plain, unassuming man, and his tall, beautiful, vivacious wife. And let the fireworks begin. Although every member of the cast was brilliant, it was Rajpal Yadav who takes the cake. It was stunning to see him play the part of Lucknow University librarian to perfection. The language, the lines, the mannerisms, the articulation, and most importantly, the Lakhnawi tehzeeb and sharaafat – to exact proportions.

9. Omkara

Five years since the release, this movie still retains the same freshness. That’s Vishal Bhardwaj for you. Or, may be, William Shakespeare. Othello cannot have a different adaptation – from an Venetian general to a western UP baahubali. Cast is fantastic. Devgn is arresting. Saif undoubtedly steals the show. Dobrial was the film’s finding. Even Bipasha makes it work (yeah, wonders never cease).

10. Ishqiya

Again, Gorakhpur. But this story could have taken place anywhere. Then again, what better place to portray lawlessness than eastern UP? Like Popeye's simplistic philosophy, "I yam what I yam", Ishqiya tells it like it is - no judging. The brilliance of this movie lies in its crackling dialogs which throw up so many little gems it’s hard to pick just one, and the superlative performances by its cast. It is a delight to see Naseeuddin Shah in a meaty role, awe-inspiring to watch Vidya Balan con two cons and fun to see a very un-Circiut Arshad Warsi.

11. Ishaqzaade

This is one of those movies which portray a serious issue with such an uncanny ease it seems innocent. Not on the same level as Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron or Peepli [Live], this movie packs a punch with its story (tighter than Jeetendra’s pants), speed (faster than his jumps) and Parineeti Chopra. The hero, according to my wife, was lost somewhere behind his beard.

There are many more movies – Hazaaron Khwaishen Aisi, Mrityudand, for example, worth mentioning here, but don’t get the space (yeah, like it’s coveted *eye roll*) because I haven’t had the honor to watch them.

UP-B is such a beautiful place, looking out from your train window, you can easily see that any field can host a DDLJ scene, the green pastures can give an equal fight to the Scottish countryside, and don’t get me started on the rivers and lakes. But they are still neglected because of many reasons – poor infrastructure, corruption, crime to name a few.

But every now and then a movie comes which tells a story about these parts. And whenever it does, whatever the story, I smile.    

Manali 3.0

To say that Manali has a special place in my heart will be an under(ground)statement. Not because of the utterly ordinary and drab little town on the banks of Beas, or the absolutely mesmerizing beauty surrounding it. It’s because I spent my honeymoon there. When you have had a love marriage, the honeymoon is not a vacation riddled with forced informalities or confused romance after six-months-in-between-engagement-and-marriage phone calls. It’s just easy. Easy and beautiful. And, of course, romantic. The fact that the location was Manali, makes it a permanent resident in the soft corners of my heart.

My second trip to Manali was a result of another marriage in a nearby town. It was a quick trip. And it was in a Maruti 800. Without air conditioner. In June. That time I got to visit Rohtang. It’s still the most beautiful place I’ve ever visited – at least for another year until I go to the Land of High Passes.

Manali three-point-oh was different. Partly because it was most unplanned (it was only the day before, when we saw in the news that it had snowed there, when the trip was finalized), partly because Sunil, colleague cum driver, is constantly in formula one mode, and partly because of the anticipation that if it’s late spring in Delhi, Manali would be snow-clad.

Day 1

The drive started from the office in Noida. After paranthas in Murthal and KFC burger in Karnal, we were at the outskirts of Chandigarh. Two hundred and thirty four rupees (a full tank of CNG) is all it took to reach there – cheap. Terror started at two in the morning when we reached at the foothills. Sunil has driven all along till now, but he has never driven on mountains. Amit didn’t know how to drive at all. I have driven on mountains many times but never at night.

Day 2

Nervous as a turkey on Thanksgiving, I gulped, put on Kishore da on the stereo to calm myself, took the wheel, and started driving. After half an hour, I got the hang of it but was too tense to relax.

Seven hours later, we reached Manali, got a room in Vashisht, and crashed. After refreshing ourselves, we went for the customary tour of the Mall, the Club, and then the hot springs in Vashisht. That was all I could manage after thirty hours of zero sleep. It was raining, not heavily but constantly. Weather was cold. Road to Rohtang was closed. Food at the hotel was pathetic. Sleep was sound.

Day 3

Next morning, we decided to go as far as we can go on the road to Rohtang. It was still drizzling. Fresh snow was visible on the distant mountains. Road was wet and slippery – looking more hazardous with Sunil’s driving. But the scenery was pure bliss. The road was open only up till Gulaba. Hundreds of vehicles were parked there. Taxis from the other side and quad-bikes were taking tourists upto Marhi.

Marhi was completely differently from the last time I was here. The endless green was replaced by white snow. Hundreds of tourists were snow-sliding, snow-mobiling, snow-balling or just wondering what to do with all the snow.

We stayed there for a couple of hours until our feet were freezing inside the gumboots. Back in Manali, paid a visit to the Hadimba temple.

This night I was not tired enough not to notice Sunil’s and Amit’s dolby-surround-sound snores. Sleep came late.

Day 4

The day to return back. The day I always hate whenever I’m in mountains. We started early in the morning. Drove straight past Bilaspur to stop for brunch. Sunil’s driving mode changed from formula one to need for speed. After a terrifying, holding-the-edge-of-the-seat, shouting-obscenities-at-Sunil, seven hours’ drive in the hills, we reached the plains. Now I knew how pteromerhanophobics feel when the aircraft lands. But the feeling of relief lasted only for minutes. Now Sunil was in his own den. NH1 has never seen such driving from a non-jaat, non-gurjar and non-sardar maniac.

We reached Delhi in record time, and alive. I thanked all the Gods after switching on the air conditioner and, involuntarily checking for seat belts, safely tucking myself in the bed. 

P.S.: Pteromerhanophobia - fear of flying.

Rise of the machines

It’s routine now, after six years. I wake up, get ready, go to office, and start working. Or not working. Every couple of months, this happens:

My computer: Your password will expire in 1 day(s). Would you like to change it now?

Me (Clicking on ‘Yes’): Oh no! Here we go again. Time to shit bricks.

My computer: New password please.

Me: sushant

My computer: Your password should be at least 8 characters long.

Me: Shit!

Me: ilovemymom

My computer: Sorry, the password you entered does not match the password security criteria. Your password should contain numbers too.

Me: What the fuck!

Me: ilovemymom22111980

My computer: Wrong again, we at Mindfuck Systems are very concerned about security. It’s you date of birth…too easy for anyone to guess. Try something different.

Me: What the hell is wrong with you? Am I working in the goddamn CIA?

Me: ilovemymom1523

My computer: That’s the exact number of people who died when Titanic sank. Very obvious. Try something else.

Me: Must suppress the urge to shit on the keyboard.

Me: ilovemymom55353545435

My computer: Sorry, the password you entered does not match the password security criteria. Your password should contain special characters also.

Me: Thaari maa ki aankh. Ye le.

Me: ilovemymom55353789789545435!@#$%^&*

My computer: Your password should not be more than 32 characters long. Take that, asshole.

Me: Thee hath awoken my wrath. Thy DIE!!!

Me: ilovem!ndfuck$y$tem$22111980

My computer: Your password has been changed successfully.

Me: Fuck yeeaaah! No bricks shall be shat today.

My computer: I’ll be back…

 

My favorite movies: DDLJ

1995

We were in a music store. It was the time when you gave the shopkeeper a list of songs and he taped it on an empty cassette for you. Dad was here to order for a bunch of those. The owner of the shop (a sardar) knew Dad and his taste of music well enough to assemble a bunch of “readymade” cassettes of hindi movies/oldies to ponder upon. Sardarji resembled a saree salesman when he did this, handling cassettes as a saree salesman handles a saree – a poetic flow in his actions.

There was this cassette of a movie called Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge which earned the most praise from him.

Sardarji: “Bhaiya ye le jaiye…bahut badhiya gaane hain..”

Dad: “Achchha!”

Sardarji: “Arre hum bata rahe hain aapko…jitney log le gaye hain, sab taareef kar rahe hain humse yahaan laut ke..” (It actually used to happen at that time)

Dad: “De do yaar…sun lenge. Lekin ye do tho cassettwa hamara kal tak banaa dena.”

I don’t remember if I ever got the chance to listen to it.

There was a buzz in town (read school) when that movie was released. The few lucky ones who have watched the movie in the first weekend wore a smug smile on their faces, telling everybody who would listen (apparently everyone wanted to listen) that the movie was absolutely amazing – and that was the most toned-down version of all the reviews. My curiosity grew and I started pestering Dad to take us to this movie. As the number of people (who’ve seen this movie) grew, so did my pestering. My anxiety and jealousy grew as the seen-it people started using the abbreviated name – DDLJ – as if there was a kinship between them which I didn’t.

Eventually, Dad’s curiosity got the better of him and he decided that enough is enough. We finally went to the cinema next Saturday – eight weeks after it was released. There was still a huge crowd at the ticket counter. I don’t know how, it seemed impossible that we’ll get any tickets, but he returned after five minutes with tickets in his hand.

The movie didn’t seem to be “absolutely amazing” while I watched. In the interval Dad gave his usual on-the-spot one-line verdict, “Abhi tak to achchhi hai…”. After the interval, it was even better. Raj Malhotra had an impossible task in front of him. Convincing a hard-assed father to go back on his zubaan, betray his bachpan ka yaar, and give his daughter’s hand to a shmuck who stole beer from his shop. He did it, thanks to the last minute enlightenment of his father-in-law-to-be.

I obviously reviewed the movie in my head, as a fourteen year old would. There was comedy. There was all that friendship and romance gyaan. And there was some action in the end. A good movie.

What I was not ready for was the after-movie effects. There was another movie running inside my head with the same storyline but where I was the hero.

Insane me: “Maine to soch liya hai…agar apni bhi girlfriend ho kabhi to main bhi aisi hi nautanki karunga.”

Sane me: “Kya??…matlab??….bakwaas!!…”

Insane me: “Matlab…agar apne saath bhi kabhi aisa hua…”

Sane me: “Kya pagla wagla gaye ho kya..?? Aisa kabhi hota hai asli life mein…”

Nevertheless, I was not able to stop myself from dreaming about that movie, with the little modification I thought of earlier.

Next day, I told my friend, “DDLJ dekhi? It’s absolutely amazing!!” I had a smug smile on my face.

2012

While searching for another movie on the net, I came across a torrent for an HD print of DDLJ. My mouth watering, I started to download the movie. This time, it was eight days after the download that I watched the movie. I am thirty-one now – my thought process is now (allegedly) mature. I found some parts to be very 90s-ish but most of them were as refreshing as the first time. Also, I was able to discover the reasons behind this movie’s enormous fame.

DDLJ blatantly refused to follow the clichés. Be it Raj Malhotra – who has no regards for his sanity (Who the hell pees in a church? And then tells his bharatiya-sanskari God-fearing lady friend?), steals beer from an old man’s shop or fails his exams and gets congratulated by his pops (Dad gave me a don’t-you-dare look afterwards when we were talking about it). Or be it the seriously WTF-ing last scene where Amrish Puri, wearing his famous eyes-bulging-out-like surface-to-air-missiles-ready-to-fire expression, tells his daughter to go live her life with the tamboora-player.

But the real reason, in my opinion, was hope. It doesn’t matter how rich Raj Malhotra was, he represented all those utterly common guys who fail their exams or who steal samosa from canteen or pee on the walls of girls’ hostel. If he can get a girl, why can’t they?

For the girls (girlie girls), it was a paradigm shift that love may not and need not be at first sight. For some, and this goes on for many more SRK characters, it was refreshing to see a hero who is not perfect and omniscient, who makes mistakes, but does the right thing at the right time. In short, a normal person.

For me, I loved the way two unknown persons, start on a wrong note, become friends, realize the importance of each other in their lives, and eventually fall in love.

I finished the movie. There was a smug smile on my face.