It's so bloody easy to get distracted.
And, to be led.
Just last week Mumbai was attacked.
Then we watched the NSG attack.
(Via Ms Dutt of the smudged mascara.)
Then we watched resignations compete across the country.
Then we watched 'an angry nation' protest the politics of our politicians.
And then we watched to see what India would demand of Pakistan.
And then what the US would demand of Pakistan.
And then what Pakistan would demand of the US.
(And while we watched, Ban Ki-moon had three miscarriages and a hernia.)
As the media led us, we followed, panting, frothing.
And just when we were about to switch off our hot television sets, came a new clarion cry.
Why do politicians need all this security?
And off we go; 'angry nation' all over again.
In a week, we have gone from ineptitude to idiocy.
We let 10 (still debated) young, misguided men hold a nation to ransom.
And instead of pulling up our socks, are out lighting candles.
Why can't we hold our focus where we need attention?
Our constables need more than lathis.
So that never again will a constable have to hang onto a Kalashnikov's muzzle as round after round pumps into his abdomen.
So that never again will a greying policeman, in frustration have to fling a plastic chair at his attackers.
So that never again will a police officer take on a terrorist in a helmet that fears a cricket ball.
The nation needs to ensure that its men on the beat are protected. And motivated.
The nation needs to ensure that we have plans on the ground, not just on paper.
Hold. Hold. Don't shift focus.
Let's focus on what we need the government to do.
Not inconsequential inanities.
What do I care how many security guards it takes to change a politician's sense of self?
Or who called who a dog, first?
We get led. We do.
Otherwise, we would not be screaming hoarse alongside those on TV who declared that "Mumbai doesn't want to be resilient any more!"
We would be watching in despair the sight of Mumbai's helpless resilience.
For as we followed further smudging mascara at the Oberoi and Taj and Nariman House, the nation was thankfully deprived a painful sight.
CST, was back in action.
The blood on the platforms washed clean.
The trains chugging in as usual.
With commuters who have no option but to earn a living hanging onto them.
And Zulu Yadav, who will live forever in memory for flinging that plastic chair, was back on duty.
With nothing but his lathi and his faded cotton uniform.
We need focus.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Goebbelsian
Please look at these front pages of Dec. 03, '08.
Two leading newspapers publish diametrically opposing interpretations.
[Not of a pickpocketing in Pali Hill.
But of the Indian Foreign Minister debating military action.]
The Hindu reports that Mr. Mukherjee has ruled out military action.
While the TOI claims that India refuses to rule out military action.
That 'sources' contradict the Foreign Minister's statements earlier in the day.
So who does the average Indian believe?
The Foreign Minister? Or 'sources'?
Or even, 'highly placed sources'?
Who are these 'sources' who can contradict the Foreign Minister on war?
If there are such influential people, they need to be named, don't they?
Prem Shankar Jha had a bizzare request to NDTV.
[And to be fair, to all news channels in extension.)
He requested them not to engineer war between India and Pakistan.
Indian news channels and Indian newspapers are beating the war-drums.
Check Geo TV and the like on YouTube and you'll hear the same.
"People demand action", "People demand decisive action".
People as we can already see, have been successfully influenced.
Let's hope governments are not.
How many of us saw NDTV interview Mr. Mukherjee?
He says that all options need to be considered.
The reporter then asks him if India has ruled out the military option.
To which he says that at this stage, no option can be ruled out.
[What else do you expect a Foreign Minsiter to say?]
So what do the tickers and headlines immediately proclaim?
'Pranab refuses to rule out military option'.
[This is an aside.
This paragon of India's journalistic fraternity also asked him to outline India's action plan in the days to come.
To which he responded that she will figure them out in the days to come.]
It is a journalist's duty to report.
To voice opinions.
To create awareness.
But it is also theirs, to be judicious.
We have played beautifully into the hands of the perpetrators.
Attention, is now diverted to Pakistan's Eastern front.
If you have the time, do read Haris Guzdar and Harish Khare.
[Aptly on the same page in The Hindu, Dec. 05.]
Two sane voices in a yelling, screaming, frothing crowd.
We could do with sanity.
And we could do without rabid journalism.
Two leading newspapers publish diametrically opposing interpretations.
[Not of a pickpocketing in Pali Hill.
But of the Indian Foreign Minister debating military action.]
The Hindu reports that Mr. Mukherjee has ruled out military action.
While the TOI claims that India refuses to rule out military action.
That 'sources' contradict the Foreign Minister's statements earlier in the day.
So who does the average Indian believe?
The Foreign Minister? Or 'sources'?
Or even, 'highly placed sources'?
Who are these 'sources' who can contradict the Foreign Minister on war?
If there are such influential people, they need to be named, don't they?
Prem Shankar Jha had a bizzare request to NDTV.
[And to be fair, to all news channels in extension.)
He requested them not to engineer war between India and Pakistan.
Indian news channels and Indian newspapers are beating the war-drums.
Check Geo TV and the like on YouTube and you'll hear the same.
"People demand action", "People demand decisive action".
People as we can already see, have been successfully influenced.
Let's hope governments are not.
How many of us saw NDTV interview Mr. Mukherjee?
He says that all options need to be considered.
The reporter then asks him if India has ruled out the military option.
To which he says that at this stage, no option can be ruled out.
[What else do you expect a Foreign Minsiter to say?]
So what do the tickers and headlines immediately proclaim?
'Pranab refuses to rule out military option'.
[This is an aside.
This paragon of India's journalistic fraternity also asked him to outline India's action plan in the days to come.
To which he responded that she will figure them out in the days to come.]
It is a journalist's duty to report.
To voice opinions.
To create awareness.
But it is also theirs, to be judicious.
We have played beautifully into the hands of the perpetrators.
Attention, is now diverted to Pakistan's Eastern front.
If you have the time, do read Haris Guzdar and Harish Khare.
[Aptly on the same page in The Hindu, Dec. 05.]
Two sane voices in a yelling, screaming, frothing crowd.
We could do with sanity.
And we could do without rabid journalism.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Draupadi
X told me recently that my blog’s a bore.
I tend to agree.
I find it pretty boring to come here myself.
X’s logic?
My blog doesn’t have pictures.
(Now you know why I have called him X.)
Sad.
Today if you have a mobile phone,
you’re a photographer.
And can talk at length on skies.
On flora and fauna.
On composition.
And lighting.
But never one to give up easy,
I have decided to have photographs.
Yup.
Me, yes.
But unlike the phonegrapher,
I need a subject.
I need an idea.
Much thought.
Draupadi.
This woman has always fascinated me.
She’s Shakti herself,
having risen fully-grown from the yagna kund.
She’s a paradox.
For trying to strip her, a lusty Dushasana gets a death warrant.
But Ashwatthama, after he slays her five kids, she pardons.
On the one hand, she’s the voiceless Bharateeya naari.
When she’s distributed among five testosterone-dripping, heavily sighing brothers who have been alone in the jungles for some time now, she doesn’t utter a word.
On the other, she’s a feminist’s flagship brand.
“Polygamy? Pah!”
Imagine, a five-day week.
And on the weekend, you hunt for roots and berries.
You got to hand it to the lady.
And she’s the subject of my photo feature.
Here goes.
Honest.
This is not a Photoshop job.
It exists.
I tend to agree.
I find it pretty boring to come here myself.
X’s logic?
My blog doesn’t have pictures.
(Now you know why I have called him X.)
Sad.
Today if you have a mobile phone,
you’re a photographer.
And can talk at length on skies.
On flora and fauna.
On composition.
And lighting.
But never one to give up easy,
I have decided to have photographs.
Yup.
Me, yes.
But unlike the phonegrapher,
I need a subject.
I need an idea.
Much thought.
Draupadi.
This woman has always fascinated me.
She’s Shakti herself,
having risen fully-grown from the yagna kund.
She’s a paradox.
For trying to strip her, a lusty Dushasana gets a death warrant.
But Ashwatthama, after he slays her five kids, she pardons.
On the one hand, she’s the voiceless Bharateeya naari.
When she’s distributed among five testosterone-dripping, heavily sighing brothers who have been alone in the jungles for some time now, she doesn’t utter a word.
On the other, she’s a feminist’s flagship brand.
“Polygamy? Pah!”
Imagine, a five-day week.
And on the weekend, you hunt for roots and berries.
You got to hand it to the lady.
And she’s the subject of my photo feature.
Here goes.
Honest.
This is not a Photoshop job.
It exists.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
The Chanderpaul Men
Swaroop has this endearing knack.
When at the store, she forgets everything that she needs.
And when I am watching cricket is when her memory does the flooding in thing.
You are informed.
You are told.
You are warned.
And you realize that this can’t wait for tomorrow.
Then Chanderpaul ambles in.
And you get up to go to the store.
He’s around 32.
Not many years left.
And as uninspiring and ungainly as he was when he debuted.
You had the grace of Lara.
You had (yes, had) the aggression of Gayle.
Even the elegance of Sarwan.
Who wants to watch Chanderpaul?
He’ll go about it with the enthusiasm of an RTO clerk.
He grafts, he accumulates.
He sweats, he drinks, he blocks.
He stands there, shifty and fidgety.
Weirdly, facing his long on, tapping nervously.
As the ball arrives, an ungainly arc brings the bat bang in front of the pads.
More like a scared kid would keep a pup off his feet.
An ugly tap in front of square.
A hop as he plays it off his feet to fine leg for a single.
Square cuts one that just rolls down the slope to the rope,
touches it and stops, bored.
Chanderpaul is the viewer’s drinks break.
Frankly, nobody sits up nights to watch him.
(Or Collingwood, for that matter.)
(Or Dinesh Karthik.)
Uninspiring, in a word.
Blenders.
Last night, the Windies lost again.
The last man out?
Chanderpaul.
On 70 from 163 balls.
This, following up his 136 n.o. from 257 balls.
In the series, Chanderpaul has scored 448 at 148.66.
He’s joint man of the series with Monty Panesar.
After 2002 and 2004, this was the third time he remained unbeaten for more than 1000 minutes.
And he is the first man to have done that.
Ever.
Yet, the paeans and the odes are all about Monty.
No articles, no blogs about good old Chanders.
Imagine if this had been Lara.
Or Sachin. Or KP. Even Dravid.
But this was Chanderpaul.
I tried to explain my anguish to Swaroop last night.
And all she asked was:
“Do. I. Really. Have. To. Sit. Through. This?”
Without the swash and the buckle.
Without the hoopla.
Without the PR and the endorsements.
Without the ads and the odes.
They stand and deliver.
And get forgotten.
Here’s to the Chanderpaul men.
When at the store, she forgets everything that she needs.
And when I am watching cricket is when her memory does the flooding in thing.
You are informed.
You are told.
You are warned.
And you realize that this can’t wait for tomorrow.
Then Chanderpaul ambles in.
And you get up to go to the store.
He’s around 32.
Not many years left.
And as uninspiring and ungainly as he was when he debuted.
You had the grace of Lara.
You had (yes, had) the aggression of Gayle.
Even the elegance of Sarwan.
Who wants to watch Chanderpaul?
He’ll go about it with the enthusiasm of an RTO clerk.
He grafts, he accumulates.
He sweats, he drinks, he blocks.
He stands there, shifty and fidgety.
Weirdly, facing his long on, tapping nervously.
As the ball arrives, an ungainly arc brings the bat bang in front of the pads.
More like a scared kid would keep a pup off his feet.
An ugly tap in front of square.
A hop as he plays it off his feet to fine leg for a single.
Square cuts one that just rolls down the slope to the rope,
touches it and stops, bored.
Chanderpaul is the viewer’s drinks break.
Frankly, nobody sits up nights to watch him.
(Or Collingwood, for that matter.)
(Or Dinesh Karthik.)
Uninspiring, in a word.
Blenders.
Last night, the Windies lost again.
The last man out?
Chanderpaul.
On 70 from 163 balls.
This, following up his 136 n.o. from 257 balls.
In the series, Chanderpaul has scored 448 at 148.66.
He’s joint man of the series with Monty Panesar.
After 2002 and 2004, this was the third time he remained unbeaten for more than 1000 minutes.
And he is the first man to have done that.
Ever.
Yet, the paeans and the odes are all about Monty.
No articles, no blogs about good old Chanders.
Imagine if this had been Lara.
Or Sachin. Or KP. Even Dravid.
But this was Chanderpaul.
I tried to explain my anguish to Swaroop last night.
And all she asked was:
“Do. I. Really. Have. To. Sit. Through. This?”
Without the swash and the buckle.
Without the hoopla.
Without the PR and the endorsements.
Without the ads and the odes.
They stand and deliver.
And get forgotten.
Here’s to the Chanderpaul men.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Encounters of the Indian kind.
No more gripe.
No more points of view.
No more -isms.
I am just going to sit back and laugh.
Announcing...
My top 3 road stories.
Cymbals and flashing cherubim.
Riding in a rick to work today.
Ahead, spot a parked Scorpio.
Spot a green and yellow govt. plate on it.
Rick stops next to it.
Get a chance to observe it at 3 feet.
It says 'Street of Karnataka'.
Legal? Yes.
Street smart? Yes.
Gowda? Yes.
Ingenuous? Yes.
We had a Bihari carpenter do up our office.
(Do down, rather.)
He has a moped.
I ask him if he has a licence.
He shakes his head.
Verbatim:
Self - "Toh aapko police nahi pakadta?"
Carpenter: 'Pakadne hi nahi deta hoon!"
Self: "Woh kaise?"
Carpenter: "Woh sir police yeh (left) side pe rukta hai. Hum doosre side pe chalata hoon."
Croak: "Hamesha?"
Carpenter: "Haan sir."
When in Bihar, drive on the right.
In Ahmedabad.
Am riding down the street on a Kinetic.
After a Sunday 'buying bazaar'.
I see a black Zen reversing out onto the road.
I wait for the driver to use his rear-view mirror.
Then, I honk.
Then, I stand on the hooter.
Then, he hits me.
I pick myself up.
Next to the black-tinted driver's window.
Assume my most menacing pose.
(Kinetic between legs, arms across chest.)
45 seconds go by.
Power windows roll down.
Blasts of Daler reveal 45ish Surd.
Wearing still darker glares.
Silence and glares.
Self: "Can't you see?"
Surd: "AC on, window closed."
Self: "Toh horn sunai nahi diya?"
Surd: "Music system on, can't hear."
I get out of his way.
Somewhere out there is a Daler fan.
Driving down the highway, blind, deaf and turbanned.
Am sure you guys have more.
Put them down.
I shall compile, edit, publish, make my moolah and retire.
Tomorrow, Top 3 Advertising stories.
No more points of view.
No more -isms.
I am just going to sit back and laugh.
Announcing...
My top 3 road stories.
Cymbals and flashing cherubim.
Riding in a rick to work today.
Ahead, spot a parked Scorpio.
Spot a green and yellow govt. plate on it.
Rick stops next to it.
Get a chance to observe it at 3 feet.
It says 'Street of Karnataka'.
Legal? Yes.
Street smart? Yes.
Gowda? Yes.
Ingenuous? Yes.
We had a Bihari carpenter do up our office.
(Do down, rather.)
He has a moped.
I ask him if he has a licence.
He shakes his head.
Verbatim:
Self - "Toh aapko police nahi pakadta?"
Carpenter: 'Pakadne hi nahi deta hoon!"
Self: "Woh kaise?"
Carpenter: "Woh sir police yeh (left) side pe rukta hai. Hum doosre side pe chalata hoon."
Croak: "Hamesha?"
Carpenter: "Haan sir."
When in Bihar, drive on the right.
In Ahmedabad.
Am riding down the street on a Kinetic.
After a Sunday 'buying bazaar'.
I see a black Zen reversing out onto the road.
I wait for the driver to use his rear-view mirror.
Then, I honk.
Then, I stand on the hooter.
Then, he hits me.
I pick myself up.
Next to the black-tinted driver's window.
Assume my most menacing pose.
(Kinetic between legs, arms across chest.)
45 seconds go by.
Power windows roll down.
Blasts of Daler reveal 45ish Surd.
Wearing still darker glares.
Silence and glares.
Self: "Can't you see?"
Surd: "AC on, window closed."
Self: "Toh horn sunai nahi diya?"
Surd: "Music system on, can't hear."
I get out of his way.
Somewhere out there is a Daler fan.
Driving down the highway, blind, deaf and turbanned.
Am sure you guys have more.
Put them down.
I shall compile, edit, publish, make my moolah and retire.
Tomorrow, Top 3 Advertising stories.
Friday, January 12, 2007
A few statistics.
Gen. J.J. Singh, in a press briefing unrelated to J&K, mentioned last week's toll.
78 Indian soldiers declared dead.
In Assam, official reports place the number of migrant labourers killed by the ULFA at 61.
But then, who counts migrant labourers?
The Nithari serial killings - media claim 40 disappearances from the area.
5 people died on the streets of Bangalore yesterday, inseparate accidents.
Last week, a little girl was eaten up by stray dogs in Bangalore.
Bangalore envy?
Few weeks back, over 70 Vidharba farmers commit suicide over the weekend.
Pawar's backyard.
I might have missed out on a few here and there.
Never had a head for numbers.
I just got back from a holiday.
Happy New Year everybody!
P.S. Not that no one cares.
When Saddam was hanged, Kerala observed a flash hartal in protest.
78 Indian soldiers declared dead.
In Assam, official reports place the number of migrant labourers killed by the ULFA at 61.
But then, who counts migrant labourers?
The Nithari serial killings - media claim 40 disappearances from the area.
5 people died on the streets of Bangalore yesterday, inseparate accidents.
Last week, a little girl was eaten up by stray dogs in Bangalore.
Bangalore envy?
Few weeks back, over 70 Vidharba farmers commit suicide over the weekend.
Pawar's backyard.
I might have missed out on a few here and there.
Never had a head for numbers.
I just got back from a holiday.
Happy New Year everybody!
P.S. Not that no one cares.
When Saddam was hanged, Kerala observed a flash hartal in protest.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
It was the ship, not the captain.
These past few days,
le poor business has had it bad.
The van Winkles running advertising all this while,
suddenly decided to wake up.
And have the bad taste in the mouth all figured out.
The business sucks. The people suck. The pay sucks.
The new recruits suck. Clients suck. Everything sucks.
We are 'experts without expertise'.
(Words not mine.)
Wait a moment!
But weren't you guys on top all this while?
Weren't you calling the shots?
Weren't you charting paths?
Weren't you evolving agency culture?
Weren't you involved in negotiation?
Weren't you there when the agency got a raw deal?
Weren't you sitting in on pay and scales?
If you were not, what were you doing at the top?
And if everything suddenly sucks,
who should be taking the blame?
The poor AE who's joined you at 15k because Usha Boiler Repair House didn't take him?
It might not be what it should, ideally.
But just because a few at the top are tired and defeated,
doesn't mean the business sucks.
But the business will suck tomorrow.
And that will be thanks to the people who run the business today.
Because the greed for higher and higher profits ensured
that entry level salaries are lower than the afore mentioned UBRH.
(Your trainee client earns the same as your average AD.)
You charted the effing course.
Now the ship's taking in water.
And you take the only lifeboat,
look back at the ship and
suddenly figure that the hull's rotting.
You, you master of deduction, you.
le poor business has had it bad.
The van Winkles running advertising all this while,
suddenly decided to wake up.
And have the bad taste in the mouth all figured out.
The business sucks. The people suck. The pay sucks.
The new recruits suck. Clients suck. Everything sucks.
We are 'experts without expertise'.
(Words not mine.)
Wait a moment!
But weren't you guys on top all this while?
Weren't you calling the shots?
Weren't you charting paths?
Weren't you evolving agency culture?
Weren't you involved in negotiation?
Weren't you there when the agency got a raw deal?
Weren't you sitting in on pay and scales?
If you were not, what were you doing at the top?
And if everything suddenly sucks,
who should be taking the blame?
The poor AE who's joined you at 15k because Usha Boiler Repair House didn't take him?
It might not be what it should, ideally.
But just because a few at the top are tired and defeated,
doesn't mean the business sucks.
But the business will suck tomorrow.
And that will be thanks to the people who run the business today.
Because the greed for higher and higher profits ensured
that entry level salaries are lower than the afore mentioned UBRH.
(Your trainee client earns the same as your average AD.)
You charted the effing course.
Now the ship's taking in water.
And you take the only lifeboat,
look back at the ship and
suddenly figure that the hull's rotting.
You, you master of deduction, you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
