# 35 - Short Story - The Dark Tower

There was nothing particularly interesting about New Shakti Tower in Andheri East, at least during the day it was as ordinary as a middle class residential premise could be in a locality bustling with commercial activity.

Thousands of people crossed the seven storey building without bothering to take a second look. Not that they were supposed to, in a city where the age old adage about time being money held particular importance, New Shakti Tower didn’t merit a second glance.

No one took notice of the building simply because it didn’t appear any different from the tens and thousands of other structures that lined the city; people of all ages, sizes and shapes came out in the mornings and heading out somewhere, presumably to their respective places of work; in the noons the building wore a deserted look, nothing unusual about that as well, and in the evenings, just before sunset, if someone would have bothered to cross-check, the same group of people who had left earlier in the day - returned.

Day in and day out, the same chain of events repeated itself, nothing unusual at all.

Except of course the fact that there were never any lights on in the building, not even after the entire batch of people re-entered their homes – that bit was odd.

In a city that never slept, the fact that there existed a tower, seemingly occupied, the residents of which were used to living in complete and utter darkness once the sun went down was anything but normal.

It wasn’t as if no one noticed this, but being situated in a commercial part of the locality, the office goers in proximity had little inclination to wonder about the oddity of New Shakti Tower.

Occasionally the passers-by did look at the building and talk about it, they sometimes wondered if it was an abandoned place, while travelling in groups in the evenings, it wasn’t rare for an individual to comment that the place looked haunted, but that was about it, their curiosity about the dark building never lasted too long. The fact that there were no reported incidents of criminal or paranormal activity in the area definitely helped, and New Shakti Tower continued being unremarkable, at least to the discernible eye.

***

There are some perceptions that manage to get stronger with the passage of time, with or without cause.

Take for example the popular image of an average government employee.

Mr. Narayan Bhosale looked the role alright, he was a middle aged man of medium built, everything about his salt & pepper hair, droopy moustache, the paan stained teeth, the sandals that looked like they would give away at any moment - screamed ‘government employee’, which he in fact was.

The bit that didn’t match into the popular perception was the fact that he was an extremely hard working man who had made a name for his honesty, but little else.

His co-workers and superiors despised him, and he had spent most of his career being shifted from one government department to another, a fact in which he took a certain amount of pride.

After asking too many questions in his previous posting as an inspector in the Public Works Department, he had been reassigned as an officer in the Municipality where his job involved doing little more than sending notices to people owing property taxes.

The ones at the helm probably thought that Bhosale could be contained by a mundane desk job where he had limited scope of interfering, but they had underestimated him.

Within a week of taking charge, Bhosale had managed to send out more notices than his predecessor had done in the previous year; if his job involved pushing pen, Bhosale was determined to be the best pen pusher there was.

Himself a victim of corruption, Bhosale took personal interest in identifying people who tried to misuse the system, he wasn’t powerful enough to cleanse it, he knew that well, but he was determined and annoying enough to make people who tried to override the structure squirm.

One winter morning, digging through the records, Bhosale managed to stumble upon a fact that seemed too bizarre to be correct.

It was with respect to one particular society. 

What he initially thought to be an isolated case of default turned out to be anything but that, his records showed one defaulting occupant from the complex after another, and the final tally turned out to be forty two, precisely the number of flats in the building.

This had to be some kind of a mistake, Bhosale thought, it couldn’t be possible that all the flat owners had colluded to collectively dodge property tax.

He summoned for his clerk, and after patiently waiting for twenty minutes for him to show up, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

Grumbling about the state of affairs, Bhosale reached the record room and started searching for the dues of previous years.

It took up almost his entire day, since the files were neither numbered, nor kept in their designated place, but Bhosale eventually emerged with a trolley full of record books. He piled them on his desk with a thud and dived headfirst into pages and pages of previous years of records.

By the time he was done, he was convinced that he had unearthed one of the biggest scams to ever hit the country, not in terms of monetary value, but purely on the basis of the ease with which some people were taking the government for a ride.

For the last five years, not one inhabitant of New Shakti Towers had been paying property taxes.

Krishna Apte, a colleague of Bhosale’s, had been watching him for a while, thus far, silently.

“Bhosale ji, looks like you have found something very interesting. Care to share the details?” Apte asked, leaning from his desk; his curiosity spilling over the thin partition board that separated the two men.    

Now, while Bhosale was a hard working honest to god man, he was aware that his kind was a rare breed, and three decades of government service had taught him to tread with caution whenever others showed interest in his work, especially when the man concerned worked at the same post as Bhosale did, and was at least twenty years younger – sufficient evidence as per Bhosale that his climb had been through less than fair means.

“N-nothing much. Just found a paper that I was looking for.” said Bhosale, for the sake of greater good, white lies were inevitable at times.

Krishna Apte wasn’t convinced, and to the extent the partition and his eyesight permitted, he attempted to take a look at the said papers, but realizing that his activities were eating into lunchtime, he left, hoping to continue with his probe later.

Bhosale sighed and sat down, wondering about his next course of action.

As per practice, he should have sent out notices, 42 of them in fact, one for each flat in the society, or, of course he could bring this anomaly to the notice of his superior.

But what good would that do?

Bhosale already knew what would happen if he pursued either of the options he had before him, sending out more than twenty notices to occupants in a single society meant approval was needed in any case, so he had little option but to discuss the matter with his superior.

A little voice inside his head that almost never spoke up chose this as an appropriate time to make an exception.

”If you keep doing whatever you have been doing, you shouldn’t expect to see different results.”

He was surprised at how bitter the voice was, but found it difficult to disagree.

“Of course you can point this out to your boss, let him praise you within the confines of his cabin and then watch him get promoted for identifying a major instance of tax default. You can go home to your wife and kids and whine about the prices you pay for your goodness, hoping to be pitied, but knowing fully well that they hate you as much as the others, if not more.”

“That’s not true”, Bhosale found himself speaking aloud; and realizing his act, looked around immediately to check if anyone had seen him, luckily everyone was away for lunch.

The voice, which was definitely not his conscience speaking, enjoyed Bhosale’s embarrassment, it sneered and went on. “Look at you, pretending to be upright and different, but so concerned with what others think of you. The truth is, you know that you are mediocre, you know that you don’t deserve the things you hope for, and in order to fulfil this self-prophecy, you keep doing things that in your own head rationalize your meaningless existence.”

“What should I do?” Bhosale murmured, looking at the silverfish laden files before him.

“What you should have done long back. Take matters into your own hands. Claim the credit you deserve. Make some name for yourself.”

“But how?” he found himself asking, but the voice didn’t reply this time.

Bhosale slouched over his desk and put his head down.  Closing his eyes, he wondered about his life, what he had achieved so far.

He was an honest man with middle class values who followed the rules, but what should have been his praiseworthy qualities, had become his curse. In this day and age, his attributes were not only unappreciated, they were discouraged.

He questioned himself whether in all these years had he displayed courage in sticking to policies, or had he been a coward for not breaking the rules.

He didn’t know the answer.

But he had made up his mind.

***

Bhosale left his office earlier than usual that evening, and instead of Malad, he got down at the Andheri station.

It was a long walk, and when he reached the locality, he had trouble finding the building; no one seemed to know it by name, and after a number of false leads, he eventually stumbled upon New Shakti Towers almost by accident.

Now Narayan Bhosale had assumed that only the rich, famous and well connected could have gotten away with such an outrageous act, but when he saw New Shakti Tower, he was forced to admit that his theory had been flawed.

‘Absolutely ordinary’ he muttered. This was definitely not the kind of place where the rich lived.

While it wasn’t falling to pieces, there was nothing remotely new nor tower-like about New Shakti Tower. Certainly not the kind of place where you would suspect to find 42 families evading taxes.

It is the middle class salaried people who religiously paid taxes.

 But there were other peculiarities he noticed.

No guard, no gate, no cars, no lights.

Seemingly no occupants.

The sun had set by then, and as he stepped inside the complex, the dusk swooped in, with only the faint lights from the streets and the sound of traffic reminding him that he was in a living, thriving city.

Bhosale hesitated for a second; when he had planned on meeting and talking to the residents, he hadn’t exactly foreseen this.

And then with the same boldness that he had lived with for all his life, he entered the building.

He fumbled to find the doorbell on the first flat on the ground floor, and when he did find it, he wasn’t exactly surprised when no sounds emanated in spite of his repeated presses.

“Koi hai?” he asked, unsure if anyone would answer him, and no one did.

He knocked on the door, and unexpectedly the door swung open.

Without much thought, Bhosale walked right in.

It wasn’t still completely dark, but his eyes took some time to adjust until he could see anything.

He made out the shape of a sofa, a table, a bookshelf; some other furniture. The flat didn’t seem unoccupied.

And then he moved his gaze upwards and froze.

What were those things on the ceiling?

There was one right next to the fan, another at the very corner of the room, and another next to a tubelight that had probably been never switched  on.

Before Bhosale could react, the thing at the corner of the room climbed down like an enormous spider, dropping to the floor noiselessly.

Bhosale opened his mouth to scream, but his voice had vanished, a barely audible muffle emanated. The thought of fleeing didn’t even occur to him, he couldn’t feel any part of his body.

The thing stood up, but Bhosale already knew what it was, or at least what it resembled.

It walked up to him, barely inches away, and even in the darkness, Bhosale could make out that it looked exactly like a human being.

But not quite, there was nothing human in its smile, nothing resembling the living in its pale, grey eyes.

***

On an average, forty people go missing from Mumbai every day, vanishing without a trace, never to be found again.

Bhosale’s name had been added to that useless piece of statistic.

Not many bothered about his existence, and not many were troubled by him disappearing; life went on as usual in Maximum city.

But if someone were to attempt to find Bhosale, it wouldn’t be that difficult at all.

He leaves New Shakti Tower in the morning, and returns before sunset.

Everyday.

Maybe, just maybe, even you have met him, probably seen his face in the crowd, or walked beside him on the busy streets.

Or at least something that resembles him. 

Image from here.

# 34 - Dhoni - the man who kept calm and carried on

I have never quite liked MS Dhoni, how could I? I am a ‘Dada’ fan, and in all honesty, you can’t possibly like Saurav Ganguly and Dhoni both (hear that whoosh? That was ‘objectivity’ going out the window).

One look at Dhoni in his debut match, and you knew that the man didn't belong.

From the clearly-pretending-to-be-John-Abraham-hairdo to his less than elegant approach to batting, who would have thought that this man would survive in international cricket, let alone be captain in a couple of years. 

Dhoni may or may not have played an active role in the (early) ouster of Saurav Ganguly, it doesn’t matter, because it’s clear that he did play a part in it. This is Indian cricket after all, unless you are a certain Mr.Wall, if you are the captain, you are the one who calls the shots.    

I remember the die-hard Ganguly fans discussing how every dog has his day, and Dhoni was having his, how his time would run out, sooner rather than later.

And we said the same thing when he won the Asia Cup, the 2011 World Cup, the Champions Trophy, and oh yeah, the IPL too.   

Before we knew it, he had surpassed our beloved Dada’s record of being India’s most successful captain.

We switched to a different tune now.

‘Only succeeds in sub-continent pitches’

‘Where are the quality bowlers?’

 ‘His average is high because he bats too deep’

‘Scared to come up the order’

‘Won the world cup in India, that doesn’t count’

‘How ugly are his shots?’

It was probably after his retirement from tests, that the enormity of what he had done fully sunk in.

Captains don’t just step down and retire, not in India at least. They grab on to their place in the team as if their lives depended on it, unlikely to give up the position unless pried from ‘their cold, dead hands.'

Of course, there were players like Gavaskar, Kumble and Dravid who quit the game on their own terms and while on a high, but that’s as big as the list gets, and to be fair age was not really on their side.

As much as I hate to admit it, it was under the captaincy of MSD that India truly became a cricketing giant, Dada may have initiated the process, but it was Dhoni who saw it through.

Before Ganguly, we played our own brand of calypso cricket, that Pakistan continues to endorse; individual brilliance – yes, highly entertaining – yes, results – meh.   

It might seem like a distant memory now, but people actually wondered why cricketers like R.Ashwin, Suresh Raina and Ravindra Jadeja were being given chances; cronies of Dhoni, we smirked, but just like Joginder Sharma in the 2007 T20 World Cup final, Dhoni’s faith in them has paid off. Imagine the Indian team without Ashwin now.

He has the luck of the devil, that Dhoni.

'I make this expression look cool.'

Whatever and whoever he touched, seemed to turn into gold (Ishant Sharma being the notable exception).

Sure, his shots had the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, his ‘helicopter shot’ was basically what kids of our time would informally call ‘aankh bandh karke bat idhar udhar ghumana’. He didn’t have the charisma of Ganguly or the style of Azhar, and while he is quite comfortable speaking in English, he does say things like ‘I think the people in Chennai they just love me.....when I used to go out biking at night, whenever I used to stop in the red light areas and all, they used to always come up to me and speak to me in Tamil, so, I think they really love me....’ Yes, he did say that, and I am guessing he was talking about traffic signals, and not.....whatever else. Have a look, skip to 3:23.

But all that aside, when faecal matter hit the cooling device, more often than not he would see the side through.

No matter how high the asking rate got, he didn’t break into a sweat. Dhoni's self-assured appearance didn’t reek of arrogance, but it was as if he didn’t care about the consequences. He somehow managed to do the impossible, whether as a finisher or as a captain, there was little semblance of logic in his strategy, but he somehow pulled off those crazy moves, be it with respect to that Jogiinder Sharma plan, or promoting himself ahead of Yuvraj in the 2011 World Cup final.

The 2011 World Cup victory ensured that Dhoni's name would be written in permanent ink so far as cricket was concerned, and his achievements, on paper at least, had overshadowed dada’s. 

What was worse though was Sachin saying that Dhoni was the best captain he had played under, such a clear jibe to the prince of Calcutta! 

Unfortunately, Dada himself was prolific in his praises for Dhoni, as if he had forgotten the role Dhoni played in finishing off his career. 

But we couldn’t forget the humiliation. For every dig targeted at Dada, for every joke about his fielding abilities, for every inch of ink space devoted to his weakness against the rising delivery.....vengeance was due. Sure, the wounds were old, but as the saying goes, revenge is a dish best served cold.  

We bided our time, still confident that Dhoni’s luck would one day run out, it always does.

We waited for the opportunity. We marked the Dhoni fans, and the people who had made fun of Ganguly, our time to get back was nearing.

And then much to our dismay, he retired from tests.

We wanted him to be kicked out of the team, not retire from the format on his own.

So, the waiting game began again.

And now, just when the talks of making Kohli the limited overs captain were threatening to emerge  – Dhoni does this.

What the hell? Who steps down from captaincy like this?!

It looks like he has once again pulled it off, choosing to let go before being forced to.

And even as I sit here disappointed, upset that I won’t get to make those Dhoni jokes that I have been planning all these years, I have to admit, with this announcement Dhoni has finally mastered the art of the one thing he lacked inside the field; ironically, it's the same skill that Dada displayed brilliantly on the ground, but nowhere near as good off it. 

Timing.

# 33 - 17 things to do by 31st December, 2017, or before you die (whichever is earlier)

It’s that time of the year again folks, the time we look back at the year that was, and wonder, “what the hell just happened?”

And then we look ahead, hoping that the coming year will be better.

I had decided that new year resolutions weren’t my thing long back, and had focussed more on the outcome than the means, in fact, it was on the 26^th of September, 2006 that I had decided (yes, decided) that 2016 was going to be my year.

I would own 2016.

I would be rich, famous, and most importantly, happy.

It was my 10-year plan, and as you might have guessed, things didn’t really turn out that way.

Never the one to give up (my PT teacher would disagree), I have decided to postpone joy for a year, and be a bit more detailed with what I want this time, and while at it, I have also decided to make your new year resolution for you, because all of us want more or less the same things from life, right?

So, here goes, in no particular order, the things you (and I) must do by 31^st December 2017, or die trying.

1. Reasonably restrict vices. Don’t stop because people tell you to, stop because you want to.

2. Write more. All of us, no matter what profession we are into, need to write more. Be it personal diaries, letters, or legal notices. The tragedy of the 21^st century is that the most writing we do is on WhatsApp – not a good idea. Writing is cathartic, liberating, and tells us a lot about ourselves. On a personal note, ‘the great Indian law college’ novel that I have been working on since 2013, needs to be finished, before memory fails and before it becomes totally out of sync with the times.

3. Get a six pack.

 It was fine when Salman, Shahrukh and Aamir sported those washboard abs that you could probably grate cheese on, but now with Bunty from my housing society flaunting it, six packs, like PayTM and online shopping, has truly turned mainstream.  So hop on the fitness bandwagon, before you’re left out.

4. Read at least 25 books this year.

Note: Femina, Filmfare, Cosmopolitan, Tinkle, Champak, Maxim, etc., do not count as books.

5. Accumulate enough knowledge on House of Cards, Game of Thrones, or whatever movie/book/TV show/flavour of the season that everyone is raving about, OR, improve acting abilities so that you can pretend to be ‘in with it’. Else, be prepared to listen to lines such as “WHAAAAT? YOU HAVEN’T SEEN ________?”, or the more disturbing “You should die already.”

6. Read more. Because saying it once isn’t enough.  

7. Accept the ageing process. Gracefully. YOLO/YODO are all fine, but we can’t still look 20 when we are on the wrong side of 40 (not speaking about myself here). We need to accept this fact and ignore commercials featuring movie stars who have gone under the knife and are paying for the botox sessions by endorsing creams that claim to reverse the 27 signs of ageing. Thirty signs that you’re bullshitting, I say.

8. See more sensible movies. Gunda, Deshdrohi and Snakes on a Plane are amusing once in a while, but the trouble with watching too many bad movies is, before you know it, you start enjoying them, like really enjoying them. You forget that you started out poking fun at these kinds of movies, and you know you’re in trouble when you actually start wondering how Mithun da is going to be able to match up against the formidable and ‘always open’ Bulla. Another sign that you’re in deep shit is when you unconsciously start humming ‘gutar gutar’.

9. Search for the extremely good looking singles in my area that pop-ups on my browser keep telling me about. Seriously, where are they?

10. Get more people to read my blog. If you’re reading this, spread the word. [Promoted point]

11. Chuck that smartphone away and go to sleep before 12 midnight, at least on weekdays.

12. Get better at writing, table tennis, and quizzing, in that order. <Insert your own non-work-related hobbies here>

Note: ‘Surfing the net / Watching TV’ DO NOT count as hobbies. How do you get better at browsing the internet, by getting a better broadband?

13.  DO NOT FORWARD RUMOURS BEING PASSED OFF AS NEWS ON WHATSAPP/FACEBOOK etc. There’s a reason why newspapers and websites dedicated to news exist. So quit the temptation to forward messages that talk about GPS embedded chips in Rs. 2000 notes, UFO sightings in Jhumri Telaiya, and 30 feet tall humanoid skeletons. And while at it, stop forwarding and sharing “if you do not pass this message to 20 people you will die” or “comment with Amen” posts.

14. Ignore Kamaal Rashid Khan (KRK). Like Deshdrohi, he was fun for a while, but now it’s just sad. Your time deserves better.

15. Learn something new. Remember the time you bought a guitar to impress your crush? And how you abandoned it the day you found out that it was your face that was the problem and not your lack of guitar playing skills? Well, it’s time to remember the guitar and forget the girl. Dust it off and learn how to play it. Studies show that learning new things keeps the brain young. And maybe, just maybe, your face might have gotten better since then.

16. Learn to let go. To hell with the past, there are other (hopefully better) things to come. Accept who you are and what you want to do with yourself. You are not your job, you are not who your parents/spouse/children want you to be. Stop bothering with what other people, no matter how close or important, think of you. You are the star of your movie, don’t let the secondary actors take away your screen time. Accept the fact that following latest trends, and forcible listening to the Billboard Top 20 do not make you cool. The traditional definition of being cool still holds true. Cool is not giving a damn about what others think of you, cool is about not pretending. So stop keeping a beard just because they seem to be in vogue. Okay, maybe I should cross out #3, I am still cool, baby! Okay, #5 too.   

17. #Abandon #Unnecessary #Hashtags #That #Serve #No #Purpose #Period

Don't be like Meena boy.

That’s it, boys and girls. I hope you have enjoyed reading this list. May we stick to our resolutions.

Happy new year in advance people, let’s own 2017.

Image from here.

# 32 - Why I write

Why do I write?

Why is it that I bother to write on topics ranging from Ra.One to Blackberry phones, knowing fully well that only a handful will be interested in these subjects?

Why do I bother to religiously paste the links to my latest post on Facebook and Twitter aware that only 15 percent of my Facebook friends and 1 percent of my Twitter followers will bother to click on the links? 

And no one, absolutely no one will ‘like’ them, unless they are feeling particularly generous, or of course, the finger slips. 

Why do I spend time writing short stories (or for that matter, blog posts) even when I know that my odds of getting published are slimmer than the chances of Mithun Chakraborty’s onscreen sister surviving the length of a movie, or Nirupa Roy not getting widowed within the first half an hour of an Amitabh Bachchan film, or Shahrukh Khan not getting the girl, or an auto driver giving you the change for 2000 bucks?  

Okay, you get the drift.

As with all of life's questions, there's a short answer and a long answer.

The short one:

Because I need to matter, goddamnit. I need appreciation and recognition - be it for my writing, my work, or for my still intact hostel record for the longest number of days passed without having taken a shower – recognition which obviously I am yet to find.

The long and more specific answer….well, there is no one single answer. 

I write because I need to collect all the pent up anger, disgust, humour, regret, sadness, happiness, and other assorted feelings; and then mix them all up and smash it against a wall, watch the green, gooey stuff splatter and feel somewhat better....but that feeling is short lived.

Then with the audacity of a three-year-old who has been drawing his masterpiece on the interior walls, (or perhaps been collecting dog poo from the streets) I feel the need to show it off.

"Look what I did, Ma.” 

And that’s what writing does for me. 

Because, like that old saying about a tree falling in the forest with no one to hear it, the writing only makes sense if it’s out there, available for people to read. 

I honestly don’t really care for the facebook likes (okay, maybe a little), any cat picture or a post on politics could do that, but as long as you are clicking the link and reading what I have written, I am happy.

I am a big fan of Christopher Nolan’s earlier movies, and my favourite is ‘The Prestige’.

There’s a line in the movie, and I seek your permission to cite it, well not really, I am the one who’s writing, so buzz off or stay with me as I quote from the movie.

‘Every great magic trick consists of three parts or acts. 

The first part is called "The Pledge". The magician shows you something ordinary: a deck of cards, a bird or a man. He shows you this object. Perhaps he asks you to inspect it to see if it is indeed real, unaltered, normal. But of course...it probably isn't. 

The second act is called "The Turn". The magician takes the ordinary something and makes it do something extraordinary. Now you're looking for the secret... but you won't find it, because of course you're not really looking. You don't really want to know. You want to be fooled. But you wouldn't clap yet. Because making something disappear isn't enough; you have to bring it back. 

That's why every magic trick has a third act, the hardest part, the part we call "The Prestige".’

What a great line! And I think that the quote is appropriate not just for magic, but for all things creative. Be it a piece of music, a movie, or a story. 

The quintessential story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. 

The beginning is where you show your deck of cards, something ordinary, something or someone that you and I could probably identify with.

And then, enter the conflict -  an event, a person or even a decision, who or which comes in and turns the mundane into the unexpected. 

But life seeks balance, a kind of resolution, and we follow the story to find out what will happen, how will it all end – because everything that has a beginning must have an end.

But of course, not all stories end with a clear outcome, some leave the reader wondering about what actually happened, they aim to confuse, or leave the ending to the interpretation of the reader, think ‘Inception’, or the ‘Lady, or the Tiger?’.

The ending is important because this is what will stay on with the reader, this is what the story culminates to, and no matter how exciting your premise is, how real your characters are, or how pacy your writing is, if the ending doesn’t satisfy your reader, it will all come down to nothing.

Now I have been blabbering on for a while now, and while I had started off with why I write, I have gone on to discuss the elements of a short story, anyway, coming back to the reasons.

The motive for writing will, of course, be subjective, there are people who write and the nature and content of their writing are too personal to share, or they simply don’t feel like sharing. There are noble and talented beings who write because they simply love writing and it comes naturally to them. 

Unfortunately, I don’t belong to this category. 

Words don’t come easily to me, I am not one of those people who can form coherent plots from one line of prompt, grammar remains a concern, and I have a limited vocabulary and resort to right clicking a word and choosing ‘synonyms’ more often than I would like to admit. 

It is a painful, frustrating process that more often than not leaves me wondering, why am I doing this, what’s the point of it all?

But when I do manage to finish a piece, the effort seems to have been worth it, not only because I have expressed myself, but because I have managed to create something out of nothing. 

Almost godlike.

Dance, puppets, dance!

There is no one single answer to why I write, but unlike the other things which take up my time, be it games, movies, television, combing my hair etc. – I have never, ever, regretted the time I have spent in writing.

And, that’s a good enough reason for me.

P.S. In case you are wondering, the record for consecutive days spent without having a shower:-  50. What can I say, it was a really cold Delhi winter.

Image taken from here. 

# 31 - The Curious Incident of the Boys in Noon-time

During my college years, I had intentionally done most of my internships in Mumbai; I loved the city from my first visit, and in spite of my limited travels, I was confident that Mumbai was the greatest city on earth - from the hustle and bustle of the streets to the affordable keema pav, anything and everything seemed fascinating.  

As a youngster in the city, I was always up for some adventure, in spite of the fact that I never had more than a couple of hundred rupee notes in my wallet (sadly nothing has changed on that front).

After work, our group of 3-4 guys, who mostly worked at offices near Nariman Point, would walk our way up to Marine Drive, and do nothing but sit and stare at the vast ocean stretching out in front of us.

This was our everyday routine. 

We didn’t talk much, and the term ‘selfie’ hadn’t made its way to the dictionary yet, so we just sat and enjoyed the view, for hours.

It was on one of those heady, hopeful days that one of us had remarked that if by chance we ever ended up working in Mumbai, we would visit Marine Drive every day after office.

  

And all of us had immediately agreed.

I have been living in Mumbai for quite a few years now, and I can’t even remember when was the last time I visited Marine Drive. The fellow who had suggested the idea of meeting up every day at Marine drive, well, he is in Mumbai too, but we rarely speak, let alone meet, but that’s a story for another day.

I guess that’s life. With time, your priorities change, old habits and preferences wither away, but they don’t quite die - so long as you visit them once in a while in your memories.

And while on memories and Mumbai, there’s one particular incident that I can’t help but recall every time I cross Bandstand.

Mumbai, winter of 2007.

A Saturday morning (probably closer to noon). 

I woke up leisurely at the shabby lodge where I was putting up during my internship, only to find my friend from college (let us call him ‘P’) all dressed up and ready to go.

“Finish your breakfast and let’s go someplace.” He said, more charged up than he was on weekdays.

“Where are we going?” I asked, groggy-eyed.

He gave the smile of the sphinx and asked me to just make sure that my phone’s battery was fully charged.

My filmy friend didn’t give any more hints until we ended up at Bandstand sometime around 2 in the afternoon. The oxymoron that is “Mumbai winter” ensuring that we were drenched in sweat. 

I had had enough of the mystery by then and asked P point blank what the plan was. 

“Are you aware of the term pilgrimage my friend?”,  said P, and then pointed at the very ordinary looking complex in front of us. 

“Galaxy Apartments.” I said, and realized immediately what P was inferring. 

“Yes, you are standing in front of Bhai’s residence, and even as we speak, he is somewhere inside, not more than 200 feet away from us. This…this…road is all that stands between us and him. Apart from the entrance, his security guards and all, but you get the point.” 

For those who don’t follow Bollywood – Galaxy Apartments is where THE Salman Khan resides. 

Calling P filmy – would be the understatement of the century. He is not just filmy, he is stalker level filmy, he is an encyclopedia so far as Bollywood is concerned, he knows the schedules of the stars, whether they are on outdoor shoots, which phone they are using and some claimed that P could identify vehicles of stars by their license plates, including TV actors.

So when he said Salman Khan was 200 feet away, I knew Salman Khan WAS 200 feet away, plus minus 20 feet. 

“So what’s the plan?” I asked him.

“Now we wait for him to show up.” He said, plonking himself on a cement bench that overlooked the apartment.

He explained that it was customary for stars to show up and wave to the gathering of fans on weekends, and that was P’s grand plan....we would wait, until he acknowledged our presence by waving at us.

“How long till he does that?” I asked. 

“Anything between half an hour to three hours as per my estimate.” P replied.

Truth be told, this ordeal wasn’t what I was expecting, but given the fact that I had nothing better to do, and I was a major BhaiBhakt once, I made myself comfortable.

“Aap bhi bhai se milne aaye hai?” [You too have come to meet bhai?] said a voice from behind.

We turned around to see who else could be crazy enough to waste their Sunday in bhai-spotting, or for that matter confusing ‘celeb spotting’ with ‘celeb meeting’, but one look and we knew that this guy was serious. 

Dead serious. 

In terms fan level, on a scale of 1 to 10, this guy was obviously level 3000.

His hairstyle was ‘Tere Naam’, he had the faux turquoise bracelet, the faded jeans with patchwork, and his shirt….well, the only way he could go more ‘Salman’ was if he went shirtless, but he wasn’t (perhaps because his physique was the one thing he couldn’t Salman-ize).  Instead, his preferred attire resembled the vomit of a chameleon that had eaten a rainbow and had peacock feathers for dessert - the kind of clothing that you get to see on Chiragh Din ads, and make you wonder who actually buy these. 

Judge not, lest thy be judged.

The three of us soon got talking, his name was Subodh and he was from some town in Uttar Pradesh, the sole purpose of his week-long visit to Mumbai was to ‘meet’ Salman Khan.

“I am bhai’s biggest fan”, he proclaimed, as I nodded, P had trouble accepting this fact, but he eventually reconciled himself to this, the fact that P had never thought of embracing the bracelet, hairstyle and more importantly the clothes was the crucial factor. 

“I have been loitering around here all week, and I have seen everyone from the family - Sohail, Arbaaz, Malaika. Salim Khan actually spoke to me one morning, he was going out for a walk. But I haven’t yet met Bhai.” He lamented.

We asked him what did he and Salim Khan talk about, and he admitted that he was sternly told to go back to his town and not waste his time. 

“But I must meet Salmanbhai….else my entire trip will be fruitless.” He was afraid to think of the consequences if he didn’t get to meet Salman. “I have promised my cousin that I will bring him Bhai’s autograph”, and just as we were about to ask him when he was supposed to be returning, he told us that his train was in the evening.

P tried to cheer him up, “it’s just 2pm, you have plenty of time.” and Subodh seemed to brighten up a bit at the thought.

We must have made a funny sight, the three of us sitting on a  bench, ignoring the heat and staring at a balcony of the flat opposite us, from where we expected Salman Khan to jump out any second, and call us by our first names.

But of course, he didn't. 

P formed a special connection with our companion by virtue of the fact that he hailed from the same state, and I too joined in on the conversation.

He worked as an electrician and was roughly the same age as us, and in spite of the superficial differences, we formed a bond thanks to our shared love of Salman Khan.

Hours rolled by, and P and I started getting impatient, we came to know from Subodh that Bhai being at home need not translate to him giving a darshan to his fans.

"Last Sunday also, I was here, he was here....so was the crowd...but he didn't come out."

"Wait, what crowd? Today there are just three of us." 

"Oh, you'll see..not too long now, they will start coming. All pretending to be his biggest fan." Subodh replied, with no attempt to hide the contempt for the pretenders.

I exchanged a glance with P, surely in a city like Mumbai where spotting celebrities was not too big a deal, there wouldn't be a crowd in front of Salman Khan 's house, just for his glimpse.

But as the day wore on and the sun started dipping into the Arabian sea behind us, a funny thing started to happen.

Just as Subodh had said, other people joined us in front of the apartment, we were no longer the only losers who had nothing better to do, there were plenty of us. Autos started slowing down while crossing the road, some stopped altogether, and curious folks alighted and joined the gathering. While a lot of them were casual fans, I noted that there were other die-hards not very much unlike Subodh.

Before long, it seemed like the whole of Bandstand was standing with us. There was pushing and shoving because the footpath could only take so much, and the crowd spilt over to the road, creating a traffic jam in the process. 

Our friend had gotten separated from us, but we managed to track him amidst the chaos. 

“He isn’t going to show up, is he?” he asked, more to himself than us. 

P tried to sound hopeful, "Maybe he will, you know how Bhai is...always late."

"But I can't be late for my train, 10 more minutes, then I would better get going."

We didn't respond, nothing that we could have said would have probably helped...we had been here for only three hours, and were on the verge of giving up, for someone who had come to the city with this single aim, and was virtually spending his day and night waiting for a glimpse of the star, and failing, it must have been hard - accepting defeat. 

He drifted away from us once again, but remained in the crowd.

And then, after what could have been five minutes, or half an hour....Salman Khan showed up.

In an unreasonably tight pink tee, with his dishevelled hair falling on his face, looking every bit the cocky superstar that he is, he waved and smiled, and the crowd went crazy.

Chants of ‘Salman Salman’ filled the air, and I witnessed a level of mass hysteria that I have never seen before or since.  

And then he went back to wherever he had come from.

Almost immediately the gathering started to scatter. we looked around for Subodh, but we couldn't spot him. soon, it was again just the two of us.

"You think he was still there when Salman came?" I asked P on our way back.

"I don't think so, he said that he would be leaving in ten minutes, Salman came out at least 20 minutes after that." 

"Impossible, couldn't have been more than 5 minutes." I said.

"We couldn't say bye to him." P said.

And that was that, we couldn't tell for sure if Subodh did get to see Salman Khan that day.

Needless to say, neither of us ever met Subodh after that.

Unlike Marine drive, I do happen to visit Bandstand from time to time, I go past galaxy apartments too, and sometimes when it's a weekend, and I see a crowd gathered outside, I think of that afternoon from 9 years ago.

And the funny thing is that, it's not Salman Khan I yearn to see, but that man from the small town of UP with the Tere Naam hairstyle and the weird shirt.

Image Taken from here.

# 30 - The Great Indian TV Show(s)

Warning: Explicit Language or maybe I am just using clickbait tactics?

There are many general entertainment channels available for watching, some even under the guise of news channels, and on these channels there are great many programmes, but let us restrict ourselves to Indian channels, whether or not Mr. Rupert Murdoch owns a stake.

For the last decade or so, there have been quite a few TV shows that have captured the imagination of the nation, at least briefly.

But it's the 21st century, and much like my girlfriend from school days - the nation's love is fickle (I kid, I never had a girlfriend in school, but you, dear reader, would have probably guessed that already).

Kaun Banega Crorepati no longer has viewers glued, come to think of it, it's off the air.

Satyameva Jayate had viewers and Aamir Khan reaching for the hankies, and reminded us of Doordarshan programmes of yore, but it went off the air faster than you could spell 'i-n-t-o-l-e-r-a-n-c-e'.

 The list goes on and on.

In the TRP battleground, many have reached the top, but few have remained there, five names come to mind immediately.

Here they are, in no particular order:

Tarak Mehta Ka Ooltah Chasma

No, seriously. weird Ashleel talks to follow..

Why would anyone be interested in the upside down spectacles of Mr. Tarak Mehta?
Watch it to find out.
2000+ episodes and this desi sitcom shows no sign of slowing down.

IPL
Yes, it's a TV show.
Yes, even though we love test cricket and want it to survive, it is the Super Kings, Kings XI and Knightriders we actually want to see play. And please, the world needs more teams which have the word 'king' or a variation thereof in its name, and while at it, more cheerleaders too.

CID

CID may not have the episode count of TMKOC (before you get any ideas, that stands for Tarak Mehta Ka Ooltah Chasma, duh) but it's on the verge of completing 19 years.

Daya, darwaza aur record tod do.

The Newshour Debate with Arnab Goswami

'Nuff said.

Okay, here you go, a post on him by greatbong:- Goodbye Arnab Goswami (For Now).

.....and last but not the least, my personal favourite

(drumrolls)

BIGG BOSS
Bigg Boss is everything that is wrong with television.
Bigg Boss is the reason they call the TV - Idiot Box / Devil's glass.
Bigg Boss is the reason why superstar Armaan Kohli (of Jaani Dushman fame) and superstar Tanisha Chatterjee (of Kajol fame) hooked up and found eternal love, for four months.

Bigg Boss has also informed us that this man is a 'celebrity'. 

Every time I watch Bigg Boss, my IQ dips a little, and sometimes when I am not busy eating chalk, I wonder if I have any IQ left at all.

But I watch it nevertheless.

I watch it because it's a crappy show, I watch it because I am a man of strange tastes, but maybe so are you.

#1 Do you from time to time start humming "zeher hai ki pyaar hai tera chumma" for no rhyme or reason?
#2 Have you ever tried googling the name of the lead actress from 'MSG - Messenger of God'?
#3 Do you like to fart in elevators when you are alone, and before you get off, hope that the smell lingers long enough for the next occupant to detect it?
#4 Do you like comparing your hotdog against the other guy's when you are at the urinal?
#5 If you were offered a super power, would you choose invisibility, only so that you could do stuff...or people?
#6 Have you ever visited Desibaba?
#7 Ever used your roommate's toothbrush to clean the loo?

You get the drift.

Okay, so maybe you haven't actually done any of the above things (especially #5, but if you are denying #6, you are a fucking liar).

The point I am trying to make here is, we all go a little mad sometimes, and that's okay, you're not alone.

But what would it be like to live in a madhouse with nuts around 24 x 7, a sort of Arkham asylum if you will, where the only rules are there to promote further mayhem?

What would it be like to take off your mask of sanity and really dance like no one is watching?
 Except they are watching, millions of them.

Welcome to the world of Bigg Boss.

Sure, the show may be scripted, situations contrived, and the participants - a bunch of wannabes, pseudo-celebs and has-beens - but honestly, do you give a shit?

Do you really want to know how Minnisha Lamba looks without makeup? Or what Rakhi Sawant's mother likes to cook for her little angel?

"Hurt"

Bigg Boss appeals to our animal, voyeuristic instincts, a part of us that enjoys the chaos when our best friends fight each other; the reason we slow down when we see an accident on the road, but don't actually stop and do anything about it, the same perverted part of us that make us forward those gory beheading videos, or instances of animal cruelty on WhatsApp in the name of spreading awareness.

Bigg Boss doesn't exist because its creators thought that it would be a neat idea to lock people up and treat them like lab rats for  three months.
It exists and more importantly, succeeds because it holds a mirror to the society. It tells us that it's okay to be loud, crass, annoying and selfish....in fact, it might even make you popular (well, hello Mr. Trump, err, I mean, Mr. President). Something that you always knew deep down.

Scripted or not, Bigg Boss is a microcosm of the world, minus the subtlety, and it would be funny if it wasn't so sad.

The beauty of this incredibly dense show is that it isn't pretentious, it doesn't patronize us in a way that Satyameva Jayate or the last season of KBC did.

Of course, there are many who (rightly) detest bigg boss and choose to avoid the programme, but I like to believe that they are getting their sadistic kicks elsewhere. Maybe from Comedy Nights with Kapil (oops, missed featuring it on the list) or its Sony avatar, or Splitsvilla, or Roadies, or Crime Patrol, etc.

If, however, god forbid, you are not into any of that garbage...it's highly likely that you are making up for it with your real life activities.

Think about it.

And now, if you'll excuse me, it's time for me to find out if Gaurav Chopra really has the hots for VJ Bani.

Images from here, here, here and here.

# 29 - Movie Review - Jack Reacher : Never Go Back (2016) - pulls the punches

Cast: Tom Cruise, Cobie Smulders, Danika Yarosh, Patrick Heusinger.
Directed by: Edward Zwick

Visiting Washington to meet Major Susan Turner, Jack Reacher comes to know that she has been accused of espionage. Convinced of Susan's innocence, Reacher senses a bigger conspiracy. He also finds out that there's a case for child support filed against him by a woman he doesn't seem to recall.

Tom Cruise returns as Jack Reacher in this sequel to Jack Reacher (2012), the movie that introduced the titular character.

While not a blockbuster of Mission Impossible proportions, the original movie earned enough to merit a sequel, and of course there's enough material to have multiple movies (author Lee Child has penned multiple novels, novellas and short stories on the character).

Having gone to see the original movie with little expectations, I came out a fan; so when the sequel was announced, I was hoping that I would love this one too.

Unfortunately, Jack Reacher : Never Go Back falls short of the expectations.

The plot is wafer thin, which is understandable given the genre, but when the twists & turns and even the onscreen dialogues can be seen coming, you know that the makers should have been put in more effort.

A major reason why the 2012 movie worked was because of the raw action scenes and witty lines, for some unfathomable reason the sequel has these elements considerably toned down.

There's also an attempt to make Jack Reacher more human, forced to work with a partner and look after a teenager who may-or-may-not-be his daughter, Reacher is almost a family man in a 'We're the Millers' kind of way.

Not a good idea.

There is a scene where Reacher realises that he is being followed (so what's new?), and in a shady alley he comes face to face with four adversaries. The scene is highly reminiscent of the bar scene of the earlier movie and has as much potential, but the writing and the action make it very ordinary.

There's chemistry between Smulders and Cruise, and scope for potential romance, but it's not fully explored.

The movie does have its moments, but they are too few and far in between, and none of them makes the impact that you would expect.

Danika Yarosh is irritating and unconvincing, while Cobie 'Robin' Smulders keeps up with Tom Cruise in action scenes and in terms of screen time - Marvel has definitely underutilized her talent.

Tom Cruise does his bit; he has time and again pulled off characters without seemingly fitting the bill, and Jack Reacher is probably the best example.

The character, as described in the book possesses a large physique, is built like a tank, and towers at 6 feet 5 inches tall.

Needless to say, this description suits Dolph Lundgren more than Tom Cruise. Yet Cruise sinks his teeth into the role and makes it his own, he becomes Jack Reacher.

Jack Reacher : Never Go Back is not a bad movie, far from it, but it's not as good as it could have been.

RATING: 2.5/5

P.S.: Here's the bar scene from the first movie. This, in short, is who Jack Reacher is.

Image from here.