Happiness theory !

        I once casually observed that a person is as happy as others think he is. But on deeper contemplation I found that it’s a rare piece of wisdom. The happiness that a normal being feels, is not because of his own inherent state/possessions, but is an indirect result of the appreciation/envy he invokes in others. Being a student of Mrs Rand , I have learnt that any simple idea can become a complete philosophy with the help of monstrous prolixity. The writing of this post therefore was imperative. Coming back to the topic, its really amazing how true this apparently funny observation is. In search of happiness, people don’t do what would actually make them happy. They do things which would make people around them think that they are happy. So , they constantly seek affirmation from others that look, I got promotion, am I happy ? And the following ego massage( wonderful term from I am OK you are OK)  is what actually makes them happy. People would buy those things, the possessor of whom are generally considered a happy lot. Whether they actually need  those things is surprisingly irrelevant. Thus the quest for happiness becomes an anxious effort to convince people around, that look I am happy. Girls would starve themselves to bones, chasing that perfect shape which would get them many a male eyeball or feminine envy. They would even wear un ‘in-gettable’ clothes, which would need as much effort as a serpentine to slough  to get out of, just to show what they have achieved. Boys would burn many a calorie getting silly fleshy tissue pop out from strategic locations from their body for the same (The author, being fallible, has been a party to this literal vice of the flesh). People even brag about their achievements/belongings , knowing that they own less than what they are showing. Its interesting to notice the games they play while conversing to out do each other in terms of appearing happy.They would  either play down the achievements of others , oh its not a big deal, they would say. Another approach , when acknowledging the achievement is inevitable, they would try to extract a party, just to ameliorate the ‘grief’ caused by others achievement. The seeker(rather the snatcher) of the party then acts as a victor vis a vis the person who made achievement, thereby scoring his own points in the ensuing ‘battle for happiness’. The observation of people including one self in the light of the aforesaid, is quite an interesting job !.

        

Royal khichadi : The dummies guide

           The title of the post may appear oxymoronic to the superficial eye. The insightful and more evolved may readily contemplate (attaboy !this also serves as self awareness test for the reader) that the aforementioned adjective might indeed be referring to the process, and not the product. So there you go. Imagine the great Akbar badssha on one of those days when all the servants are on vacation. Its not hard to imagine , particularly if you you know about 'strikes' in the PSU realm. Now what would the great man do! He had many wives one may argue.However, the golden rule of womankind, held sway even then. Those who look beautiful, are seldom useful. He would have done cost benefit analysis of asking one of his older (uglier) wives to oblige. The conclusion, too much of price to pay for a meal. Its better to be useful to oneself. Going out is 3rd best choice in summers.Second best being hungry. So he would have thought of this great recipe. The royal khichadi, if you still cannot fathom (then this recipe is indeed for you)is the way Akbar badshaa (or the schmucks who ruled after him) would have made khichadi . With the minimal of effort that is,without being out of AC in that infernal kitchen for long, delhi was always notorious for summers.And yes, with no cook book help. I wonder if there were any those days. Anyway our man was illiterate. So, here goes the recipe. Take dal. and chaval. Mix . Just have a look for enemy bugs.They are rich in protein,but are somehow socially tabooed to eat.I suspect they taste bad , Like most of the other things that are good for you. Anyway depending upon your dietary preference and social consciousness pick them out. Now rinse thoroughly. No no,not the bugs.They are to be discarded. Put the mix in pressure cooker. Now use the panchpala. Again, its a hepta-cameral container, which for some strage reason is called having five sections ! But again Akbar bassha had better things to do than worry about oriental eccentricities. So , take quarter tea spoonful of turmeric powder , and add to the mix. And salt.Also a dash of asafotida and coriander seed powder. If all these terms sould confusing, put a dash of all the sections in that box. Akbar bassha would be confident his newly 'dealt' hippy wife would not keep her magic stuff in panchpala. Put the lid , and your tribulation in that menial sweatshop is almost over . Just put on the gas and get back to your AC den. You can then wait for whistle. Or set alarm for 12 minutes. What if you miss both sounds ? Dont worry. you will have a blast sound sometime later. We will consider the most optimistic scenario, that of having the sumptuous, steamy khichadi ready after the longish wait. Now, put amul butter by dollops over it.And generous servings of haldiram ki bhujia over it, and you are ready for the divine meal. Eat it with any of canned juices. Akbar bassha, would have loved grape one.

Pigeon baiting

This is a new sport which I have just developed using indigenous means. The eureka moment being the infiltration and subsequent entrapment of a pigeon in my princely abode. Pigeons are a big menace in the part of the world I inhabit, and it is almost a given that they are constantly wolfing at every window and corner all the time, a la ‘the bird’ by Hitchcock. While the balcony I have tearfully bid adieu to, the rest of my house behind doors and windows, I still regard as my territory. So when it so happens that one of them sneaks through the impossible gap between exhaust fan of kitchen, I make it a point to fight teeth and nail to drive him out(or her out, for the feminists). Now it may seem a ghastly scenario to envisage a war on own territory , with one sided collateral damages, and a much more agile enemy. But thanks to the myriads of self improvement programs my company gleefully paid for me to sleep through, and the numerous lemonade sermons, I have devised a game around it. The game , is simple. It starts the moment you spot a pigeon which has sneaked in your house. The idea is to open one of the windows and to shove the pigeon out, using a bat. So all you have to do is, chase the pigeon with the bat, preventing it from reaching inaccessible locations, and dispatch him out through the open window(hence forth, to be called ‘hole’). The bat is basically a plastic wiper, about as threatening as a rolled news paper, and if you ever have domesticated dogs, just as useful. My several years of vegan upbringing proscribed usage of any device which could produce a casualty within hundred years of incessant battering. It could as well have been called a club, but for the possibility of pasting endorsement stickers on it. The lay reader may be tempted to think that to drive a pigeon through a window is no game. The thing is, it is as much about putting the pigeon through window, as golf is about putting a ball in a hole. There is so much to it than what meets the eye. You can get the same machismo feel a cow boy gets while herding the cattle through desired gateways. You get the true strategic leadership experience, maneuvering the pigeons through the most desirable path, how to prevent the key assets from possible besmirching, or to prevent the enemy reaching the places of least access( a la atic, or ‘taand’ in hindi), or to prevent the enemy to fly over no fly zones, such as bed sheets. As an aside, you realize the importance of air force , even if all they can do is poop. I would recommend all the army men to play this wonderful strategy game , instead of the banal exercises they indulge in.(It will at least save tax payers money). Same applies to management people , who can learn to anticipate customer’s(pigeon) mind and align it with key business interests. The only hurdle the commercialization of my game is the Maneka lady, who regards the less brained creatures more worthy than her electorate. She however may change her mind after playing a ‘hole or two’ of this wonderful sport. Locking herself in her apartment with a dozen pigeons will help her appreciate the game better. If she is still adamant, I can rename the game as ‘pigeon entreating’.

Delhi Traffic

One of the joys of living in Delhi is the opportunity to drive in this sprawling metropolis, a rare experience, something which cannot be compared with any thing in India. Delhi is a great modern city , a medieval town and a contemporary village , all at the same time. The streets of the south delhi are as plush as it gets in India. Then we have the dariyaganj and shahdara, which if Bahadur Shah jafar appears today, would not be at much unease. And then you have places like harola in noida, Where the fresh country life can be literally smelled, courtesy the venerable cows and their redolent good work on streets. The surface to drive is also as diverse as it gets. From the plush ashok road to the trench infested noida roads, delhi has it all. Interestingly you are as likely to overrun a crest on road, as a trough. The NCR region lives up to its commitment to variety. But the real assets of a country are its people and not the physically tangible things. And it’s the inhabitants of the roads that make it exciting, and not the tarmac (or mud, more often than not). The traffic ecosystem here has several organismic equivalents. We have the flamboyant SUV’s and MUVs of the nouveau-riche, akin to sharks, zipping at the slightest pretext. We have several types of tuna and salmons in form of myriads of cars. Then we have two wheeler walahs like trouts. Last but not the least ,we have those DTC buses and trucks , steadily and regally plying like whales. Genial giants, with nothing to threaten save for size. However there is a caveat. The gentlest of creatures, behave bizarrely, when high on ‘mast’. However providence, with its utmost beatitude, has fittest warning mechanisms for the dimensionally challenged in all its artifacts. Much as the oceanic giants give shrill whistle like sounds when on mating call, The analogous apparatus , in the mechanical counterpart , is called pressure horn. The only difference being the driver being on a high, with a generous dose of hooch. So a sardine should better not be around when the big boys play. Of course if it cares to live. The street brawls are often as interesting . The people in this part of india, are at the extremity, when it comes to well natured conflict resolution. The ‘far end’ to be precise. I had one of the frightening experience, when I hit the rear of a car with my bike, at a red light. A man with a face, which seemed to be shaped by a hundred years of violence, and to which another hundred years of violence could do no (further) harm, growled at me like a wolf with its back arched and tail up. Luckily the light turned green, and the verbal salvo from people behind me, punctuated by generous smattering of references to female anatomy(another specialty), saved the day for me. The thumb rules of road side judgment are pretty clear. Rule no one, its always the larger vehicle , who is at fault. As a people, we Indians are so overcome with emotion, that the secondary things, such as the traffic rules just don’t matter. Rule no two, if one of the contestants, it a lady, she is right. Needless to say this rule, takes preponderance over the former. So, if you end up participating in a road side fight, take the right side, for in delhi, at least some one needs to be bashed up after a mishap, and being on the ‘crowd’s side’ is safe. More on this topic later.

Fati Patange

Watched kites . Would have liked to write a review, but it has left my mind in an incoherent state. Just as a ping pong spin serve, goes haywire on receiving unless given the right kind of counter spin , this spectacularly invented incoherent spin, is yet to be favorably returned by mankind. Most people, who are watching are either fan boys (rather girls) or those who had already made their mind to play ball thanks to the hype surrounding the film , or its their absolute deprivation of better things to do . No wonder they are having their balls go all over the place (figurative usage, for the naive, or those who's senses are numbed by something like , well kites). So, I would list some observations that come to my mind as sediments settle.

1) This film is magical. I remember as a young boy I used to see magic tricks in village fairs . There would be a magician, who would put lot of things like cards and flowers and pigeons in a magic hat. And still the hat remained empty. Vacuousness , despite having an assortment of contents, is still magic for me!

2) This film is high art.Its all Dadaism , and cubism with magic realism and existential agnst. To the lay eye that is. An expert eye can understand. Those things. Some things are pure surreal. Like how pushed to the wall, the hero suddenly pulls out a machinegun from his front pocket and shoots the entire goon clan. It was ethereal blend of Tarantino and Jim Carrey.

3) The starting lines give certain high funda's about kites flying in the sky and some gibberish that if two kites fly close by , then one has to get cut. Wonder what relevance all that had in the film. As if there was any relevance elsewhere ! Why was the film named Kites remains a mystery. may be there aren't many nouns in english which start with the letter K.

4) This film introduces 'saccha pyar' to the west. A disease more virulent than AIDS, and hitherto unknown to western world. AIDS would trouble only the afflicted person and his partner (we are not talking about broad minded people here ). A man is screwed when he gets this 'saccha' affliction. Everyone and his uncle, who is remotely close to such a person dies. So if you know someone with symptoms of this, please prefer some one with bird flue over him. Your chances will only improve.

5) In the starting scenes , our hero J chooses bboying and breakdance . In a couple dance competition! The female partner was reduced to mere prop , tossed all over the place! The same unfortunately is true about the film.

6) This film teaches us that the world , human beings etc are too vast to understand or predict. In so much , its a treatise on oriental philosophy. So all characters , turn more unpredictably than a noida cycle riksha. Only exception being the pure and unidimentional Tony . The message is that only evil is constant in the world. Rest all is ephemeral. Talking about time, this movie does deal with the illusory notion of time ! It moves back and forth, and back and forth, so much so that the viewers get an impression that time has stopped. You feel like you have spent ages, all in a matter of minutes. No wonder that in those particular frames the protagonist looks like a babaji.

7) The name 'Jamal' is perhaps the mascot for all crossover films or (botched) attempts thereof. Here too we have a poker faced Jamal who is in perpetual dilemma Johy Lever depicted in Dulhe Raja. Yar ye meri side hai ya uski !

8) In the final sequences, Kangna Ranaut shoots Jr Roshan. It was so natural acting ! She must have felt like shooting entire crew, for the royal neglect she got in the film. Every viewer in the theatre commiserated with the agony Hrithik had in those final frames. It was so their own !

9) The ending of this film was pretty much gangster like . Only difference, in gangster the two souls meet in sky. Here , they choose abyss. That alas, accentuated the difference between the two films. Atleast story/entertainment wise.

Final word. Despite criticism , the film might work. In fact work well. The huge release in india, will ensure that it would earn well just with openings. The west, will watch it with 'quaint' appeal. It perhaps is the first Indian film made for western audience and they may take note. It may also appeal to the hispanics, who dont know what to expect from a bollywood film. And it will serve as a good portfolio/dossier for Hrithik . Hollywood studios may ring him if they need a desi , arab or even hispanic in their side roles. To be fair to him, he tried hard, and looked great. Ekdum export class material.

The Guru

There was this wise sage who quietly lived on the hill top. Well, a penthouse to be precise. There ain't many hills available for modern day knowled ge seekers. And so, the learned one, continued his quest for knowled ge ,while being atop the princess. For the perverted wandering minds, this was the name of the apartment complex he lived in. And while most dwellers of princess carried on with their lives worrying about grades promotions et all being oblivious to the higher realities of life , our sage continued his enlightened existence. So mr Gupta grudged the promotion he dint got .Nay, the one that mr Pande GOT. His daughter remained ever so worried about the (imaginary) extra pounds, thereby starving her already frail frame further. The two love birds on second floor continued their cacophonous chirping , dreaming about 'and they lived happily ever after' tripe, while ignoring what the 'uttar kaand' may have in store for them. Say he got diabetes, she got arthritis , and life of both turned miserable in few years interval. And amidst this chaos, the wise man lived his phlegmatic life.

The wise man was not the only mention worthy character in the princess. There was this young brat on the last but one floor, who had this burning desire to know about arcane matters of life. He worked in the same office in which the wise man(didn't) worked , and need less to say, was impressed with his serenity and impregnability.The other day, he saw the chief furiously shouting at the wise man using transfer threats, anatomical curse words and what not. And yet the face of the wise man had no emotions ! It was as calm and serene as ever. The young man was impressed . He got hold of the wise man to enquire about the blastings. The wise man placidly replied . You know the last chief ? He threw a paper weight on me. He retired last year. This one , too would soon. Mirth,or misery, everything passes . The young man was not entirely satisfied . But the chief may shunt you to some insignificant job! To this the old man calmly said, tankhwah miltee rahegi, duniya chaltee rahegi. Would the earth bend its axis for whatever the chief does ! And what if he promotes your neighbour instead of you,quipped young man.To which the utterly serene wise men, with his fixated smile widening a notch or two, replied ,marna sabko hai ek din. Let him rise as much as he can. He too shall be grounded . Nay, intered .The datum is fixed . Your rise, is equal to your fall.When your beginning and end are fixed , is there a point in running in circles ? Speaking so, the wise man took the young man's leave. It was 3-30 and he was already late by about 15 minutes. For his afternoon tea that is. The young man stood there, perplexed , about the gyan that just befell his ears. It would take him some time to assimilate all this. His quest for knowled ge was aroused , and intensified . He made his mind he would seek the tutelage of the wise men. His dull nerd existence, now had a purpose.

A midsummers day

It was one of those summer days which masquerades as a cloudy one,just to draw people out to their perdition, much like Warne tossing up the ball to gullible batsman. I was not fully comitted to the shot and hence was just sitting in the gallery watching the series of unfortunate (read on) events. It was a pigeon's nest , in my neighbour's gallery, which had been discovered by a crow. The pigeon's young one, in such an age where defying parenteral instruction begins, had come out of the nest , not enchanted by weather but by the mightier enchantress, adolescence. The crow spotted it and licked his equivalent of lips. Down he came to the kiddie. The poor soul, draped in just a modicum of fur was not much of a job for the crow's mighty beak.A hit or two , and he laid dead on the boundry wall of the gallery, facing the sun,perhaps complaining why it all happened to him. The crow started pecking it frentically, there wasn't much to be eaten anyway. But then something remarkable happened. Mr and mrs pigeon returned, and attacked the crow. They both took turns and barraged the raven with sorties. It was valiance at its best. The crow had to retreat to the nearby electrical wires. He thought that enough is enough. He gave cries to birds of his feather , and soon there were crows everywhere. By now , there were enough pigeons as well, but they had to withdraw thanks to superior opponent, any way there was no hope left to salvage what remained of their offspring. The crows could not enjoy their kill eaither. In their bid to tear it, the little pigeon fell from the gallery and was sfitly devoured by a dog passing by, who had become interested in the action, thanks to noice made by the crows. I just kept watching, reembering athe poem 'Lizard' by Nissim Ezekial which i studied in school.

Meanwhile , some thing as ghoulish if not more was going on TV. They were showing 'Hum tumhare hai sanam' for the umpteenth time. In the begining itself they gave signals of what would follow. Aloknath, with his eyebrows crossed and mouth agape in characteristic reversed crecent shape, refused to spend money to save his son-in-law, as the money belonged to shahrukh, of whose proprty he was mere caretaker. His daughter predicltably severs ties with him and shifts to some ramskacle house.There she and her brood discovered an orphan. Young madhuri , in her sweet( as in pouring hot 'chashni' in your ears, literally)voice asks 'tumhara naam kya hai'. When the poor guy says he has no name as there is no one who would call him, the young girl says in even sweeter(and hotter, to the ears) voice 'aaj se mein tumhe sooraj keh kar bulaoongi' .Just one frame it took her to 'mother' him and smother the viewer. To add sugar to burns(sugar is mightier than salt), aruna irani says 'aaj se tu hamare sath rahega'! I was too terrorised to leave my seat or even change. IN the mean time all the kids grew in a very small no of frames. Our sugarOverDose (java naming convention) also discoverd that her fondly christened 'friend' is a good singer. So after those few frames, he actually grows into a singer,his being salman notwithstanding. Our sugar babe too has grown into madhuri (over age though) and landed straigt into temple , praying for the success of her friend cum baby.The god, much like the worldly being he created is very kind to beautiful ladies, and hence a flower drops in her lap from the blues.The very next frame , we are at a stage show where a dance cum song is on, with an aging salman in funny costume, is singing a song with even funnier lyrics.Our sugar doll reaches just in time to cheer him in a very cacophonous way and to catch what he throws.The audience is left to take exception. More on this epic later.