The Light that chose to Shine

The silhouette that emerged from the darkness to the light of the single bulb in the room was of an enervated fragile lady. Her eyes were shallow and effete. The under-eye black marks and a scar-smitten pockmarked face made her otherwise charming face seem hideous. The breeze edged her long locks of hair. The sequins on her shoddy suit were glimmering as the fan blades cut the sheen of the bulb above her head.

The surroundings of the police station created in her a sense of fear. The last few days in her life was grief stricken for her body, mind and soul. Till that day, she was a girl of substance. On that day, she was torn apart from the façade of life. She was brutally assaulted and put into shame by the maniac-flesh-loving-heartless-dwellers of the darkness yonder.

The fighter in her freed herself from the clutches of the cables and cords of the dingy methylated spirit-smelling corridors of the hospital.

She was a rape victim, raped once, forsaken by humanity put to rest.

She was not raped once, but every eye that fell onto her dishevelled face gave her a glaring stare. She was getting raped psychologically by her kith and kin. Every look with pity at pittance was raping her. The whole world was putting her through an excruciating pain.

The number was piling on. Every look on her was raping her over and over.

The demeanour and individuality that she possessed had all been sacrificed at the stake. The interrogating policeman with a raised eyebrow and sly smile left her to tears after an eyeing attempt to capitalize on her lost chaste.

The hovering crowd at the gates of the police station wanted to see the rape victim. To see a sad and totally lost person burst to tears, to appease their sadistic hunger at her expense, to rape her all over with their callous eyes, she had to see it all.

As she left the station, the bandwagon of heartless ruthless humanity cheered for her bravery and in the inners, burning cinders jeering for her fate. Did she deserve the jeering of a fallen humanity or the humane touch of solace?

The light that shone over the soul left her astray. She had miles to go over a two forked path that either led her to a necropolis or to lead as an exemplary to fight against the cause she had been hit by.

The Idea of a Sunday Morning Breakfast

Lazing in the bed with the rays of the sun falling on the eye and the smell of breakfast being made running up the nose is a dream nowadays. 

Mom would have already been up getting the Sunday breakfast ready. 

Idlis, the typical South Indian delicacy that now adorns the crest as a breakfast option pan India would be on the cards.

The thick rice batter would be poured into the hemispherical moulds of the idli cooker. 

Soon steaming idlis would give signal to the cooker to let on the whistling and would be gently heaved off the stove. 

Shredded coconut, along with green chillies and salt would go to the mixer to form a uniformly blended thick concoction called chutney. The small tawa would be set on the stove where sautéing mustard and curry leaves would make them splutter and splatter in coconut oil to form a thin tadka topping for the chutney. 

The preserved ‘podi’ (sautéed urud dal, toor dal, asafoetida and red chillies made into a powdered form) would form a heap on the plate where the finger would take intense motions to mix the ‘podi’ with sunflower oil.

Soon the family would be seated around the table, laying their hands on the luscious, succulent, round, plump and soft steamed rice cakes, graciously dipping them in the two accompaniments and gradually washing down the breakfast with hot tea.

Alas!

A 2*2 life

I have often been enthused by the idea of being the topper in class.

Well, my mom, too must have had the same feeling. 

That feeling in her kept me at the top till my 5th standard.

But then, things began to go out of her hand.

And marks went out of mine.

Slowly I sank into the ocean of competition. Went from the top to the top 5 to the top 10 and deeper and deeper.

I have had the privilege to touch the ocean bed once. And mind it, it sucks. All alone in the vast expanse of darkness. Never want to cast a glance again. Crossed fingers got intertwined!

Well, as time progressed, single digit classes went on to double digit classes. And single digit ranks too followed suit. 

As graduation graduated to a phase called post graduation, I was barely hanging on the shaky branch called 3 point CGPA. 

And yes, I wanted to be a topper there too. I had made up my mind to do it in the beginning, as always. But, as always, my mind deviated to the actual calling, to do what I was good at- being idle.

There was this lady, the descendant of the zinc baron, all set to the strings into her course of action and was of course beyond 'question'. 

Also a lady whose name followed the 1st avatar of Vishnu kept that tag 'topper' forbidden to others. 

The third lady, who is to finance as Prof Minerva McGonagall is to Transfiguration, sealed the fate. 

Guys, shame on you.

Shame, shame, puppy shame, man! Oh me!

I was caught busy striving to seal the shakiness of the branch. Hence couldn't pick on the mocking and stayed put.

The weight on the branch was shaking down those who had a less tighter grip on them. 

We, the MBAs from a premier B-school, who believe that we are God's gift to mankind and bear a diadem encrusted with gems dazzling with innate braininess, often use 2*2 matrices to work out on the aspects of management.

After hours of futile thoughts and bizarre streaks of imagination, 
After many cups of coffee and midnight oil burning, 
After going through hundreds, no, thousands of research papers, 
I have come up with a theory that could set the earth off its course. 

A path breaking invention, the brain child of a thought leader designed to classify parameters that could make or break the formation of the future - a blessing to the mankind in disguise. 

I present before you, a 2*2 matrix, one of its kind- for you, for the future CEOs. 

Oh, wait! 

Did you mean to say that some teeny-weeny company called Boston Consulting Group has already come up with this? Is it? For corporations, that too to analyze their business lines. 

We lack IPR. We lack IPR big time.

Et tu America. Et tu BCG. Et tu world. No offenses otherwise!

Cricket Fever!

Cricket is a religion as far as we Indians are concerned.

The breathless moments, the edge-of-the-seat anticipation and the associated excitement- these are some things that the whole nation has bestowed to this game and is second to none.

Well, as we skew the sample size of the nation to within the boundaries of a small b-school nestled in the serene and picturesque hamlet off the coast, 60 kilometers from Chennai, the cricket fever is pitching in high and hard at Great Lakes Institute of Management.

The Great Lakes Cricket League or GLCL in short is the amassment and exhibition of cricketing talent and prowess at its majesty.

Four teams representing the four corners of the nation feature the best of the players of the Mamallas.

The teams namely Madras Macchas, Red Vikings, Royal Strikers and ShandaarLaundey represented the four cities of Chennai, Delhi, Kolkata and Mumbai respectively. Led by valiant captains (Srinivassan Rajan, Mukund Chndran, Arnav Talwar and Saheel Joshi), the teams started to battle it out from 8^th August 2013.

Just a few days back, there was emancipated enthusiasm as the auctioneer Dron Malhotra took the reins of the auction to the next level. The teams were sold with their captains and managers as over 6 different consortiums eyed for the 4 different franchisees.

In the end, those who emerged victorious in the run for the teams were Om Joshi who roped in Saheel, Sundeep Babbar who bought Mukund’s team, Sanjay Gajja who bought Arnav as his captain and Anand K V who bid for Srinivassan for the highest amount in the bidding process.

Soon the event started with an IPO issuance which allowed teams to allot up to 50% of their shares to the interested investors.

And then it began. Money flowing in and excitement flowing out, unbound. 

After undergoing many predicaments of choosing the better out of the best lots of players, the match between the final 8 of Royal Strikers and Shandaar Laundey went live at the basketball court from 1530 hours on the 8^th day of the 8^th month.

The match summaries:

Match 1: (Royal Strikers v/s Shandaar Laundey, 8/8/13, 1530 hrs- Match drawn)

The high octane adrenaline pumped match wrapped up in a draw with the second batting Laundeys failing to hit that one winning run.

Match 2: (Madras Macchas v/s Red Vikings 13/8/13, Madras Macchas won)

The second match of the season was a game of classy stroke plays and solid partnerships. The local boys wrapped it up in style.

         

Match 3: (Madras Macchas v/s Royal Strikers, 15/08/13, Royal Strikers won)

The season’s top scorer emerged in this game with a stellar performance from Striker’s Tarun Ajwani. The gap was too hard for the Macchas to wade through and the Strikers took the game away in style.

Match 4: (Royal Strikers v/s Red Vikings, 16/08/13, Royal Strikers won)

With 2 wins and a draw under their belt, the Royal Strikers won the match after a nail biting finish. Arnav’s boys royally cruised to the finals.

Match 5: (Shandaar Laundey vs Madras Macchas, 16/08/03, Madras Macchas won)

A pompous display of excellent bowling and a great batting performance by Jeetesh made the Macchas’ day with a resounding win.

Match 6: (Red Vikings vs Shandaar Laundey, 29/08/13, Shandaar Laundey won, to meet Madras Macchas in the semi-finals)

A convincing batting line-up and a good show with the ball made the Shandaar Laundey, the favourites of the game and the Red Vikings were knocked out of the tournament.

Match 7: Semi-Finals (Madras Macchas vs Shandaar Laundey, 29/08/13, Shandaar Laundey won, to meet Royal Strikers in the finals)

The pay back was paid with its due price. 

Sreeni’s boys bowed down with pride.

Match 8: Finals (Shandaar Laundey vs Royal Strikers, 26/09/2013, Shaandar Laundey win, Champions)

The most anticipated game of the series was yet again a pay-back time for the Laundeys for the denial of that one run. The only 12 over match in the series swung in the favour of the Laundeys to get them on the top of everything, the cup. 

Wrapping up the series and clinching the cup, the Great Lakes Cricket League has its first champions- the Shaandar Laundeys.  

The Yogam for Experiencing Leadership!!

A 15 minute wait at the gate for the transport followed by another 5 minute wait for the driver to come.

A beep from the phone and you see a message from the god-forsaken-same-destination-bound-person- 'wait for 5 minutes, me too coming'

The wait for him would take ages to get done with. After another 15 minutes and puppy face to cover his face, he would join the crew to get started for the 'yogam'. 

The bus chugs and chooes through the kachcha village road and by the time, you  reach the 'oors' and 'backams' and 'purams', you become black and blue. 

The rickety bus ride ends as the battered bus pulls into the shade of the banyan tree that sprawls into the peaks of infinity. 

The tired backs yearn to rest on the protruding roots of the tree which doubles up as comfy seats. The coordinator from the 'P' would suggest that we should set forth to the north side of the village. The D representative bounces back with a reply to go to the school and teach the poor 'blessed' souls.

While the tag in the turf progresses, the other members would have made the shade of the banyan tree and its benevolent roots home. Somebody would grab packs of crisps and cokes from the neighbourhood shop and start munching and global talks. 

The time when a consensus reaches, the members would be 3 or 4 bottles down and the empty covers of the crisps would pile to form a small mount. 

The sun would be blazing enough for the lice on the ladies' head to take a sunbath. The walk to the decided place- the village school would be hindered by the sun and the ogling by the village ruffians at our group's gender diversity. 

The children in the village weren't notified about the arrival. The Sunday morning crucification of having us deprive us of our sleep and the children of their playtime. Finally we would manage to get hold of around 10 scantily clad kids and thus the war of the words was waged.

Most of the children knew little or new English. Except the coordinator, none in the group could speak fluent Tamil. 

The children would ask something in Tamil. The response would be the assumed up answer of what the hearer perceived based on the situations, in English. Thus the fun would go on.

Showered with doubts on random things like 'What is 1 in Tamil?' and 'How do you ask the child his name in Tamil?', the Tamil speaker would be in a fix.

By the time the conversation gets to the other, yeah, the allotted 3 hour limit would have ticked off.

The major aim of such a noble thought, an idea of philanthropism and social commitment seems nullified with the bridges as wide as ever. 

The underlying emotion to serve the world with disparities on both the sides hampers the effect of generating leadership for the benefactor and the benefits for the beneficiary. 

After all, the contemplating actions to serve the society is supposed to come from the heart. The imposed mandate on the corporates to earmark 2% of their profits for CSR is nothing but branding and advertising for the company. Drawing analogy to the fact, the question that still remains is ' Does the action sink in to the heart as much as it does to the mind?'
   

Jaago 'V.' Jaago!!

The "1" year difference

The law in its majesty does not seek vengeance. So is the case with them. 

Our judiciary. 

Had there been a man like the Godfather, the weeping parents of the media christened 'Nirbhaya' wouldn't have to weep. 

It is said that he was the most ruthless. But the courts called him a minor.

It is said that he did the maximum harm. But the courts only gave him a measly 3 year sentence. 

Why?

Why?

The answer is that he was a minor. Just because he has a year (6 months precisely) to attain the celebrated status of being an adult does not mean that he is not capable of doing a crime. A crime as heinous as shredding life out of a lady in a moving bus accompanied by heartless 2-legged beasts. 

Ripped the poor soul apart. 

Mutilated her.

Shattered the family's dream. 

A question that erupts from many minds would be: Is a 17 year old a child or a man?

He was a man, a rogue imbecile anarchic example of how a man should not be. Yet, for a crime that ought to get his instrument chopped off, he just got 3 years in a juvenile home. The 8 month period before trials was cut off from the period and in effect he would be serving just 28 months. 

How nice of them to cut off atleast something?

Time would churn him out to be a hardened criminal and man of low personal demeanor. But do they allow 18+ year old in juvenile? The mystery of the verdict still remains. 

We really need Corleones to get things sorted. Revenge tastes good only when it is served cold. But really does not happen in this era of erring humanity and unstructured way of life. 

While we protest and hold rallies against this maddening disease, danger still lurks behind the ladies and rapists would remain at large!

Happy B'day Bloggie!

One year has passed since its inception. 
I sowed 36 seeds.
It was watered by 3800 people.
It blossomed
It flourished
What was a seed then,
Has germinated and is slowly growing.
Hope it doesn't get destroyed
By forces of nature 
Or by the force within

Happy b'day dear little blog. 
Thanks for all the support, dear readers!
Thanks for the inspiration!
Thanks to all the friends who made me write and allowed to make them subjects.
Million thanks! 

(sob sob) Just got emotional! :P

Love you all.....
:)
:)
:)

A Letter to Hell

Dear Brother-in-Hell,

First, let me express heartfelt condolences to your departed soul.

So, how's life there at hell? All cozily snug up?

You might me wondering how I came to know that you came directly to hell. Hell ya, I knew it, babe.
After all, a suicided soul would never reach up there.

By the way, how was your journey from Coimbatore to hell?

So, you would have came to know by now that the movie that you wanted to watch is releasing today. Ironically, you would not be able to watch it FDFS. I know that hell does not even have talkies, let alone multiplexes.

I have a question to ask. Did you actually think that your worthless soul was even less worth than the cost you needed to travel to your neighbouring state to watch the movie?
The cost to go to Kerala to watch that particular movie:
Bus=200
Lodge= 500
Food= 200
Total= 900

So you knew that the movie was not worth spending 900 rupees.
Still you went once to Kerala, couldn't you have stayed there for a day? You could have seen your star in action, eaten some Kerala food and got some banana chips for your family.
Yet, you came back with a dejected mind and then ended your life in a loose moment with a noose.
How sad!

So, how are your buddies down there?
I believe they too would be fine. How are guys who did the same when a superstar film flopped over a decade ago?

Seriously, did someone pay you for doing a publicity stunt for the promotion of the movie? The amount, how much ever it is might be a big sum for the family. Yet do you think any amount of money could replace the son of your parents, friend of your old chums, the lover of your girl? No, you were irreplaceable, my friend.

The media reported you to be 20 years of age. Dude, you had a lot of life remaining. You were the ripest of your age.

Sad!

I know you will never get to read this. Shall deliver it by hand, when I come to meet you, say 50 years from now. You will see an old soul coming to deliver the letter. Nevertheless, I will see the 20 year frail looking soul at the best of health.
Or maybe will send it through some other duffer who may do a stunt when a next movie release is delayed.

So long,pal.

50 years is not a long time to wait.

See you in hell,
Brother from Earth.

The Walk of an Iron Will

The septuagenarian walks his path
With that solicitous demeanor
Behold the chalices he poured in with
copious amounts of wisdom and insight
The man who crafted a nation
An exemplar by all means
A harbinger in the field of teaching
Away and at his turf, he is praised

The glitter in his eye seems to glow
The fervent actions of faith in him flow
The man clad in white
A new age sage of substance
The opulence of the knowledge he gained
With the chivalry of a man who defended the mother land

With the uncanny prowess to pervade the goodness within
To the men and women
Who traced the path
Who chose to follow
He is the man who sought to lead
Brimming with knowledge
The sagacious chant of accounting the way of life
The acumen he possesses is second to none

For a man his age
The mettle seems nonpareil
He walks his chidren, hand in hand
To the path yonder
Through the roads less traveled
To reach the glory we seek
And he remains as a guiding light
That radiates bright

Review- Chennai Express

Ready, Steady, Po!

The two odd hours of the bumpy ride on Chennai Express via Komban will leave you in dire straits on whether to love or hate the movie.

As the case is, the negatives do really outweigh the positives, love the movie becomes out of context.

The movie starts with Rahul, a 40 year old bachelor living in close ties with his grandparents. After the death of his grandfather, his grandmother wanted him to travel to Rameshwaram to do the last rites. His friends want him to join them on a joy ride to Goa to party. Goa went on and off after the random meeting of SRK and Dippy on the Chennai bound train.  

The accidental rendezvous, the chases, the fights and the love that emerges forms the rest of the movie. 

Rohit Shetty has done justice to the meaningless script that couldn't have been made better. The movie has left the boundaries of what a normal Hindi movie would have to offer (clearly what exactly a Rohit Shetty movie does) and did not reach the exact Tamil movie level where a puny hero would beat the hell out of the monstrous looking villains.

Shahrukh Khan was as usual at his best of abilities. Trying to make you laugh and trying not to make him cry is what King Khan is usually best at. With age catching on and numerous surgeries to his credit, the 47 year old actor's ability to woo the audience is pretty much still in shape. Still, the usage and abuse of the 5000 year old Dravidian language was condemned. 

The lady lead Deepika Padukone was undergoing transitions between heavily accented Hindi, Tamil and at times, was swept back to the old memories of her proper Hindi. The charming lady draped in silk lost her charm when compared to her previous screen appearance in YJHD. Deepika's on-the-bed hysterics was funnily insane and yes, she could be used if they wanted to make a spoof out of Bhool Bhulaiya or Manichitrathazhu. 

The esoteric don portrayed by Satyaraj was immense mockery of the south Indian local-goon-based patriarchy which was no less than poor anarchy put to rest.  

Tangaballi (Niktin Dheer) was all muscles and merely a prop used on screen. The dubbing was pathetic as accent crept in to the macho man's mouth. 

The Tamil speaking Sardar policeman , the song based communication etc were all quite blown out of proportion. 

The songs except Titli did not manage to make any impact. A dancer as good as Shahrukh failed to make his body groove the south Indian way while he was on the dance floor. Lungi dance was a clear underestimation of what Rajnikant was, is and will be. 

The film had abrupt editing glitches that underwent sudden emotional surges at times. If not editing flaws, the movie certainly lacked solid foundation regards to the script. 

Many of the themes in the movie seemed to be borrowed from the neighboring state of Kerala which included Theyyam, Kathakali, Pulikali etc. The camera department had captured the scenic beauty at its best. 

North Indians beware! Despite Chennai Express being a Hindi movie, almost 40% of the movie is in Tamil. 

SRK ought to get paid by Nokia and D&G as he has done free branding for both the brands. 

VERDICT: Chennai Express is worth a watch keeping aside all its flaws. The movie is an out and out entertainer clearly scripted for the masses. 
Did Rohit Shetty underestimate the power of a common movie goer? I flipped a coin and it stood on the edges. 

RATING: **1/2

Marital Blues- Part 1

The wedding bells are ringing. Aren't they?

Yes! They are.

For the parents, it is just the matter of time for them to chart down the auspicious dates for the Sangeet and Shaadi for their young ones once they get hold of their diplomas and yes, the fate is sealed.

Some have already found theirs, some on the process of finding theirs and some have no idea on where and how to find them. I am talking about the soul-mates. I wonder if they really be soul-mates once the thread meets the knot.

Post the knot, the life is going to turn tables. Its going to be all thrown-up tantrums, the no-glycerin-needed-made-up-tears, the faked acidity-attacked-mocked-up chest pains and the hell lot of other funnily insane things.

After a year or so (might not take even 10 months or so for some, thanks to the Madras HC ruling), XX Jr and XY Jr start popping out and pooping all over.

And then memories start flowing in.
I had 'her', and then I landed up with 'this' female.
He proposed me. But I dint say a 'Yes'. My bad!

Paced at speeds greater than the rage of the Uttarakhand floods, it brings tears (sorrow or rather remorse). And then the friends meet, the numbers doubled, tripled and quadrupled by the forces of nature. The crushes and loves mated to different specimens under different shackles chained over.

Part 2- The Gen-Next meet!!!

Love Letter of an MBA

The previous year in my life saw a paradigm shift from complex circuit diagrams to high end market differentiation analysis. I thought it was time that I graduate my love from the electronic engineer perspective to a future marketer perspective.

As a sequel to the previously written madly-in-love engineer's love saga, here begins the journey of love of marketing wiz. <See link here>

_________________________________________________________________________________

Dear ******,

Over the years, my P&L closed with a lot of bad debts and morale share price was falling deep down. The market climate for the love I possess was seemingly cloudy till the moment I saw you.

The sudden feeling that I felt was way beyond the happiness that one could get, even better than that of a brand manager who revamped the entire range of products which was about to be shelved.

On seeing you, the love life cycle which I thought would be going to the obsolesce stage, suddenly picked up back to the peak. The BCG matrix has put you as a star in my heart.

The intangible feeling is in the air. You comprise the maximum stake in my top-of-the-mind awareness. The way you have positioned yourself is at its best.

In eve of you saying a yes to my love, I shall submit the offer document to your parent-holding for the merger of the 2 product families.

If all the director board members oppose the merger, the acquisition process that I shall proceed with, shall be a hostile takeover .

Lets join hands and diversify!

Yours truly,
*****
_________________________________________________________________________________

Review- Maryan

Well, this was one movie which revolved around the hype of having 2 national award winning actors, music from the gifted Oscar and  a lot of other buzz.

Did it live up to the expectations?

A yes and a no.

A debacle debate?

Not an utter flop. Dhanush's performance shall be remembered.

Since being a half baked, I did not get the intricacies of the language that took me to like the movie during the first half and went against in the second half. The language was gauging my patience of not following the colloquial Tamil slang.

Dhanush's title role was at his best of splendor. The actor has yet again proved his mettle and talent, worthy enough for the son-in-law of the superstar himself.  Supported well to add to the charm was Parvathy Menon. This actress was all around to woo Maryan in the 1st half and wail all around and portray telepathic contact with 'her' Maryan in the latter half.

The support cast did their parts well especially the guys who played Sakkarai and Swami. They handled comedy effortlessly throughout. Salim Kumar was hardly seen on screen. Vinayakan, the baddie looked funnily disastrous on screen owing to his comical memories from the Malayalam movies. Dhanush's mother's sooty covered performance deserved applause despite limited screen presence.

The ARR music magic was a fusion of melancholy trance and a frenzy wave of tides. Coupling with the pensive BGM, it beheld unparalleled beauty to soothe the ears.

The camera captured every frame and angle with utmost precision and was a feast for the eyes.

Editing was a decent effort. At a few instances, the story hardly made sense to the succeeding and preceding scenes (thanks to the language intense dialogues)

The story line had its flaws. Unbelievable at points, unimaginable at points, dumb at places.

Verdict: Personal choice- A disastrous must-watch if you want to catch an eye over the acting prowess of Dhanush. It was a rickety roller coaster ride that could have been a well rounded package if the knots were braided properly.

Rating: ** (1 for the movie and 1 for Dhanush)

The Selling Foray

The evenings at the Institute is actually a boring affair.

Bland food to the palette and a lot of assignments to bear the burden of!

But, the last 3 days was all about frenzy festivities.

The Great Lakers had all geared up for going in 60 hours to set up their mini ventures and mint money. More than the monetary part, it was for igniting the entrepreneurial blitz in the managers-to-be.

The event 'Gone in 60 hours' was an initiative by the CIECOM (Center for Innovation and Entrepreneurship Committee) at the Great Lakes Chennai campus from the 13th to 15th of July 2013.

Many budding-entrepreneurs-hidden-within came out of their comfort zones and put the hats of sales men, blaring out in their croaky/deep/chirpy/bombastic voices to woo customers to get their stuff out of the inventory. Some were seen as chefs sans the toque, some did shuttle services to get more from MORE and so on.

What a scene, beautiful to behold!

They had to prove their mettle and battle it out to the way to being the best entrepreneur in the campus with a span of 60 hours.

The guys (and girls too) were all girding up their loins to get the things set.

The CEOs-to-be were actually on the field like wayside hawkers to sell their wares to the passers-by.

Lip smacking treats were prepared out of the limitation of the hostel rooms.

People collaborating to get the desired end product done- some procuring raw materials, some setting the work-in-progress, some serving as ancillary suppliers, some filling in as in-bound logistics personnel etc.- a treat to watch.

People running around to get the deliveries done to the hostel room  
                  -and we awaited the arrival of the food with drooling mouths and high expectations.

And they did keep up the expectations and went better than those we kept in stock.

The beauty parlors,
-the hair dressers,
-the adrenaline pumped gaming experience zones,
-helpers of the cupid struck,
-tarot reading fortune tellers,
-the nail biting finishes of cricket
        made it look more like a village fan fare than a college.

It was fun, friends calling out to friends hoping them to shell out some money to buy and those on the other side of the counter hoping their friends to give or gift them out of their friendship.

Last but not the least, all the people clearing their mailboxes over and over, archiving, transferring and deleting all over the place.

The future beckons them, who were ready to help themselves!!

Review- Bhaag Milkha Bhaag

Bhaag Milkha Bhaag- The biopic on one of the finest athlete the nation has produced

A movie fit for being the finest. 

Rakesh Omprakash Mehra has done his best in the director's garb. Penned by Prasoon Joshi, the script has caught on the intricacies of the Indo-Pak relations and the problems that happened during the partition.

The movie has Farhan Akthar at the helm to blow life into Milkha Singh's forgotten glory. Akthar deserves applause as he portrays on screen, his career best performance. At times, Farhan seemed off note and expressionless. But taking into consideration, the acting prowess and dedication this person portrayed, it is definitely not a let down. 

The female lead Sonam Kapoor, who has nothing to do except smile throughout her screen presence, was a let down as compared to her previous performance in Raanjhanaa. Divya Dutta, who was seen as Isri Kaur, Milkha's sister was throughout seen with her brotherly affection. Commendable act indeed. 

Pawan Malhotra as coach and mentor, Gurudev Singh aided by Prakash Raj and Yograj Singh have done justice to their roles. 

Meaty performances by Rebecca Breeds and Meesha Shafi as Stella and Perizad respectively was good and steaming on screen but the question remains, was the obsession towards showing skin and more skin needed in depicting the life of a personality. 

The 187 minute run time of the movie was not quite long as it could have been. The extended duration was well justified with excellent scripting, BGM and lots of visual treats to feast the eyes on. 

Music by Shankar Ehsan Loy was as usual a treat for the ears. 

Verdict: Rating- ***1/2

Bhaag Milkha Bhaag is definitely a must watch- keeping in mind the glorious sporting years we had. 

Milkha shall keep on running for the medallion that the hearts have bestowed on him already. 

The Self-Made Superstar

His eyes glistened with the reflection of the eerie light on the wall.

His biceps twitched at the sight of the sidekicks who blocked his way.

The fiery glare out from his eyes made them tremble with fear.  

He took long strides to meet the evil don. 

Aloof about what lay ahead, bearing the guts and bravery of the iron will, he walked in the door. 

Facing the wall, seated on a tall leather chair was the evil don, who left the world in tears. The blood curdled screams of the lives lost battling the don filled his ears. 

As he was expecting, the don swiveled the chair and faced him. On his laps were his pet iguana, whose eyes resembled the blood shot merciless eyes of the don himself. The evil grin matched with the god of death himself.

Now they were face to face. 

The good versus the bad.

The hero versus the villain. 

As a master of Tai-pu, our man challenged the don for a bout after a swift exchange of dialogues.

It was the war of the worlds. If it happened in the Vedic era, even the gods and asuras who came to see the fight would let out a shriek of agony on seeing the plight they underwent.

A kick on to the groins and the don was floored. A sudden reflex and he came back on to his feet.

The fighters were moving from the don's boardroom and the 101st floor atrium balcony of the Imperial Towers in Kazhakootam was witnessing a terrible fight.

He, the master of Tai-pu, took out his signature move and again the don fell to his feet. Hoisted by his hands, the don pushed up and delivered a nasty ghastly blow on to his opponent's chest. He fell off balance and was dangling down the balcony.

With a grim smile, the don lifted his leg to stamp on his fingers that suspended the whole of his body.

A momentary flash later, he heaved up to catch hold of the don's leg and at the same time, the stamp came to his other hand. And there they were falling off the heights of the tower.

Chances of survival- absolute zero.

A resounding thud and he opened his eyes. The back of his head was throbbing with pain. He sat up on the floor of his hostel dorm, rubbing his head. He sat there with a smile.

The superstar had just woken up from his yet another super hero dream! To many of those Jr. NTR movies, I suppose.

The don was lying on the opposite bed, saliva drooling out on to form a dried-up puddle mark on his bed sheet. And he was sleeping peacefully. The iguana shaped pen holder was smiling at him from the 'don's bedside table.

Food for Thought

I know!

It is too much to expect good food from the college lunch room.

But at times, is it wrong to crave for some stimulation of the taste bud?

Alas, it happens rarely. It happens when you pay for food at the temple town and pay for the commute through your nose, leaving the wallet weigh a kilogram lesser.

Else it happens only when there is some special occasion.

But at times, the rush in the lunchroom makes you think is it a special occasion.

Well, yeah, its SPARTA when it comes to getting that hot aloo paratha off the platter or laying the hands on the tender jucy gulab jamuns (how I wish it was!) The hazelnut colored succulent spherical balls doused in the golden hued sugary syrup leaves me all drooling, not any more.

How contradictory it is on my part to describe the not-so-good-Manamai-made-Indian dumpling as a succulent tasty one!

The wafting smell of the not-so-good curries would actually try making you salivate, mostly in vain.

It would be a rebellious affair to get yourself a plate and spoon. Once you lay hands on them, the wait is real tiring to load the plate and hunting for a place with your fully loaded tray of 'goodies' is really painstaking.

The food, mind you, is worth mentioning.

The paneer is made as if it was to be given for charity. Bland blood-color tinged watery gravy with rock solid paneer- ultimate!

The color of the daal looks tempting but as it makes contact with the tongue, you know what. Watery, gross tasting. Obviously it is food colors galore that gave a sensory misappropriation.

The rice would be as cold as the expression of the staff there. The grains stick on to each other in such unison and the ladle would come up a slice of rice cake.

Most of the south Indian food, when touches the tip of the tongue can get you to identify the ingredients. Not because of you being a connoisseur, but due to the cooking prowess of the self acclaimed cooks. The raw taste of turmeric stands out distinctively. An inch thick layer of oil tops the curries and as you know, it is mandatory for you to drink two teaspoons of oil for a healthy mind, body and soul. (How sarcastic!)

The sweet is often very sweet with no special flavor apart from the sugar that predominates the taste. Boiled concoction of milk and sugar becomes the payasam (kheer) and an overdose of jaggery over rice is our sweet pongal.

Curd, that is made in-house deserves no special mention. Sour or with that prickly tinge, it degenerates the taste buds and makes them capable of doing nothing during your meal, except curse the cook.

The menu is often set by experiment-savvy gentlemen who prefer eating paneer-do-pyaas with dosa and hakka noodles with coconut chutney.

Lastly, we are often denied the ambrosia if we miss the clock by a second. Sadly, the day the taste doesn't linger on the lip puts the day to haywire.

And the saddest part:
Reading the menu to picture the whims and fancies of the ornate delicacies that adorn the table can give rise to a hysterical laugh riot.

Enjoy the 'Pav Bhaji and Chappad Onions'  (read chopped onions)

Footnote:
All those who have abused your mom for not making good food, please do a 'PADAPOOJA' and seek mercy at her feet.

We got what we deserved!

The Turf

The battle was waged and the turf was sown with seeds of hope. The declarations were set loud and clear with manifestos clearly stating the plan of action. The haziness on the path that lay ahead never seemed to diminish the spirit fuming.

The turf was fertile with the attempts made by the previously strewn seeds of hard work clubbed with copious amounts of beads of perspiration that were assumed to be in vain.

But were they? The outcome led to the satisfaction of many a wants and needs.

The question that lies deep within: Was there a need for new crops to be cultivated? Or will the implementation of cross cultivation prove effective?

Fingers crossed for a bumper crop.

The Staircase to Heaven

The metro station was in a bizarre cacophony. There were Indians shouting at the top of their voices over phone. There were Filipinos who were trying to rip off their vocal chords, which sounded more like ducks quacking. There were Arabs who seemed uninterested in the expat balderdash. There were Africans whose multi-coloured multiple braids shone in style. There were some Whites lazily sitting, looking at the Metro clock every now and then. There were many other nationalities whose ethnicities unknown to me made me ignore them. As far as I was concerned, my eyes had enough material to feast on.

And there was me, standing resting my back on the wall and observing the fun.

Subway Surfer was getting immensely boring as my umpteenth attempt to better the score set by a friend on my phone went in vain. Hence, I thought of doing something worthwhile.

The metro clock read 5 more minutes for the train’s arrival. 5 minutes of observation could get me an immensely rich psychographic data.

Finally, the bombastic voice announced that the train was arriving on the platform. The announcement sounded more like a war cry to me. The people, who were scattered in the platform, lazing and chatting, sprang up to life and approached the doors as if marching to the enemy lines.

The rush to get in was tremendous. The crowding at the doors left hardly any area for the exiting passengers. The rush to get out was an equally mad crowd who wanted to rip off any thing that came in their path. The man at the last was waiting with the serenity shaded eyes, for all the mad men to ingress and egress.

At last, the last man got in. I just made it in time, just as Mr. Boombastic announced ‘Doors closing’, first in vernaculars and then in the universal tongue.

The observation was in full swing till the station where I disembarked. I experienced the similar war like feeling as I got down the train. It was really a big deal, getting in and out.

I saw the rush, following suit, at the gates of the elevator. Those who didn't make it this time ran up to the escalators. The people were queuing up to go up. The flight of stairs adjacent to the elevators stood empty as the queue was getting larger.

Those who were in a rush did not seem to consider the time in the queue as a deterrent to their presumably already backward running schedule.

Just then, someone received enlightenment. One last entrant to the queue, looked like a Brit, left the queue and answered the calling of the stairs. No one seemed to get the impetus transferred to them as this guy was climbing up the stairs. 

I was just halfway through the elevator as he made it up through the Staircase to Heaven!

Party of a Lifetime

The scenic beauty of the hilly terrains of the Western Ghats adjoining the picturesque hamlet, accompanying the gentle hustle of the breeze made the party lawns look ever attractive than before. The tingling sound of the wind chimes along with rustle of the leaves in the orchard was a treat for the ears. The background was set as a camaraderie of Bach, Mozart and Beethoven. It was planned to set a base note for the party- truly music for the soul.

The lawn was set in white and gold with flowers flown from Thailand to add to its beauty. The golden hue of the confetti was reflecting on the buffet platters. The streamers and decorations were at their best to induce an effect of the pre-wedding bash.  Butlers and concierges were all in position to attend to the guests who were coming in ones and twos.

His friends hurried up to him, the man of the hour. It was his bachelor party attended only by his friends, dear and near. From his kindergarten mates with whom he still maintained contact, to his friends of his graduation school, everyone would be there for the day he wanted them the most. He stood at the dais, greeting his friends amid rapid flashes of light flickering on his radiant face and handsome smile.

The men at the food counter were busy setting the buffet to its best. Animals of various sizes and proportions were inside the platters, assorted with various spices and oils. Copious amount of time was put into the preparation of each of these delicacies. Chicken was the star of the food counter where he and his friends indulged into bite-sized pieces of chicken prepared in different manners that would satisfy the taste buds of both the east and west. The spread of the buffet also had cottage cheese and vegetables to tempt the tongue of the vegetarians. Desserts were kept off the main counter, having ecstatic varieties of Indian sweets, cakes and ice creams to choose from.

The mixologist had already set the spirit counter on fire which had the best of the spirits stocked to appease the guests. A tinge of lemon on the small shot glass had blazed in a chunk of fire into the inners. 

The guests were full and satisfied, both their bellies and at heart. The memory of party so grand and well planned had created a sense of wellness among the guests. This metamorphosed into blessings for him, for a happy life ahead….  

I am Sarathy, Parthasarathy

When the toll of the evil rises, 
When the noble men is sought to no mercy from their distraught
When the creation is hastened 'up' to meet its creator
When humanity is at its peril, 
When seeing the next dawn in a single piece is a boon
When life is altogether a rabble

I shall rise

To protect my kinsmen
To curb the uproar
To bring it under control
To evade the fear 

For I am Sarathy, Parthasarathy

The leader to lead the man to fight against injustice
Undeterred by the path I follow
I shall lead the men astray
To the light of the guiding principle 

The Colorful Festivities

Holi is the festival of colors, the day of hues of colors brightening up the dark and dismal lives of many.

This day is considered as the day when Holika, the sister of the evil Asura king Hiranyakasipu, was burned in the pyre while seated along with Prahlad while Prahlad was unharmed by greedily lurking tongues of the flame. This day was celebrated hence as the victory of the good over evil. 

Well, for me, this was the first time in life, witnessing a fully fledged Holi celebration. The colors plunged onto the faces, pitchkaris astray and water cannons squirting out their might, made my sight a delightful one. 
Everyone looked almost the same as the white Tees transformed into myriad concoction of all colors and faces were gracefully smeared, diluted with sweat becoming a canvas of mismatch. From a distance, it seemed as if clones were partying hard. 

The scene was fun till the moment I was spotted clean by my hooligan friends. A cheerful uproar from the gang and I was outpaced by their muscular legs. Since I was outnumbered, my T  had a doleful fate and colors went onto the abundance of my face and body. 

Still lies the marks of Holi on my face, despite numerous attempts by my hands and soap in conjunction. 

A memorable and 'colorful' one indeed!!

The V-Day Brash

My Facebook wall being littered with posts about the pride of being single made me understand one thing- jealousy was at its peak. A best friend's status update knit more loosely to let in more ideas follows: 

Oh God, you gave me everything, car, iPhone, laptop, a big house, loving father, doting brother, caring sibling, cuddling puppy, nasty faced maids, nosy neighbors. Everything!
All my friends have crushes and even some of my fat, dark, ugly and pot bellied friends have had the divine intervention of Lord Cupid.

It so happens that when you see some friend walk by with his/her crush, you get that feeling of jealousy and develop hatred towards the whole of mankind. This state aggravates when you see the-girl-who-you-thought-will-be-yours walking hand in hand with her goddamn lover, it is just like piercing in a dagger into your meek little heart.

When you see some friend walk by with his/her crush, you get that feeling of jealousy and develop hatred towards the whole of mankind. It happens!

This state aggravates when you see the-girl-who-you-thought-will-be-yours walking hand in hand with her damn lover, it is not just like piercing in a dagger into your meek little heart, it actually does.

Why didn't I just get past at least one girl? 

But why not a love in life?
Ain't I handsome? Am I not that good? I am on the verge of getting a sturdy six pack. I am all fair and handsome. I am tall- the Ranbir Kapoor kinda looks. Yeah, I do have it. On top of all this, the icing on the cake, I am rich. Still, the case seems to get no better. 

All I do is flirt and then, it so progresses that even before I open up my heart, they seem to open up theirs and tell me about their love.
All online social marketers were putting love on to their shopping cart to make the love-struck follow suit. Love shaped cups, love shaped cakes, love shaped rings and what not, love shaped thenga-kola?
Was love in the air? Definitely not. All what I could smell was that of the fuming ashes of my long lost love.

Well, it was, for some. For me, it is just going to be another Thursday, a Thursday swarming with jealousy and loneliness. 

After, reading his short but insightful status, I sniggered and let out a sigh, 'You've got company, dude! ;)' 

The End of the Rape Saga, or is it just the beginning?

I thought I won't write on this again.

I thought I will not dig the grave of a now-so-forgotten story.

I kept on thinking, why should I?

After all,what can a normal human being do? A blogger with a blog less than 5 months old cannot create ripples in the minds of the masses.

Then came the thought, why not me?

With all the possible affinity I have, with all the limited number of people I can get access to, with all the people who think upon reading, with all those who wish to act but are bound by the chains of social strife around, here I begin:

India, with all its rich expanses of culture, traditions and richness to glorify the already glorious past, is now going to drains. We are among those few cultures that accepted the predominance of woman in the society. She was considered as a mother, sister and divine incarnation of the goddess herself. But now, she is the underdog in the society now.

She is allotted a special bogie in the train, where she is raped in the midst of a journey. She is made to experience the heist of ruthlessness in a moving bus which wreaked havoc in her life.

People celebrate this with candles and strikes. And this dies down within a week.

May I pose a question to my fellow Indians, what is the purpose of being in a country which is said to be guarded from all sides where women live in full insecurity?

Everyday, she is getting raped. Not physically, but from the deep glares from the men who had an oath saying that all Indians are their brothers and sisters? The deep meaning glares is, if not the root cause, a trigger to this evil.

The lewd Indians makes it shameful for the whole brotherhood to say that they are protecting the dignity given to the womanhood. 

If you have feelings that actually requires a female to curb , why not go get it done from those who does it for money? It is this very thought, that makes many say that prostitution should be legalized. It could also be a revenue generator in conjunction with the tourism industry.

Rape does not have a pleasure element in it, rather does have a subjugation part. What a rapist gets is sheer dominance over a fragile, helpless soul writhing in pain. Is the motive satisfied? No. Not at all. 

Who benefits upon such a hype of a rape? The media, definitely.They get scoops for appeasing their show spaces and takes the fight for TRPs into a new level. Also benefited are some NGOs and non profitable organizations who take up fighting for protection of women. They get publicized and rake in a lot of money.

Why do we only provide benefit to such thoughts when we ourselves have looked upon her with an eye that casts a negatively impacted charm?

Benefiting from the corpse of a dead woman is sadism. Creating an uproar to get justice is nothing but cowardice. Rather than curing a seemingly incurable disease, why not prevent it?

Respect womanhood!

Preaching is easy, practicing is tough

Jaago India Jaago