Random thought

North India basically comprises the punjabis and those who either pretend to be or wish they were punjabis!

stealing beauty

stealing beauty has been one of the very few movies that has affected me in ways i discover slowly but surely over time. the movie carries perhaps no message, it has nothing to say, there is nothing to learn from how it turns out and what transpires. yet the meditteranian setting, the sheer screen presence of liv tyler, the delicately woven characters with their myriad hues, the pool, the olive garden which plays a seemingly pivotal role in the plot, the artists studio with its paintings and sculptures, the estate itself :an artist's refuge, liv tyler, dead can dance,the dancers at the party, liv tyler's cycle, the fire by the stout oak tree, liv tyler's lips, if movies were meant to transport one to a make believe world, then this would be 'the movie'. the music is so entwined with the fabric of the movie that every time i listen to it iam teleported back to that estate, and there iam by the bedside as liv weeps. i've tried countless times to fit my character in sideways , running my hand through her hair trying to console her. desire is a wonderful thing, and a deceivingly innocent word too...i need say no more

freedom-an article

We belong to a generation who grew up on a staple diet of filmed patriotism, staring at fuzzy black & white images of Pandit Nehru embarking on a "tryst with destiny", the euphoric gathering cheering the slow but steady ascension of the fluttering tricolor. Staring, at the frail bespectacled figure that epitomizes the very essence of the much heard of freedom struggle. Each frame is etched into our collective conscience and yet come august 15 ^th we can't help but gaze into the oft- run but seldom drunk-in pictures of our independence, wondering how it would have been in the midst of the crowd, to breathe-in the air of expectancy of a nation impending birth, pondering over how it would have been to walk alongside the frail figure we so revere. The melodrama subsides in a while and we walk off with a heady mix of emotions to tend to the mundane that forms the centre of our lives now.

More than half a century later freedom is still a potent word and one which holds as much lure now as it did then. The dimensions have changed though, almost as though it went through a facelift with time. Today's youth are as potent as the word itself, with opportunities aplenty and means at hand to capitalize on them, but do they believe they possess freedom? More importantly how do they define it in today's context and how far are they willing to venture to achieve it. Some bore a puzzled expression when posed with these questions, others recovered quickly to wax eloquent about their private versions of the word and what it meant to them.

Alok phadnis a final year student of engineering at VIT, had this to say "I believe in the freedom to choose our own career paths." His words are echoed by Gowri Kulkarni an MBBS student albeit in different words "Freedom to me is the liberty of thought, action and expression of one's own aspirations and the right to work towards them." In a society where 17 year olds are believed to be unequipped to make a career decision for themselves, where parental pressure invariably influences one's career path, these views are far from surprising. Those who have been fortunate enough to have the freedom to choose their careers, find themselves oppressed in other ways. Most girl students inhabiting college hostels can be found questioning why their in-timings are always about 3-4 hours earlier than the guys. Another burning issue is the unwritten dress code every girl has to adhere to lest she run a risk of eve teasing or worse. Unnati Agarwal a student of symbiosis institute of design hits the nail on the head. "Freedom is free falling, unbound, limitless and unquestioning." Prageti verma , a student of SCMHRD seems to pervade the material plane when she says "Freedom to me is freedom from greed, lust, the want for acquiring and the sense of belonging."

Although most seem to have a clear view on freedom and what it translates as to them, the majority are unsure as to how they would go about achieving it. Also not all answers received were thoughtful, some were downright hilarious. While some argued for freedom from attendance and lectures, others yearned for the right to party all night. But who are we to question them. Can one freedom be smaller or insignificant than the other? Can it be measured and ranked? Can two freedoms lose harmony with each other? Can nations be free when people aren't? All questions beyond our realm. Yet freedom lives, breathes and yearns to find expression.

amrut- tulya!

It is 4 AM on a chilly winter morning, but it’s warm in here. The fire’s been lit and a worn out copper vessel fills to the brim with the piping concoction. Sitting by the fire he adds the secret ingredients and looks on as the fragrance wafts into the early morning breeze leading early starters and joggers like zombies to its source. The sorcerer’s lair? Not exactly, its just another day at work for bapu. Pehalavan as he is affectionately referred to by his peers is no sorcerer, just one of the countless amruttulya owners in the city.

It is nigh impossible to find a soul in pune who’s been deprived of the amruttulya experience. The amruttulya finds place in everyone’s remembrances and each has a special one to suggest. However for the blissfully ignorant, amruttulya means equivalent to amrit (elixir), a term that over the years has come to be synonymous with tea and tea shops in pune. In a city of ever-changing trends and “here now gone then” fads, holding on to the fickle loyalties of the people to survive is a real challenge for any business. But somewhere between the clutter of gourmet coffee outlets and the clamour of specialty eateries, the low profile, run of the mill chai-ki-dukan has not only managed to survive but flourish too. It is a pity then that it has failed to find much of a mention in the media of late, partly because of the cultural myopia that ails most of the media these days and mostly because the amruttulya culture is so entwined with the social fabric of pune that it is difficult to tell it apart.

From being the favored hangout for white-collared executives on a cigarette break, to playing luncheon for the less fortunate rag picker. From being a refuge from the books for college students to an oasis of information for the lost tourist seeking direction. From brewing revolutions for the kurta-clad communist to ponder over to soothing the revolting appendages of the toiling artist. The Amruttulya is many things to many people.. Of the many things in its favor ,easy accessibility and the lack of any airs about the shops is what makes them a big hit with the “tea”totallers of the city. One doesn’t need to be a tea leaf reader to understand that the amruttulya is more than just a passing trend, the cultural Diaspora that converges upon it is indication enough. Religion, caste and creed seem to take a back seat as connoisseurs of good tea indulge themselves and resort to that harmless activity called gossiping.

In this age where even places of worship offer better views of the deity for money, the amruttulya is one of the very few places where men are still treated as they were born, as Equals. Fancy a cutting?

mani iyer's cafe

It’s daybreak in mahalaxmi, one in a million pieces of the jigsaw puzzle that is Mumbai. The setting: mahalaxmi temple, a few intelligent brush strokes on a canvas of blue. The background score is provided by the call of the conches and the bells ringing, as the priests chant choicest mantras in praise of the goddess. Incense wafts through the morning air and just as you are drawn to the almighty in earnest, through this phenomenon that appeals to all your senses at once, you become aware of this distinct foreign fragrance vying for one of them. The smell of heavenly dosas being anointed, soon to be accompanied by divine chutney, which together hold the promise of gastronomic salvation. Satan switching to dosas to lead unsuspecting believers astray? Hardly! For Mani has just opened shop, and it’s just another day at the job for this tamilian who migrated to Mumbai ages ago, with dreamy eyes and a natural ability to whip out the meanest dosas in town.

Mani has been pleasing palates for close to 17 years now, and his roadside dosa stall is deservedly a thing of yore, but the transition from, just another roadside stall to the coolest dosa joint around has taken years of hard work and some innovative marketing.

For starters, apart from the staple offering of dosa and coconut chutney, the introduction of the extra ‘day of the week’ chutney was a masterstroke. The lure and variety it offers is a commendable value addition to a quality product. A lot of thought has gone into the menu as well, each dosa is available in the texture you desire, ranging from plain, to semi paper, to the ‘are you sure this isn’t just stationery?’ dosa. You also get to choose what goes into your masala dosa, a concept that has given birth to contemporary dosas such as the shahi paneer masala dosa and the seekh kabab masala dosa to name a couple.

However, one of Mani’s personal favorites is the Frisbee dosa. This form of dosa has not only helped Mani cut down on staff costs, (as it involves only the cook who makes the dosa and then hurls it into your car) but also succeeds in keeping the customers amused while they wait for their orders (as they have the choice of tossing the dosa to their friends while it cools down enough for them to eat while their friends’ dosas are on the way). The dosa camp movement comes a close second as far as innovations go. One day is reserved every year to organize dosa camps all around the city, to initiate young children in the joys of roadside eating. Self-styled volunteers knock on every door enquiring about uninitiated youngsters, and deliver dosas in a bid to inoculate them from the perils of roadside eating they’d soon be faced with. Subsequent camps have succeeded in expanding the customer-base to ridiculous proportions.

Although all these innovations have contributed in making Mani’s stall a grand success, my personal favorite is Mani’s ‘dosas for the dead’ initiative. The food in hell isn’t even close to what they promised, and heaven is just a fictitious concept that gods devised to keep things in order. Which leaves a huge customer-base un-catered to, and one that only Mani had the foresight to canvas. Needless to say, a sizeable amount of his revenues are generated through us, which makes him the richest stall owner of all time, and us the grateful dead!

A Tale Of Two Cities

13-11-04 0200hrs
Iam a survivor, I live to tell the tale. The ordeal began last Thursday. I was dreaming of my family calm in my sleep, it’s been a while since I saw them. The situation has been tense for a month now. My school has been locked up for two days and counting, just as most of the shops around are. They probably fled fearing the worst or maybe they’ve joined the others.
The first explosion shook me awake, as though the earth had moved under me. The second one made me sit up and take notice. All of a sudden I was surrounded by random gunfire and deafening explosions. I looked out of the window only to find my city slowly but surely transforming into a battlefield. I wasn’t exactly surprised. Rumours of a nationwide uprising were rife for quite some time now. It was only a matter of time before the people took to the streets. All around were people armed to the teeth and children with guns. The transformation had been complete and I found myself asking them why. “Its for the victory of good over evil” was the retort. I felt like a traitor. I found myself empty handed when the rest of my creed were up in arms. I would’ve picked up arms myself (you can buy them off the counter these days) had they not been so loud and repulsive. Resigning to my fate I ambled back home, careful not to step into any booby traps.
Meanwhile the pounding continues. It starts well before daybreak and continues into the night. Smart bombs, air strikes, rocket propelled explosives, you name it! Civilian services, as is the norm, have been the hardest hit. Government officials have begun soliciting bribes openly for doing the jobs they’re paid to do. Yesterday I had to pay the postman for bringing me the mail. Its all very disturbing, with perhaps the only comfort being the absence of an enemy and bloodshed. Because I am just an outstation student in pune, preparing for my exams, experiencing the blues of a diwali away from home. I’m told things are much worse in a city called Fallujah in Iraq . Heard of it?

Hmmm..

finally a blog of my own...iam a little apprehensive apart from being conscious writing my first blog...having used instant messengers for the better part of my life, there's an eerie feeling of the presence of an audience at the other side of this text box. i must also confess i feel a little claustrophobic navigating my words through this box...my earlier attempts at recording my thoughts involved the unrestrictive charm of pencil and paper... it is a much more appealing and animated medium than the internet can ever hope to be...sample for instance the freedom to stray to the corners and sketch doodles... to shoot off at an obtuse angle on a whim...to stop to smell the pages (tasting them wouldn't exactly be weird either)...dissatisfied by the contents roll the paper into a ball and throw it out of the window(or if suitably dissatisfied make a rocket out of it so as to land it much farther from your consciousness)...rage at the contents could even justify tearing them into shreds or better still burning them to dust. clicking the delete button somehow seems to pale in comparison.
That said i'm sure this medium has a few tricks up it's sleeve too. i've been noticing how it's induced me to use those conspicuous little dots thrice in succesion ever so often. although i fail to comprehend exactly what they could possibly constitute, i do feel a certain vibe with them like they're there for a reason and indicate a vague in definition but certain in feel punctuation. i'm going to call them thought punctuations. And just as with the flow of thoughts i can't really assign a rule to them...so they shall stay and appear as and when they will themselves to.
Each passing sentence i feel an urge to apologise to the apparent audience for the path this monologue(or would this be a soliloquy?) is taking, probably out of an innate desire to churn out something that would appeal to them. The desire to please is a disease cultivated in mankind part by family and most by society, and i've seen it assume plague-like proportions in myself. Perhaps that's my reason for being here...i would like to fight it...take refuge here...use this platform to just speak and not be heard...to be heard and not be judged...and for those of you still on the page...thanks but you really didn't have to...