The GhoseSpot: Sandip Ghose' Blog

Doctor, nay Director, heal thyself

2012-01-29T17:13:00.002+05:30

Last week a Pune State Transport Bus driver ran amuck and killed 8 persons on the road and injured at least 28 others. Who should be held responsible for the incident – the Driver, the Managing Director of State Transport or the Transport Minister? The answer is clear – it’s the bus driver certainly. But, if we were to alter the situation slightly and it’s established that the accident occurred due to poor maintenance of the buses, which was within the knowledge of the administration – the proposition will change dramatically.

The primary responsibility of a public transport service is to ensure the safe travel of its passengers. If safety standards were compromised knowingly or willfully – the blame cannot be limited only to the driver and it should rightly go all the way to the helm of the organization. If it’s proven that, the bus driver was mentally unsound (just as it could have been a case of bad eyesight) the question would arise if the organization had a system of regular health check-ups of its employees – especially the drivers in whose hands you trust the lives of hundreds of passengers.

Since the AMRI incident, an analogy is being drawn with a train accident or deaths in government hospitals and the question being asked is – if the Railway Minister or State Health Minister are not arrested after a rail or hospital tragedy, why should directors of a private hospital be charged for an accident in their establishment. The question has been raked up again with the arrest of the 2 famous Doctors on the AMRI board - Dr Mani Chhetri and Dr Pronab Dasgupta - last Friday. In my opinion, the logic is both warped and specious.

The larger issue is one of Corporate Governance. Historically, Corporate Directorships were treated as a freebie – a lot of perks without responsibility or accountability. The Satyam, Enron and other cases of corporate misfeasance brought home the point that, Directorship is serious business. But, the focus was primarily on financial aspects and softer issues like safety at work place didn’t get too much attention. The only case in which the culpability of directors for an accident was tangentially touched upon was – perhaps – Union Carbide’s Bhopal Gas Tragedy matter.

Managing a hospital as a corporate business enterprise – where you are dealing with the lives of people is a different ball game. There is a huge element of trust and an unwritten contract of indemnity involved. When you are soliciting patients for treatment and care, in a way you are taking charge of their lives. Here, people getting onto the Board of the Hospital can’t treat it casually - like the Membership of a Club Committee – and must be conscious of the responsibilities that come along with it. You can’t accept the position of “Managing Director” being naïve about the legal obligations of the role.

The AMRI case is, of course, muddied by murky politics. Initially, there was a parochial twist given to it by insinuating that, only the Marwari (and “non-Bengali”) directors had been singled out. The subsequent arrest of the 2 doctors on the Board – could well have been as a reaction to that criticism. Now there is an outrage amongst the doctors’ fraternity in the city that, this will deal a severe blow to the medical profession itself. But, both don’t change the basic nature of the contentions.

The public has a right to know what kind of pecuniary benefits these ‘external’ directors drew from the company both directly and indirectly (e.g. did they treat patients privately in the hospital – which would be a direct conflict of interests unless they were also engaged in a ‘professional’ or 'executive' capacity and could itself could upturn the case on its head – taking the wind out of the claims of these doctors that they had no knowledge of the day-to-day running of the place). To what extent – they involved themselves in the affairs of the hospital beyond signing Board Minutes and collecting ‘sitting fees’. If they didn’t take interest in the basic functioning of the hospital it could tantamount to dereliction of duty.

A “company” is a creature of law. It has a ‘legal persona’ – which is represented to the world at large through its Board of Directors. In case of lapses, the final recourse of the law is to the Directors. But, if they can’t be hauled up – due to any lacunae of law – then it would tantamount to letting the companies go scot-free.

The defining question, to my mind, is – whether this was a sheer accident or was it preventable in anyway. If the weight of evidence points towards the latter and there is proof of legal violations found – there is no way the Directors should escape indictment.

To use a cliche - the law has to take its own course. But, the government machinery is notoriously inefficient. So, one can take it almost as a certainty that by engaging the best of legal fire-power – all of the Directors would walk out unscathed sooner than later. But, if this leads to people thinking twice before accepting directorships – doing their own due-diligence on the organization and credentials of the promoters and insisting on their rights as directors to be involved and kept informed about the operations of the hospital – it would still serve a limited purpose. The best, of course, would be if this restrains – at least to some extent – the crass commercialization of Healthcare in our country. But, perhaps, that’s a little too much to expect even after so many people paid through their lives for this sad lesson to the society.

Silk Smitha Vs Chikni Chameli

2012-01-28T15:16:00.005+05:30

So the old lady from Mount Road in Chennai has decided to take hormone shots to counter her Botox rejuvenated contemporary of Bori Bunder, Mumbai ? The media fraternity – both journalists and the marketing / ad-sales lots – are drawing vicarious thrill from the duel and going gaga over the ‘tongue-in-cheek’ ad from The Hindu in retaliation to The Times of India’s rather ‘below-the-belt’ hit at them sometime back. Perhaps, much of the excitement is arising from the fact that such a spirited response is uncharacteristic of the hitherto conservative media-house that was Kasturi & Sons. Or it could be, at least partly, due to the filial envy most media people feel towards ToI.

First, let me say up-front – I found the ToI’s ‘sleeping old man’ ad not only distasteful but also quite unnecessary. Over the years they have been successfully biting away chunks of The Hindu’s readership – by cleverly positioning the paper to address a need gap within the changing demographic profile of Chennai. Sitting North of the Vindhyas many of us don’t realize that, Chennai has become a much more cosmopolitan city today ( and not the Tam-Bhrahm bastion as we still like to think of it as) – with a large population of “non-south origin” people and a sizeable expatriate community. Like all other metropolitan cities – the tastes and aspirations of the youngsters are changing (and, yes – they care more about the ‘size zero’ waist-line of Kareena Kapoor than the thunder-thighs of Silk Smitha which their Dads used to salivate over) and to that extent they find the ToI much more contemporary and modern. This is the same challenge that the ‘ghee soaked’ Hindustan Times of yore and The Telegraph in Calcutta faced. (ironically The Telegraph was at the receiving end of the same game at which they had so comprehensively beaten The Statesman in the ‘80s).

Nationally, the Times of India has been adopting an “iconic” high-ground with some wonderful ads like “ A day in the life of India” or the very touching one with the “Dhyanchand like” octogenarian hockey Olympian (it’s , perhaps, not a co-incidence that - The Hindu ad mocks by asking: who was Dhyanchand ?). Therefore, ToI stooping to take a pot-shot at an ageing competitor can only be attributed to the enthusiasm of a newly appointed Marketing honcho of FMCG roots. Instead, they should have let the product to continue to do the talking rather than yielding to the temptation of rubbing salt on a worthy rival.

Now coming to The Hindu’s ads. Apart from generating chuckles – would any serious marketer believe that it will succeed in wooing back an young audience who have shifted to the ToI by simply raising the prospects of looking ‘dumb’ amongst your peers (who are as dumb as you – and may actually be thinking it’s “cool” to be so) or your parents (whom you consider fuddy-duddy any way). The answer would really have to come from the product – because for newspapers content (which includes design, ease of navigation and a whole lot of other things) is what makes the brand – not ( so much) advertising.

But then, The Hindu has had a change of guard at the top recently with a new “Editor-in-Chief” and a CEO. So, there’s always the provocation for the younger lot to say “what the heck – let’s give it back to the chaps”. In marketing there is always merit in saying ‘enough is enough’, ‘don’t take us for granted’ and “we won’t take it lying down” forever. But, real marketing wars are not fought on bravado and machismo alone.

As the Hindustan Times in Delhi and, to some extent, The Telegraph has shown the work has to start with the product itself and marketing campaigns can follow. It would be rather naïve and simplistic to say that, the ToI is a ‘dumb paper’ any longer. Over the years they have systematically invested in improving content both in depth and range ( having a ‘catch all’ positioning with offerings from sex to spirituality) – in fact, people would say they have successfully “dumbed-up” (as opposed to “dumbed down” – if there can be such a term) and it’s one of the finest newspapers today. The criticism against the ToI lies on another front of media-net and private treatise. But, that’s a different subject altogether. The Hindu, itself, has not been immune to questions about integrity of content.

The Hindu, therefore, first need s to re-invent itself – which is not an easy task as you always run the risk of alienating your traditional reader base without attracting the new. The HT faced a similar challenge of retaining its Karol-Bagh and Punajabi Bagh constituencies while trying to seduce the cosmopolitan yuppies of Gurgaon. After, faltering initially – when for a while it had become a Punjabi edition of ToI – under new leadership both on the editorial and management end it seem to have finally got its act together. In my humble opinion, The Telegraph is still struggling to do that and is caught in a time-warp of the 80s – when the people who had launched the paper were actually “young”. Sadly, they don’t realize it’s been 30 years since and during this period the people running the paper have aged as indeed the paper itself has.

After its “McKinsey-isation” – The Hindu is on a transformational journey (one hopes). Once their internal turmoil settles down and the new team finds their feet – who knows it could become the sex-siren from the South

Fests & Feasts

2012-01-26T14:21:00.002+05:30

I have never been to the Jaipur Lit Fest #JLF). Over the years, by all accounts the event has grown both in stature and scale. So, I was tempted to go there this year – work schedule permitting – and had discussed it with a friend, who I thought would also be interested to come along. But, over the last few months – I have been reading saturation coverage of a series of “fests” – which made me quite skeptical. There was ThinkFest Goa, LitFest Mumbai, InkConference Jaipur, Sun Burn Fest Goa, Hug Fest Bandra, LitFest Jaipur and now even a Lit Meet (#KLM) in Calcutta. Somehow, I got the impression that these events were becoming big business and turned into jamborees for the upwardly mobile, nouveau cultural chatterati – especially the chic parvenu intellectual set of the Capital and a handful of their culture cousins from Mumbai and Bangalore. Now with Twitter being the flavor of the day, time-lines were choked with incessant tweets from those “who were there”. This only reinforced my take of what these events were all about and finally – the shameful affair of Salman Rushdie and the Oprah spectacle at #JLF put the “Q.E.D” stamp on it for me. So, you may call it a confirmed case of sour grapes – but I was glad that we couldn’t make it to Jaipur and instead went to Bhuvaneshwar and Puri for a long weekend.

Bhuvaneshwar is a city I have come to like. Work takes me there often and sometimes I have been able to combine a little break with that. I see it gradually transforming into one of the nicest state capitals we have in India today – with shades of Chandigarh, which is - unarguably - a class apart. But, what’s more remarkable is the development happening there on the social and economic front. Quietly, Bhuvaneshwar has become an education centre – an eastern clone of Bangalore. Once with only XIBM (Xavier Institute of Business Management) – it now has a clutch good Engineering and Management Colleges. A visit to the local CCDs (Café Coffee Day) one can see a microcosm of the changing face of the city’s youth. It now boasts of many good schools – including the KiiT International – and will soon have an IIT of its own. With Infosys and others opening shop – Bhuvaneshwar can claim modest success in the IT field too – drawing on the good supply of technical graduates from the local institutes. Things can only get better – if large investment comes in with POSCO and others. The present BJD government has a reputation of being clean and progressive. One only hopes there is continuity in governance for Bhuvaneshwar and Odisha to reach their full potential.

While what Navin Patnaik and BJD have achieved in Bhuvaneshwar is commendable indeed – the same can’t be said about the rest of Odisha. One particular area that hasn’t received the kind of attention it deserved is , I think, Tourism. If Bhuvaneshwar could successfully follow the Bangalore model to become an Education and IT Centre – it could easily emulate Kerala for development of tourism with its treasures of the sea, back-waters, lakes & lagoons and forests. Both Gopalpur and Puri are wasted – the latter especially with its unplanned growth. Chilka has the potential of being an international tourist destination – if proper infrastructure is developed around it. Bhitarkanika (http://www.bhitarkanika.org/) is the largest sanctuary of crocodiles and the home of Olive Ridley Turtles – but very few know of it. The forests of Orissa are one of the most beautiful in the country – now largely rendered out of bounds by the Maoists insurgents. But, planned development could change that – as it has in many countries including Nepal in our immediate neighbourhood. One hopes in the next round – the government would turn their attention to these softer aspects of development.

Short breaks are sometime more rejuvenating than long holidays. While the latter helps in recuperating drained spirits and cure fatigue – the former is like a quick re-charging of batteries or letting off steam from our daily pressure-cooker existence. Spent 2 wonderful days in Puri with friends at their company guest-house. Enjoyed pleasure of doing nothing - except sitting with feet firmly up in the balcony watching the uninterrupted view of the seas, long walks, massages, gorging on simple home-style food cooked by the guest-house staff and the mandatory single-malt in the evenings. The visit to the temple on Saturday morning was like a restorative soothing balm. The overnight train journey both ways provided an added relaxation – compared to the madness of early morning flights at the chaotic Calcutta airport. And, the surprise of meeting an old school friend – after many years – in the rail coupe pleasantly wrapped up the mini holiday.

What India thought yesterday, Bengal will think tomorrow

2012-01-08T12:39:00.002+05:30

A development which has been irking me for the last few days – is the community twist that is being given to the #AMRI case. In what appears to be an orchestrated campaign a PR spin is being is being given – as if it’s a conspiracy against a particular community – namely, the Marwaris. So much so, I was quite astounded to see a front=page anchor story headline in the Economic Times, of all papers, “Marwaris feel the heat, as Didi breathes fire” click here to read (. Very unbecoming of a respected national newspaper, I thought and sent SMS texts to that effect to their editors.)

There is a larger legal question on the accountability of directors – on which I can hold forth – but that’s not my topic of discussion here. (click here to read) What’s bothering me is the gradual change of Bengal’s social fabric.

To finish off the Marwari angle first. I was mildly embarrassed by a couple of pointed reference to that community in the comments to my blog on the #AMRI tragedy. (To the best of my recollection and belief – in my post read here – I had not raised any pointing fingers at any one group - but that’s beside the point). Even then I didn’t pay much attention there. There has always existed a tacit animosity between the ethnic Bengalis and the Marwaris – often translated in disparaging remarks about each other in private – but over time they have developed a symbiotic relationship. This kind of social stress exists in all mega cities – where migrants come to play a greater economic role. But, there is no overt confrontation and over-time they learn to co-exist, even if a bit uneasily, without treading on each others’ toes (or snatching another person’s bread to put it more crudely). Calcutta has been no different in that respect – neither more nor less, I would say.

Changing gears slightly – a friend from Bihar, always told me – you Bengalis know nothing about caste system. I take that as a compliment. For myself – I first came to appreciate the realities of class conflicts, when as a Management Trainee I went to live in a village in the backward Etah District of UP – way back in 1984. Sadly, things have only deteriorated since then rather than improving , I am told, with newer denominations among Dalits and “Maha-dalits” emerging. When as a young couple we went to live in Pune in the mid-80’s – we were quite bemused at the ‘caste profiling’ even among the educated and elite Maharshtrians. How easily people typecast between Kokanasths, Saraswaths, Deshasths and CKPs. And, they had difficulty in fitting us into any of those classifications – as we were quite blissfully oblivious of our caste origins.

Last year, before the elections, Ashish Chakravarty – the much respected Senior Editor of The Telegraph – made a very incisive observation on a TV talk-show. He said, traditionally, Bengali Muslims never voted along communal lines. They were politically conscious and concerned citizens as anyone else. But, this has changed in the recent past – with political parties trying play the minorities card even in West Bengal. Trinamool’s success in the last 2 elections has been largely a function of swaying some of this minority vote in their favour as statistics would reveal. Therefore, you now see bill-boards and posters of Mamata Banerjee wearing head-scarves – greeting people in Eid or welcoming back “Haj” pilgrims. She kind of turned the tables on the CPM by doing this – as they could, by philosophy, not play the “religious” game – but had turned a blind eye on illegal immigration from across the border in the interest of creating a vote-bank for themselves. The strategy boomeranged when the Sachar Committee report indicted them for the poor lot of Muslims in West Bengal, which Mamata was quick to capitalize upon.

Well, I don’t think the issue needs further elaboration. I am afraid the secular credentials of Bengal are under risk of being surreptitiously subverted. In my private conversations, with some of my business associates from the Marwari community, I find a growing support for the BJP – as they feel the need for having a voice of their own in the state polity. Before, every elections now – we find the Lalus and Paswans making forays to the state to mobilize the Bihari and UP-ite constituency in Calcutta and North Bengal.

It would require a great measure of statesmanship – to arrest this disturbing trend – which, I am not sure, if the present Chief Minister ( or to be fair to her, any other leader of the present generation ) has it in her. Therefore, it is for the citizens and intelligentsia of the state to rise above these parochialism and re-assert Bengal’s cherished culture of egalitarianism – if indeed we are serious about regaining some of the lost glory of the state (even if turning it into a London or Switzerland remains a pipe dream of Mamata Banerjee). And, to do that – the media has to play a major role. But, in their pursuit for ‘eye-balls’ - TRPs and circulation – wonder if anyone has the time for such old world values.

It’ll be a real set back if we lose it though’ – as it would, like so many other things have, turn on its head the old saying of Gokhale - which would now have to be re-written as “What India thought yesterday, Bengal will think tomorrow”.

In the name of the father...

2011-12-27T08:28:00.000+05:30

St Paul's Cathedral, Calcutta

Christmas has always been big in Calcutta - thanks to our hang-over of the Raj. It meant long queues at cake shops – Nahoum, Flury’s , even Jalajog in the old days and now Monginis and Kathleens – crowds at the zoo, picnickers on the Maidan and ‘jollification’ on Park Street, plus the traditional Christmas Lunches at the Clubs. However, the churches were generally left for the devoted and faithful, barring a few anglicized liberals who fashionably attended mid-night mass with their Christian friends and colleagues.

Midnight Mass at St Paul's Cathedral, Calcutta

But, over the years people have started thronging the cathedrals. A friend, who volunteers at the St Paul’s, narrated the tough time they had managing people at this year’s service. They had a strange dilemma. After all it’s an open affair – free to all. But, at the end of the day it’s also a worship and a religious ceremony. So, while on the one hand it would be wrong on their part to keep away people – how could they let spectators take over the occasion jostling out those who had come to offer prayers.

Is this a sudden surge of secular urges among the people ? Obviously not. It’s what we Bengalis call “hujug” – a cheap fad – fanned by the media. The same friend described how sundry local TV Channels wanted to gate crash uninvited to film the ceremonies – as if it was a public theatre.

Park Street (Calcutta) in Christmas spirit

At a deeper level, does it mean our attitudes are changing and there is a greater level of acceptance within society in general of different religious denominations? I am afraid not. We still tend to carry a subtle level of prejudice or subliminal discrimination towards religious minorities amongst us – whether in the neighbourhood, work-place or even in our circle of friends. The roots of this could be deep and the causes many. But, media hype will not change it – what would make a difference is true value-based education, which seems to be lacking even in the new crop of educational institutions (read, commercial schools) flourishing in the state.

AMRI - some thoughts and a few questions..

2011-12-11T12:42:00.005+05:30

Are we Bengalis low on Emotional Quotient ( EQ)?

#seeing the TV coverage of some of the Bengali TV Channels, I certainly thought as a race we are EQ challenged. This was certainly no time or place for feigned histrionics – that most of the anchors were indulging in – led, of course, by the upstart “star” of Star Ananda (who was pretending to gasp for breath inside the wards - compalining of suffocation by "Carbon Monoxide" it seems. First of all, who let him in – before the situation had been brought totally undercontrol ?).

#What was #MamataBanerjee doing there with a Micro-phone screaming instructions – promising to reward the local youth for helping out, advising the relatives of the deceased to proceed to SSKM Hospital Mortuary – where the “dead-bodies were being taken for post-mortem” and wait “patiently” as it would take some time for the “bodies to reach” . Few of her Ministers who had reached the scene were busy giving inane news-bytes to channels. There is none to tell our VIPs that the best way to help in such emergencies is to stay out of the way of those managing the crisis. They can cause more harm than good by their interference eager to score a few cheap political points.

# Perhaps, to prove their ‘professionalism’ the AMRI website put up Excel Sheet list of the “dead” – with noting of “bodies that have been identified”. But – not a word of condolence, mourning or regret. The rest of the pages were left as it is – full of marketing spiel. The next day, however, they did carry advertisements in the inside pages of city newspapers – making it a point to thank the staff “who have shown great courage in saving many lives without a thought to their own safety”, the latter I have no reason to disbelieve or discount.

unfair comparisons ?

A Twitter friend took serious umbrage at a comment of a well-known Mumbai journalist, comparing the AMRI tragedy with the Taj 26/11. He felt the comparisons – especially of Bombay and Calcutta were odious – and I agree with him. But, the point she was trying to make, I think , was a bit different. Is it right to compare the professionalism and dedication of The Taj staff with that of AMRI – even if both are ‘service institutions’ as she argues ?

I have reasons to believe, the junior nursing and the service employees - of organizations like AMRI are under-trained and under-paid. They are mostly drawn from very poor quarters of suburban and rural hinterlands of Calcutta and put on the job with minimum induction. Most of them are contractual employees – not even on the hospital’s permanent rolls. The HR policies of these places – set up with the sole objective of making a quick buck – are not conducive to inculcating any sense of pride or belongingness. The lack of professionalism of the employees would be apparent from their blatant casual attitude – on a visit to the Out-patients Departments of any of these private hospitals. Therefore, I for one am not at all surprised – without trying to justify their action in the slightest – at these junior staff - many of them the sole bread earners in poor families - trying to jump off to save their own lives leaving behind the patients under their care.

About the security staff the less said the better. This has become an industry that breeds more insecurity than security. Remember the Dhananjay episode (where the Security Guard was accused of rape and then hanged). Most security agencies get hold of riff-raffs from the slums for a pittance and put them up with shabby uniforms and no training whatsoever. The old peanuts and monkey theory.

Service institutions must have a different ethos and can’t be run as any other commercial organization. This fact is often not appreciated by promoters – who see it just as another profit making enterprise like any of their other ventures in real-estate, FMCG (Fairness Creams) or Undergarments - just as Doctors no longer remember Hippocrates’ oath.

The business model of many of the mushrooming private hospitals and nursing homes are based on the unholy nexus with Insurance TPA (Third Party claim Assessors) outfits.

Domain expertise counts in running hospitals as much as it does in a paan-shop or restaurant. Medical industry needs its own core-competence – which the Apollos, Escorts, Fortis, Medantas, Manipals, Narayan Hrudalayas even the Jasloks and Leelavatis bring on board to some extent, I hope, and that's not to think they are bereft of commercial interests..

Anjan Dutt – a Bengali singer and actor – put it very well, I thought, on a TV show. Calcutta has been taken over, he said, by a breed of businessmen – who have no love for the city and see it only as an object of exploitation for quick profits. The same mentality seems to afflict – even the successful professionals – most notably among them the Doctors, who have earned a terrible reputation for their lack of professional ethics. That’s a real pity – since Calcutta was once known as a centre of medicine with some of the finest physicians and surgeons of the country in every field of specialization. Today, we have train loads of Bengalis travelling to Chennai and Vellore for treatment (ironically, sometimes to the sister hospitals of the same groups which have affiliates in Calcutta).

Much is being written about the government nominees who were on the Board of AMRI. It seems most of them never attended any meetings and the Chairman - believe it or not - claims that he was even not aware he had been elected to the post.

I know a couple of Trustees of the Breach Candy Hospital in Mumbai. These people take immense pride in their association and, therefore, great interest in the affairs of the hospital. Big names – who are visiting doctors – are extremely demanding on the hospital authorities for medical and support services – as they don’t want their reputation to be compromised.

Here, in Calcutta, people see it only as a ticket for freebies – a perk of being in a position of power or having the right connections (for the well-known gynaecologist on the board - I am sure it's no more an honour than being the President of The Bengal Club) - and for the hospitals it is a convenient pay-off to flaunt some respectable names on their website.

the first and last resort

The fire-brigade used to be one of our finest outfits. It, probably, is still very good. But, can it be compared with the New York fire-men post 9/11 ? Certainly not. Therefore, it was telling to hear some aggrieved relatives ask – why wasn’t the army called in for the rescue operations. For me – this is indicative of the deep distrust and lack of faith that the general public has developed for most of our public service institutions. The army to them remains the only one that inspires confidence – by the sheer dint of their self-less courage, dedication and discipline.

The sense of service seems to have gone out of our lives – with perhaps, the sole exception of a few religious orders and the armed forces. Consumerism has stolen our hearts and made us irredeemably self-centered.

Wonder what it will take to change that, if ever?

Gorkhaland Express

2011-11-26T23:31:00.001+05:30

Telengana Protestors

In a comment on one of my older blog posts - the Siliguri Connection (click here to read) a correspondent wrote – that Siliguri should claim its status as a city-state like Chandigarh by the time Gorkhaland is formed (which – according to him or her is only a matter of time). My first reaction – probably emanating from my latent main-land arrogance and Bengali chauvinism - was to dismiss it as a flippant and tongue-in-cheek remark like many friends and readers of my blog are prone to (especially, when posting anonymously). But, then it got me thinking.

Maha - heartburns

Though I have a decent working knowledge of modern Indian history – as any average educated Indian – I have never quite fathomed the under-currents of sub-nationalism that seem to drive the demand for smaller states. I have read and heard – how the linguistic division of the states post independence was an artificial creation. Having lived in Maharashtra for a better part of my life – I have known about the Marathi heartburn over the loss of Belgaum to Karnataka. But, frankly the extent of underlying emotions arising out of denial of state identity didn’t quite register on me. I always thought, it was the politicians jostling to create their own fiefdoms within a democratic set up.

With Kashmir weighing heavily upon our psyche, splintering of the 7 sisters of the North-east and Khalistan – at one time – looking close to the realms of possibility – we have somehow been conditioned to think of any demands for new states as signs of secessionism. We were inclined to put the original demand for Gorkhaland in the same bracket. The making of the 3 new small states of Uttarakhand, Chattisgarh and Jharkhand was also seen more as an exercise of political expediency.

teaching 'em to count

So – when Mayawati declared her intention to split UP into 4 smaller states, our initial reactions were understandably cynical. Certainly, it was a political masterstroke. As a Tweeple wit remarked – before Rahul Gandhi could come to terms with one UP, she created 4 – enough for him to lose count. But, deeper reflection would reveal greater sense beneath her apparently whimsical sleight of hand. After all, what does Uttar Pradesh mean – the inimitable sociologist Ashish Nandy asked in a TV debate. While naming the erstwhile Central provinces – Madhya Pradesh could be attributed to a simple lack of creativity, to christen United Provinces as Uttar Pradesh was bereft of any rationale.

of Maha - Rashtras

That brings me to my favourite party quiz question in Mumbai: Why is Maharashtra called Maharashtra? The real reason – as once explained to a senior colleague of mine – Nirmal Sinha – by a Marathi Trade Union Leader – is not what the Thackeray Tiger would have us believe (Maha – as in great – rashtra) but “Mahadev (or Shiva)’s Rashtra”. That’s because – it seems 8 out of the 12 Jyotirlingas of Shiva were located in the greater Bombay State ( Somnath, Dwarka, Ujjain, Bhimashanker, Trimbakeshwar, Sri Sailam Mallikarjuna, Omkareshwar, Grijhneshwar). It’s another matter that 4 of them now fall outside of Maharashtra ( in Gujarat, MP and Andhra).

So is it any surprise that, the young Scindia scion – on coming to Mumbai tries to claim his Maratha roots by speaking a smattering of Marathi ?

But, the bigger question is - if by carving out Maharashtra we nixed the identity of the Marathi speaking people around the region.

and, minor - rashtras

Now whether Bundelkhand should include parts of MP as well will be decided in the course of time. But, the question that is boiling is Telengana and can’t be put off much longer. There is little justification of denying Telengana statehood in the face of such over-pouring emotions and political angst and to hold Hyderabad as a pawn in the negotiations is absolutely ludicrous, in my judgment – with due deference to the retired judge whose charming wife light-heartedly says he is a better flirt than a jurist (who said I am not afraid of libel !!).

little donuts

One of my favourite authors, Charles Handy, had in a management context talked of the “Donut Principle”. It basically means, people can identify themselves best at two levels. So you can be a Bengali and an Indian – but not a Bengali, Eastern Indian and Indian (debunking our old proclivity to term any one south of the Vindhyas as South Indians and everyone in the cow belt – North Indians). So, it is difficult to impose artificial regional identities on ethno-culturally heterogeneous communities.

Though I won’t go as far as my former editor boss – who advocates breaking up of South Asia into independent small states – a la the European Union - but with a common national cricket team (where Pakistan, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh will be allowed to have their own cricket teams and Nepal can have the status of Switzerland, retaining their own currency), I think a further devolution is inevitable and already evident in the emergence of regional parties that have come to stay.

An article by B G Varghese puts some of the issues in a balanced framework (Better and more beautiful)

Meanwhile, I will be waiting for Siliguri to become the Chandigarh of the East.

Of Tweeps and foes

2011-11-19T13:27:00.002+05:30

I have been off this space for a bit – though it wasn’t a planned holiday. Not that I have been missed – I am sure – enough to provide an explanation or seek leave of absence. But, the question I have been asking myself is – if I missed being around, considering my oft repeated assertion that, I write not for an audience but essentially for myself.

To be honest – as many of you know – I haven’t been exactly on “Maun Mohan Singh" mode during this period. I have been tweeting a lot – much to the irritation of my FaceBook friends at whom the tweets are automatically bombarded. I have been an early blogger (since 2001) but a late Tweepie (only since 2009). Have been around on FB for a while now – though far less active having gone thru’ my phase of FB fatigue.

Tho’ I am often put off by the disclosures of rather intimate personal details on FB or the tendency of some Facebookers (or bookies, if you like) to peddle profundity under the mistaken notion of quoting something profound – FB remains a much more friendly and human medium for sure.

Twitter on the other hand – tho’ much more impersonal - can be fun and intellectually stimulating. Its 140 characters limit – gives it a “crossword” or “scrabble” like feel and trying to express yourself in just so many words can actually start getting you hooked. While FB is like a good Bong “adda session” – Twitter, I find, is more of friendly sparring. On Twitter you meet more like minded people of similar interests. Tho’ as always there are the mavericks like me – who have an opinion and view on anything and everything, and don’t feel apologetic and self-conscious to say them.

While on Facebook it appears rude to block or ‘un-friend’ someone and one does feel some degree of social pressure in not accepting “friend request” on Twitter you have no such problem and can ‘follow’ or ‘unfollow’ anyone at will and no one even cares (unless you are an ultra-sensitive narcissist – but then you aren’t worth following in any case).

Some, of course, try to turn Twitter also into a chat forum (from a ‘micro-blogging’ site as it’s meant to be) sharing details of their every little fart or burp – but you are under no compulsion to suffer them.

There are the iconic Tweepies - kind of cult figures - whom you would like to trail (Salman Rushdie being one of my latest favourites) and others who desperately try to create a brand for themselves managing to build quite a large follower base through unabashed self-promotion. Then, there are a few whom you’d like to follow just for fun or a good laugh like Digvijaya Singh. But, the ones I assiduously avoid are the ‘celebrity” Tweepies – especially from the electronic media (read TV) and showbiz. The latter are disgustingly shallow and superficial and the former have a nauseatingly inflated sense of self-importance though totally lacking in depth (with notable exceptions like Rajdeep Sardesai).

I would be dishonest, if I were to say that adding a name to my list of followers doesn’t give a slight pleasurable rub to my ego. But, overall I am happy to be in a closed circle of friends like at GhoseSpot. Overall, Twitter is a medium I have come to enjoy. Let’s see how long the fliratation lasts.

But, the bottom-line is - if you aren't yet following me on Twitter - please do so pronto at www.twitter.com/SandipGhose :-)

TRP is a 3 letter word

2011-09-25T13:15:00.034+05:30

Once – little before he left the country, over idlis and coffee at the Saravana Bhavan on Janpath - Raju Narisetti, the founding editor of MINT (now Managing Ed at Washington Post), had jokingly talked about “the farm house index of Indian editors”. He had surprised me by rattling out names of senior editors who owned multi-crores worth farm-houses around Delhi, villas and holiday homes in the hills and by the sea.

His more than worthy successor, R Sukumar, has written a very thought provoking edit last week on media ethics titled “The real-issue-with-journalism” (click link here). Suku starts his piece – talking about his own company leased accommodation and hits the nail straight on its head. Historically, a newspaper journalist was hugely underpaid. Even after “corporatisation” of print-media today, most of the editors of leading newspapers earn only a fraction of what is paid to the head honcho of the same media house (Only 3 or 4 Indian Editors – on last count - are known to be earning Corporate Salaries with Employee Stock Options et al. Please don't ask me for names !!)

If I were to use my favourite analogy (click here to read) of a restaurant with newspapers, and if I liken the Editor to a celebrity Chef, there are many instances of Michelin Chefs paid higher than the General Managers of a hotel. Thankfully things are changing. But, still on average a journalists remuneration in not comparable to those of their marketing and commercial colleagues, who reside on the other side of the LoC as it were (to use another of my pet phrase when talking about newspapers click here) in the Church vs State divide between editorial and marketing believed to exist in the media world.

not of manor born

Only – perhaps – The Statesman, in its good old days, provided fancy accommodation to its editors (at the haloed Minto Park Complex – the premier residential address of Calcutta’s top box-wallah company executives - on D L Khan Road near the Calcutta Zoo) and, probably, also the Bennett Coleman Group (Times of India), with its large cache of prime properties in Mumbai. Others pretty much had to fend for themselves and have to do so even now.

The point I am trying to make isn’t that – inequalities in remuneration alone justify journalists taking undue favours from state, corporations, businessmen, politicians or individuals. But, the roots of such ethically ambivalent behavior probably lie there.

The desire to acquire wealth – of which land and property is a prime denomination – is a basic and universal human need that exist from time immemorial. But, in a feudal society like ours – where traditionally exceptional fortune could only be earned through the benevolence and favours granted by the rulers (read, those in power) or deprivation of the weaker sections of society, greed for “land” and “residential” property is a national affliction . So, we have Army Generals, Judges, bureaucrats and politicians all running after 'special quotas' and out of turn allocations of prime property.

It has always been considered fair-game to get land allotted from government at concessional rates for constructing “patrakar colonies”, “press enclaves” or “media centres” – treating it almost on the same footing as cheap booze at the Press Club, like a standard journalistic perk.

I remember a friend and a colleague fighting a legal battle with the Government of Maharashtra for converting the tenancy rights of an apartment on Pedder Road in Mumbai, where his late father – an eminent vernacular editor – had been granted permanent lifetime residence by a former Chief Minister of the state.

Lodi, Lutyens or Aurangzeb

Private corporations were quick to latch on to the trick. Many firms dabbling in real estate on the side offer priority allotment to journalists even before the bookings are opened to the public (like in the olden days of ‘public issues’ – promoters granted cheap shares to their friends in the media out of their quota reserved for business associates) others offer free or low rent residence to journalists – out of their pool of company flats or properties indirectly owned by them. One mega-corporation (no prizes for guessing) is particularly known for such generosity. I know of some journalists enjoying their hospitality long past their retirement at a prime address on Aurangzeb Road.

But, the question is to what extent does this compromise a journalist’s independence?

Gucci, Prada or Birkin

Without equivocating – I am not sure if I would put the above at par with free-loading Food and Lifestyle journalists. How many of our Food Critics pay for their restaurant bills? The girl-friend of a well-known glamour boy of Indian media (herself a ‘lifestyle’ journalist of some repute) is known to flaunt a collection of designer hand-bags – that’s the envy of many high society ladies - received as gifts on junkets of international fashion houses, on which she accompanied her partner.

Here again the truth is – many junior journalists wouldn’t be able to afford 5 star meals on a regular basis paying out of their own pocket and till quite recently not too many media houses would reimburse their bills either, assuming as a matter of course, that it was a free dinner in any case.

One clever media baron caught on to this rather early and decided - instead of his journalists receiving free meal tickets or other favours for positive plugs in their columns – to publish a ‘rate card’ for “paid Content” – cutting off the middle-man as it were and brilliantly monetizing a business opportunity.

Mr Pony-tail and Queen Bee

This has led to increased porosity in the once water-tight Chinese walls between advertising and editorial – with increasing instances of advertisers influencing content. It is no longer limited to a few usual suspects – known for having a slew of journalists and editors on their payroll. Why waste efforts at cultivating individual journos – when you can strike deals with the owners or the management themselves ? Therefore, it’s also not surprising that, perhaps - the most infamous among them have dismantled their in-house media-fixing department and outsourced it to the queen bee of the PR industry. One of the most “respected” business house – during a long stand-off with a top media conglomerate – shifted patronage to their rival group, not just in terms of advertising support but also sponsorship of mega events – in lieu of positive editorial coverage. Much has been written and talked about – with little result – about the media clout of a walking sartorial disaster doubling as an academic imposter ( the ‘Baba Ramdev’ of the Education Business). And, the recent family spat in a southern media empire – reveals a lot about how vulnerable the most self-righteous editors can be to external pressure.

But, pay-offs needn’t always be in cash or favours. As we have seen during the recent “R-gate” controversy – power can be a big “turn-on” as well. Many years back – a late editorial doyen, had pointed out to me some members of his ilk at a popular watering hole in Delhi – saying they are a breed of “fixers who masquerade as editors”. You have to only visit the same venue on any evening on Max Mueller Marg in New Delhi – if you wish to spot some these species.

on a different track

There are other ways of dishing out favours too. Suku in his article has talked of journalists lobbying for the “Padma Awards”. Junkets are the simplest and an age-old lolly-pop which still hasn’t lost its charm for many. Now, I am told, the in-thing is to provide "scholarships" to the kids of journalists through family or corporate trusts.

In an era when the country seems almost besieged by insurgent movements in different corners and neighbourly disquiet – many a journalist, due to their proximity to certain groups, become self-proclaimed “interlocutors” (be it of the Nagas, GNLF, ULFA or Kashmir for many years) and get inducted into “Track 2” diplomacy – for which they are rewarded in invisible ways by the government either through one of the ministries or Intel agencies like the RAW. Many of them are in the 'pay' (I am advisedly not using the term 'take' ) of the government for services they may well consider "patriotic" and, perhaps, a ticket for a "Padma".

There are many instances like the one of a senior editor setting up his own TV Content production company which was commissioned to do special programming on Kashmir. In some of our neighbouring countries - Indian journalists turned media-entrepreneurs have launched publications - which locals are convince have been funded indirectly by the Indian establishment.

These are by no means new tricks. We all remember how in the cold war era journalists were actively wooed by both the blocks and thinly veiled accusations often surfaced about someone being an agent of CIA or KGB depending on their Left or Right leanings.

The idea of this long narrative was not to chronicle what’s wrong with the journalistic world and how rot has set in to media. I genuinely believe that, our media is no less or more corrupt (for that matter ethical and principled) than any other section of our society or professions. So, it brings me back to the earlier question – as to what extent does such gratifications compromise a journalist's integrity.

hooch, hooch, hooray

I am inclined to take a somewhat amoral position on this. To me – if the media gave so much coverage to Anna Hazare, the 2G Scam or Adarsh is not because they had a sudden churn of conscience but they had simply no option. They could have done otherwise only at the risk of losing viewership or readership. The key, therefore, to making all our institutions behave responsibly and ethically lies in the arousal of public consciousness about issues that affect us. And, it is here that – crusaders like Anna Hazare, civil society activists, RTI champions and – most importantly – a fiercely independent judiciary plays the catalyst role. The triangular diagram above - perhaps - best depicts the construct that will balance the dynamics at play.

Once the mood of the people changes – everyone will slowly fall in line and change their tune (if not their hue). My friends in the media will probably kill me for this comparison – it will then be much like the voters of Tamil Nadu – who after accepting all the gifts of TVs, Washing Machines and drowned in hooch – still go and vote for exactly the party and candidate they want. Past favours and gratifications received will not really matter any more.

So, TRP, isn’t such a bad word after all.

(Note & Disclaimer: The above account is based on impressions gathered through many years of fraternising with the journalist and media community. None of the examples cited relate or pertain in anyway to my experiences in the media houses I have worked in during the course of my professional career).

My other blog-posts on Media:

Light and Sound on TV

3 Wise Men

Deceptively Simple

Sunday salivation

2011-09-18T11:45:00.007+05:30

Are you a closet voyeur like me (except that I reside in a glass paneled closet) - who reads this new series “Diary of a single girl” in the Time Life Supplement of the Sunday ToI (click here)? While indulging in vicarious relish – on a lazy Sunday morning over my 3^rd cup of tea in bed, I wonder how representative is this profile of the typical “single girl” ? Admittedly, Times Life is a supplement that’s editorially mandated to cover a whole range of lifestyle topics from relationships to religion and sex to spirituality (generally in that order). But, is it meant to be mere prurient fantasia to titillate the imagination of the readers or a peek-a-boo into the changing trends in society - I am not so sure. Also the question arises in my mind, to what extent does newspapers and media have a responsibility towards shaping societal norms ?

The ‘single girl’ who is the subject of this diary or journal – is professionally accomplished and has a successful career of her own and keeps (no pun intended) a long distance relationship with a fully ‘loaded’ boy-friend, her partner for rocking “palang-tod” sex. Her best friend is a gay guy – who understands her perfectly better than any man or girl-friend could. She flirts with and cock-teases other men – such as her boy-friend’s brother or her gym instructor (who can” stretch her inner thigh muscles like no other man can” ) – but stops short of jumping into bed with them – as an assertion of her sexual confidence of the new-age woman, who has sex on her terms only and knows where to draw the line or say no (being ‘sexually responsible’ in an amoral world is the mantra’).

Even my best friends (gay or gal) would not call me a prude. Living in Mumbai and Delhi, I have known a quite a few professionally successful single women (now, don’t ask for names or cell numbers, please !!) . Probably, only one or two of them would come tantalizingly close to this description– but still they would be more an exception than the rule. But, then I don’t claim to know the whole universe of sexually liberated single girls . Therefore, I can’t still reconcile myself to this column appearing in a Sunday family newspaper. Media they say, sometimes foretell social trends. Perhaps, this could well turn out to be a format of the future. Is this a life-style option – I would think for my daughter ? Frankly, I am undecided.

In another piece in today’s paper, Shobhaa De writes (click here to read) – “scratch the surface and we are all voyeurs”. And, I have earned a special right to be so – for yesterday, I turned 51 (for those of you who forgot to wish me Happy Birthday) !!

Reflections on a roll

2011-09-17T15:05:00.042+05:30

Exploring Bihar – many parts of it that I had never seenbefore – has been, perhaps, the most interesting experience of my current job till date. It’s been like re-discovering the Indian heartland. Those who consider Bihar backward –haven’t probably visited interior West Bengal. Masked in fudged statistics of agricultural growth and claims of more equitable income redistribution by land reforms – the Communists masterfully kept the state wrapped in a poverty net for over 30years.

Travelling through not only the districts but even the shanty suburbs of Calcutta – one feels depressed to see how living standards far from moving up has indeed slipped back. Sights in the less affluent parts on the fringes of the big city – narrow lanes with cyclerickshaws bellowing their air-horns and road side vendors selling fish and vegetables in the light of kerosene lamps , hand-carts of tele-bhaja sellers and hawkers of Phuchka dispensed in the most unhygienic standards, neon-lit local sweet-meat shops – seem almost implanted from rural mofussils of the 50s and 60s of yore. Time has stood still here for more than half a decade easily – notwithstanding the mindless and aesthetically appalling concretization all around.

Political agnostics

True West Bengal doesnot have the baggage of social inequities and not beset by the cast fissures ofBihar and UP – though a religious fault-line is soon developing with both the current and previous ruling parties trying to create a separate vote-bank of the growing minority, who were traditionally politically agnostic. That has in fact further diverted the attention of the political class from real issues of development.

In comparison, remote Siwan in the Western Bihar (birthplace of Dr Rajendra Prasad) – though not one of the most developed constituencies of the state - appears more civilized than an average district town in West Bengal. A look at the District’s official website http://siwan.bih.nic.in/ gives some indication of

the greater engagement of the administration - a sense of ownership - in governance. For me, however, a simple index of development is the cement consumption in the area – which was large enough for us to spin-off Siwan as a separate Sales Area cutting off its umbilical code with Chapra, to which it was earlier attached.

the power of 3 and Didi

It’s probably thanks to the 3 Railway Ministers Bihar had invery close succession – Nitish, Paswan and Laloo – the Siwan station is visibly neat and tidy –where one wouldn’t mind waiting if the train’s late in arriving. But, I was more impressed by the train itself – on which I traveled to Lucknow from there. The AC1^st coupe on the Vaishali Express is one of the cleanest I have bee non in a long time. The attendants were courteous and helpful. During the 6 hours journey – the sweeper came at least

thrice offering to clean the cabin - something that’s becoming a rarity these days. I can’t say this any longer of trains emanating from Howrah or Sealdah (Calcutta) these days. In any case Bengalis, are never known for their service orientation. But, now with their “Didi” (succeeded by her chella) at the helm – theyhave total immunity from all work ethics.

We all lament that, train journeys are not the same anymore. But, for a change I quite enjoyed this one – whistling past the cow-belt country, watching the prosperous fields soak in the mellow sun of the fading summer, while gorging on a packed lunch of dry mutton curry and parathas.

The train reached Lucknow on the dot of time and was alloted berth at the old station of “chota line” – the terminal for the meter gauge service that has since been closed. Though not as imposing as the main “Char Bagh” station – it’s still charming. The best part is – presumably, under Maywati’s programme for social upliftment of the backward classes – all Coolies have been provided with hand-carts, no doubt making their lives much easier as also it lightens the conscience of passengers who dump their load on these poor porters.

Viva Taj

I used to be a regular at The Taj in Lucknow – in the late 90s when it had just opened. Even then it was one of my favourite hotels – and morethan anything else I remembered it for its very good Awadhi restaurant –Oudhiyana – which could any day give the ITC’s Dum-Pukht a run for its money. I have always wondered why the Taj hasn’t carried Awadhi cuisine to their restaurants in other cities. – when they do such a fine job of it in Lucknow.

Went back to The Taj – now re-christened Vivanta, their new mid-priced brand - again after nearly 14 years. The value of address has been greatly enhanced by Maywati’s beautification drive ofthe Gomti embankment – where it was earlier a solitary structure. Its design very naturally blends into the red sand-stone architecture that now adorns the stretch alongside the river. The refurbished rooms are very smart and the service has become crisper.

I used to be earlier somewhat critical of the Vivanta . I thought it was a forced make-over to make a brand differentiation. But, now I think they are getting their act together and I am beginning to like it. Recently we stayed at the Vivanta Malabar in Cochin and loved the place. The attitude of the staff, I find are more friendly and helpful in keeping with the old Taj culture and not uppity and synthetic as in their flagship luxury properties like the (Taj) Mahal on Mansingh Road in Delhi.

But the best part of the experience was Oudhiyana – which,mercifully, have been retained in its pristine glory – without trying to go for a facelift or relaunch. Apart from the excellent Kakori and Galauti – Chef Sharma turned out a brilliant Gosht Nahari for us – which he admitted is not simmered overnight, as the traditional masters would do – but slow cooked over an hour in a special mutton stock.

However, must admit eating in front of a huge portrait of Wajid Ali Shah and the Nawab looking straight onto the plate – did induce a tiny of guilt, which had to be overcome with a generous gulp of a deep rich Sula Dindori Shiraz.

Finally I was left wondering, if only Wajid Ali could haveavailed of Bariatric surgery a la Nitin Gadkari – we probably would have a few more signature entrees of Oudhiyana.

Opium in a Handbag

2011-09-06T14:08:00.026+05:30

Reached the end of the “River” and what a beautiful and rewarding journey it was. It’s arguably Amitav Ghosh’finest novel yet and I ungrudgingly take back all the criticisms and reservations heaped on him in my earlier blogs (Click here to read). Though billed as the second part of the trilogy – the narrative sails on its own and the threads linking it with the Ibis (Sea of Poppies) are at best tenuous. Here, the historical backdrop – is not like

a cloak sitting heavily on the story, but - acquires a life of its own as Ghosh, the master of minutiae, paints the canvas with every little detail of a Chinese scroll painting. Unlike some of his previous works – Ghosh doesn’t challenge or intimidate his readers – instead transports them to a charming old world, as if after a few draughts of that magical smoke. The historical details – such as Bahram’s chance encounter with Napoleon - yes, as in Bonaparte – in St Helena does not distract. And, the parallel tale of Paulette and Fitcher Penrose on the Red Ruth

– in search of the elusive Chinese Camellia is beautifully woven into the main plot – probably leaving a

trail to be picked up in the final part of the trilogy. A must read for everyone – even if one had missed The Sea of Poppies.

Handbag as a fashion statement

But, the book I am enjoying immensely is the Political Biography of Mayawati by the journalist Ajoy Bose. I had resisted it for a long time – probably because of my innate prejudice for the subject. But, on my couple of recent trips to Lucknow – I couldn’t help but being impressed by transformation she has wrought to the city. At the risk of being scoffed at by my more evolved friends – I have no qualms in admitting, I found grandeur, vision and aesthetic taste in what had been described as grotesque display of megalomania. Undoubtedly very deep and astute thi

nking has gone behind creation of these monuments of Dalit iconism.

Any future regime thinking of destroying them – would have to do so at their own peril and no naming any number of roads, bridges, airports, educational institutions, hospitals or other centres after members of one ‘family’ - can outdo these gigantic feats of architecture. In any case, it is better than the stadium I believe Mulayam Singh had built in his constituency – which is now a public cattle grazing ground.

It would be fashionable to argue that the humongous amounts of monies spent to build t

hese structures could have been better utilized on power plants and infrastructure projects that would have benefited the people and contributed to the development of the state. But, while roads, bridges and power

projects can be built even through private investments or PPPs – social re-engineering can only be done by the state and it is difficult to put a price tag on the costs of social change. Bose’ book gives a terrific insight to the psyche of Mayawati and, her late mentor, Kanshiram and the movement they created that could well be a turning point of Indian history.

My only worry is – after 400 years when future generations of archaeologists excavate the ruins of the Maya Age of Modern India and unearth the great Behenjis statues – they might mistake her handbags to be the fashion statement of our times.

Trauma and Coma

2011-09-04T14:33:00.008+05:30

As the nation recovers from the trauma of the Anna Hazare’s Ram Lila Saga - the government seems to have quietly slipped back to its pristine state of virtual coma.

Sometimes I suspect, the peoples’ grouse against this government is not as much because it is deemed to be corrupt as it is considered incompetent.

At least the crisis had stirred the ruling party to some kind of action – however, misguided or ham-handed they might have been. But, once the situation was brought under control by the wily manipulations of the Machiavellian Bong – Congress’ “man for all seasons” , Pranab Mukherjee - the party seems to be again at a loss for direction.

I for one always felt that - Anna was merely a 'symbol' of the issue that is agitating the national psyche (Please read my earlier blog: Jai Ho by clicking here). By his near ascetic persona built on a Gandhian mould he was able to capture the imagination of the nation as a crusader against corruption. To me his idiosyncrasies – such as not allowing the youth of his village to drink and flogging them in public if caught – are no more relevant than Gandhi’s kinks of sleeping naked with nubile women and making his wife clean toilets. Equally, accusation of being an unelected, ‘self-appointed’ peoples’ representative etc, doesn’t wash. Today – by definition - you cannot win elections unless you are corrupt. Equally, any alleged chinks in the credentials of Anna’s associates can’t detract from their cause.

I could myself write a thesis on how corruption is ingrained in our bones and – notwithstanding the morality preached in our scriptures – Indians are genetically coded to be corrupt. So, I have no illusions that, a Lokpal Bill would have been a panacea (or to use the new favourite catchphrase “magic wand” – wand pronounced as ‘waand”) of all ills. But, that’s not the reason why we should throw the baby out with the bath-water.

The Prime Minister has himself acknowledged his government is perceived to be the most corrupt government in the history of India. The Lokpal Bill presented to him an opportunity to seize the agenda turn the problem on its head. He could have cleverly appropriated (or, in the least, co-opted) the ownership of the idea (as they had done – by default or design – in the case of RTI) and initiated effective steps to give the country a powerful machinery for tackling corruption. That would have also been a good way to shift away the focus from the individual to the larger cause. But, alas they lack both in intent and statesmanship.

Instead what we are seeing is the relapse of arrogance - with spin masters like Salman Khurshid asserting - "we may have made errors in judgment, but didn't commit any mistakes". We see the government and the party behaving churlishly - as if they were forced to swallow a bitter pill - which, being unable to digest, they are trying to eject out of their system by a combination of emetics and purgatives. In a classic case of shooting the messenger – the media has become the favourite fall guy to cover up the bungling of the government – the likes of Kapil Sibal suddenly feeling jilted by their favourite TV news anchors.

So, a GoM (group of ministers) has been appointed to tackle the media (making it difficult not to draw parallels with the Emergency) and the dirty tricks department has been commissioned to split ranks within Anna’s supporters, rent opposing voices of dissent, order searches and investigations to rip open their past and try to trip them with notices and charges of tax non-compliances or violations. The political crisis managers surely realize, far from embarrassing or discrediting them by these motivated actions – they are only exposing the government’s dubious designs further.

The first thing to do at such uncomfortable times is to cast doubts about the funding of the agitation. The Congress did this during the JP movement accusing it of being funded by the CIA and, I was reading Ajoy Bose’ Political Biography of Mayawati last night – the same insinuation was made against Kanshiram in the early days of the BSP. That could well be the truth, as Congress politicians surely know how political campaigns are financed. One hears similar whispers about Indian intelligence agencies inspired actions in our neighbouring countries. In Nepal, where I have lived for some length of time, almost everything – from rising prices to riots - is blamed on machinations of RAW. So, those who are asking, who paid for Anna’s medical bills at Medanta, may also like to put the same question to the first family of the Congress Party. The declared combined wealth of Sonia and Rahul would not be enough to pay for their trips, holidays and SG’s treatment abroad. But then, why should someone ask the obvious. (See link by clicking here)

The exercise of asking Ministers to declare their assets was similarly farcical. It raised more questions than it answered. If the idea was to build credibility and show transparency – the effect was just the opposite. Surely, the government doesn’t think the people of India are such morons to believe the ridiculous disclosures of wealth. But, they probably think that the people simply don’t care – so politicians can get away with anything.

One would have thought – the Anna episode would have served as a wake up call. But, alas you can’t hear the alarm clock in a state of coma.

Post-script

Pranab Mukherjee calls India – the greatest functional democracy, whatever that means. The truth is today – the government has stopped “functioning” and Congressmen are busier discussing the state of Sonia Gandhi’s health than the state of the nation.

Speculations are rife about how unwell she is and whether she’d be able to resume her normal duties soon or she’ll return briefly to anoint the 41 year old “Prince Charming”, if not for the big job, at least as the “working president” of the party.

It’s ironical when the Prime Minister underwent a major coronary by-pass surgery – the government didn’t think it necessary to appoint an interim head – the unstated assumption being everyone knew where the real power strings were firmly held. But, now that the mighty lady herself is out of action we are kept equally in the dark – as it is considered to be a “private affair”.

The nation’s right to know – who’s going to be in charge should an unfortunate eventuality strike – is kept firmly in suspended animation. The allies and the opposition are deferentially silent. I see this as a rather ‘dysfunctional’ democracy – though some would even go to the extent of calling it a Banana Republic.

the corporate gigolos

2011-08-25T17:43:00.011+05:30

Neil Bose – my friend in college, a bright student otherwise – failed to get a first class in his Economics Honours. Calcutta University, of course, applied standards of evaluation that could easily make an Oxford Don stumble. Disheartened and disgusted with our examination system, Neil threatened to write a guide-book on “How to get a First Class – written by a ‘Second Class’ student”.

It’s an old adage – “those who can do, and those who can’t teach”. A great teacher need not necessarily have been a brilliant student – though, there is nothing to prevent it from being the other way round. The same true not just in academics but also in other fields of life – especially sports or music. Some of the best sports coaches - weren’t the champions of the game. Very often – in their own careers they fell short of reaching the top – despite being hugely talented. Chances are – they didn’t get the lucky breaks – but more likely they weren’t temperamentally cut-out for making it big. It is from their failures though they learnt the rules and tricks of success – which they could put to use good use in training others.

Old Boys' Badge Value

Executive Coaching – popular abroad, especially in the US, for quite some time - is catching on India like so many other western fads. Many former senior colleagues connecting on Linked-In and Facebook mention “Executive Coach” as their current occupation. Most of these are glorified announcements of “disguised unemployment”, but still some, I am told, have made a successful practice of it – adding handsomely to the generous superannuation package endowed in their favour by past employers. They largely rely on word of mouth recommendations of friends – much the same way they land on company board memberships through ‘old boys’ network.

Like external directors how much value they really add – is questionable. Only a few amongst them have actually undergone any kind of formal training or have an accreditation for coaching. Many don’t even have a HR or Organisation Behaviour (OB) background. A coach is supposed to operate somewhere between a mentor and a therapist. It requires certain skill sets and competencies like any other profession. These people generally don’t have any such specialization and fly by the seat of their pants. But, still they do have takers.

First, there is a badge value. It’s fashionable to have an executive coach these days – if you are seen to be a high-flyer within the organization. It’s almost like the craze among the rich, famous, yuppies and wannabes for personal trainers at their private gyms. A friend in the HR circuit educated me, it’s a ‘win-win’ formula. Earlier, companies would send their ‘hi-po’s for professional development or advanced management programmes to top management schools. Now, if you are of an employee of any value – it is difficult for an organization to spare you even for a couple of weeks to attend courses. And, even if they do – the incumbent is scared if he or she’d have a job upon return. For this – appointing a coach is a convenient solution. It probably costs as much or less than an external programme and the coachee doesn’t have to take time off from his or her job. Following a round of coaching and mentoring, there are usually some visible behavioural changes, which get reflected in 360 degree appraisals, at least in the short-term, that makes everyone – the boss, the sub-ordinate, his reports and peers – happy, setting in motion a self-fulfilling virtuous cycle.

a susegad after-life

If you have been wondering – where I am leading you to with all this circumlocution, it’s about alternative vocation options, something that I have been pondering over for a long time. There are only a few people I know, who have been able to make a successful career in mid-life or later. It’s not easy to re-invent one-self. Re-skilling is one of the most difficult tasks – though we may not always realize it. Displaced populations – land losers especially – realize it at the hard way. But, this is the “Age of Unreason” – Charles Handy, the Oil Company Executive turned management Guru and Corporate Philosopher had written about. It’s a modern day challenge to prepare for that day of reckoning – otherwise, we are left holding an “Empty Rain-Coat” – to use another Handy title – shorn of our corporate trappings.

Of course, a susegad (socegado) life in Goa would be what the doctor ordered for me. But, even my young daughter refuses to take me seriously when I talk about it. A moderate climate hill-station like Coonoor would have been good too. But, these places are fast getting crowded and running out of basic necessities like water. The bigger question, however, is having neither a hefty retirement corpus nor any other source of annuity - how will I sustain myself. The cost of medical treatment itself is frightening.

Using the same convoluted Bosean logic ( Neil, no relation of the now famous D K Bose), I think - I would have made a decent Corporate Coach (among so many other things) if only I had taken the pains to archive and chronicle all my mistakes and failures in corporate life. Coming to think of it – I have learnt more from bad bosses – some of them, of the Hari Sadu variety - than the ones for whom I loved to work. But, alas I don’t have either the network of contacts or the gravitas. A friend suggested that, a way to overcome the latter could be by getting into tele-coaching – where the coachee would not be able to see me. It seems – the client opens up more when he is not sitting under the glare of the coach or mentor in a chair or a couch – but instead relaxing on his potty or lying in bed with just undies on - scratching his front or back as a thought stimulator. Somehow, it sounds like being a corporate phone gigolo and doesn’t quite appeal to my finer sensibilities.

So my quest – for a corporate ‘after-life” continues. Till then, my downhill slide from one soul breaking job to another is ordained to continue – soaps and shampoos to sanitary napkins and diapers; (news)paper to concrete, as it were.

Any suggestions are most welcome !!

Jai ho !!

2011-08-15T14:38:00.010+05:30

It would be interesting to see how the show-down between the Government and the ‘civil activists’ pan out in the coming days. Will the government with its spin machinery and administrative might manage to scuttle it – like they succeeded in the case of Ramdev or will it fizzle out under the weight of their own inner contradictions, rifts and cracks that may open up thru’ the ruling party’s backdoor machinations ?

Some felt the movement may have lost steam in the long interregnum. I feel it's only gathered momentum. I was quite surprised the other day - when our domestic, a quiet sort of a chap otherwise, said - seeing Anna on TV - "Accha aadmi hai". I asked if he would support him - pat came his emphatic reply "Karta hoon na..". I sensed the same mood travelling across the country in the last few months.

Do the Congress and UPA Government crisis-managers and spin masters genuinely think l that, by hurling accusations at Anna Hazare & Co at this 11th hour they will be able to swing public opinion against him ? They must be kidding themselves in believing that raking up a 10 year old issue of Rs 2.2 lakhs allegedly spent by the trust on his Birthday celebrations - would demolish his moral standing for leading an anti-corruption crusade.

Frankly, the public would care a damn about Rs 2.2 lakhs controversy or any other skeletons from the closet that may be taken out at the last minute by the government’s dirty tricks department. They know how crores are spent to celebrate the birthdays of political leaders and although there may be no commission of enquiry to probe where those funds come from - the people have no illusions about who actually pay for such obscene extravaganzas. So, if the villagers had decided to celebrate the birthday of the man who has so selflessly devoted his life to change their lot – by spending a couple of lakhs , it’s simply not going to cut ice with the masses at large.

And, make no mistakes – we are not talking here about the “relative scale” – lest some of you are tempted to spring the argument that no amount of corruption can be considered too small. The issue as we all realize is much larger. If the surveys conducted by the various media houses are anything to go by – the nation is seething with anger against corruption – which they have been silently suffering for so long and has now reached Himalyan dimensions – and for the time they have found a credible vehicle for expressing their dissent.

I think the Sibals, Chidambarams and Salman Khurishids are missing the woods for the trees. We Indians love symbols. And, all of us understand that Anna is just a symbol for a much larger cause. Any other person in his place – say, an Arvind Kejriwal or a Kiran Bedi – would NOT have captured the imagination of the people in the way Anna has been able to with his beatific smile, Gandhian attire and the almost saintly simplicity and directness of his communication – which easily understood by the lowest common denominator, sans the rhetoric and intellectualisation of the establishment spokes persons or even his own compatriots. On the other hand, Ramdev’s credibility and integrity was suspect from the beginning. He had always had a huge set of detractors and skeptics who doubted both his antecedents and claims. It’s reasonable to believe that, he had been propped up by the government and, in the end , became victim of his own charlatan tricks.

But, the situation with Anna is far more tricky as the government had learnt in the first round itself. Thereafter, they had thought - trying to be clever by half – that they would trap them in the committee but had probably underestimated their tenacity. In their hearts – therefore, they knows it could be a ‘no win’ situation for them – unless they are able to sabotage the movement from within – which at the moment looks difficult. Otherwise, if they crack down on the protesters – it may trigger off wide spread agitations around the country. And, if they allow the “anashan” to continue – it has the potential of bringing the government tumbling. So, in a way they are faced with a Hobson’s choice – a mess they have only themselves to blame for.

I don’t also buy the argument that – in a parliamentary democracy one should have to come only through an ‘electoral” route. If that was true no popular movement – would have happened in any country. It is the very argument of corruption that goes against this logic. Strangely some of our intellectuals and political pundits seem to be supporting such a view. From their tweets and articles – denigrating any ‘extra-parliamentary’ movement, it would almost appear that they would prefer corruption to continue than any destabilization of life in the capital. With cost of elections being what they are today (in states like Maharashtra and Karnataka – a Loksabha ticket is rumoured to cost upwards of Rs 30 crores) – would any “civil” representative ever contest an election without being corrupt ? It’s laughable that, ministers are questioning the funding behind these agitations – would they care to explain how political rallies are conducted. Young Manish Tiwari - in his obvious eagerness to impress the first family - sounds like a modern day Goebbels when he says that, Team Anna is corrupt from “top to bottom”.

True the Lokpal may not be the panacea or “magic bullet”, to borrow a term from the colourful vocabulary of our articulate Prime Minister’s men – but it would , at least, drive the fear of God among our rulers to – if nothing else – temper their greed to a more "human" level, from the diabolical proportions it seemed to have reached now.

Long live the republic. Jai ho !!

The Rocking Boudis

2011-08-14T00:09:00.048+05:30

The advent of the “Bangla (Rock) Band” groups in the late 90s and early 2000 was – to my mind – a watershed of sorts in Bengali culture. Bhoomi, Chandra-bindoo, Krosswinds on one hand broke the shackles of the “Rabindric” culture and on the other, perhaps, unwittingly, liberated Rabindra-sangeet itself from its puritanical traditions (ending of Viswa-Bharati's monopoly rights helped the process) to find a more contemporary expression through a new breed of artists such as Lopamudra Mitra, Swagatlakshmi Dasgupta and Srikantanto Acharya – who no longer found virtue in shamelessly imitating the greats of yore and were confident enough to find a voice of their own, so to speak. In the bargain, they also vacated the rightful pedestal for the maestros - the likes of Debabrata Biswas, Suchitra Mitra, Kanika Bandopadhyay, Hemanto Mukherjee, Pankaj Mullik, Dwijen Mukhopadhyay - as also the more niche exponents like Shantideb Ghosh, Rajeshwari Dutt - to be savoured in seclusion of their permanent hall of fame.

Bengali cinema I think has gone through a similar churn. After losing its way for a while – both commercially and cinematically – following the demise of Satyajit Ray and since Mrinal Sen stopped making movies – while other veterans, the ilk of Tapan Sinha and Tarun Majumdar , faded away and the new crop of talent like Buddhadeb Dasgupta and Gautam Ghosh plateaued off somewhere along the line (Ray’s son Sandip remained hopelessly confined in his Dad’s Feluda series). For a long time – it was perhaps only Aparna Sen and Rituparno Ghosh who kept the flag of up in the national film scene. Other than that, Tollywood – as they pretentiously coined the name for Tollygunj, the studio “para” of Kolkata – descended to unthinkable depths producing some atrocious low budget mimicry of the popular low-end Bollywood genre. Bengali Theatre appeared terminally ill – with Group’s like Nandikar, preferring to hold drama festivals with participants from across the country - instead of mounting original productions of their own. TV serials – trapped in a decadent middle-class milieu – were an affront to once acclaimed artistic sensibilities of the Bengalis.

Kross-currents

Not surprisingly, there was no influx of any quality new talent on the scene. Among heroines it was Rituparna (Sengupta) and Prosenjit among the male stars who straddled between crass to class. For any other serious endeavours they had to import talent from elsewhere – be it an Aishwarya for Chokher Bali, a Rahul Bose for Aparna’s works, Nandita Das or at best our home-kid s Raima (Sen) or Konkona (Sen Sharma). In Antaheen, we had Radhika Apte a thetare actress from Pune and Aparna regularly casts Mumbai actors like Rajat Kapoor in her films. Sometime back, on a flight from Mumbai, I met a young girl Sriya (of mixed Punjabi and Bihari parentage) coming to shoot for a Bengali film.

But, things are beginning to change. Thankfully, intelligent movie making is back in vogue and discerning audience is once again being drawn to the theatres. Directors like Aniruddha (Tony) Roy Chowdhury ( maker of Antaheen and Anuraran) have come as a breath of fresh air – making films on contemporary themes that are both uplifting and entertaining. The quality of music in the films is also improving with composers like Shantanu Moitra (the songs and music scores of Antaheen are truly haunting. Listen to Jaon Pakhi by clicking here). More importantly, producers are willing to put their money on such projects – though the budget of Bengali films remains ridiculously low (less than a crore) – it probably costs more in Bollywood to film a single song (or item number) which sometimes involves travelling across the world to shoot its different sequences.

Bong belles and belly dancing

Over the last few weeks – we have been holding a series of company dealer meets across Bengal. The programme was compeered by 2 young actors - a rising starlet (Sonali Chowdhury) and her male counterpart , an upcoming “character artist” (Biswanath Bose). They weren’t exactly a Boman Irani – Lara Dutt combination on stage – but I was impressed by their refreshing spontaneity and unaffected mannerisms – which was a marked departure from the old “Santiniketan” style of conducting cultural shows. And yet, they didn’t ape the Hinglish brigade of Mumbai and MTV – in trying to look and sound hip. They were smart and had the self assured confidence of today’s generation but retained a local flavour and native Bengali wit and humour. In the past, we have flown down ‘B Grade’ MCs from Mumbai – but, I thought, they jarred and failed to connect with the crowd as these youngsters did.

No entertainment today is complete without a generous dose of Bollywood and the mandatory Sheila ki Jawani. But the performances here were much more slick and tastefully than I had imagined having seen such shows in the past. Particularly impressive was the surprise entry of the dusky Paoli Dam – otherwise seen in art films – looking ravishing in a glamorous item number, making people forget the Kazhakstani Belly dancer - Shahira - who was on stage just before her.

That brings me to the changing concept of Bengali Beauty. Now dusky is in. Gone are the times – when our Mashima-Pishima’s would lament their favourite nieces and nephews becoming “dark” (eki re tor emon raang kalo hoye gecche keno ?...aagey koto pharsha cchilli “). Who would have thought earlier that a Paulomi, Radhika (Apte) or Sriya could capture the Bengali imagination.

Morning walk in Saree and 'keds'

But, the change is happening also at another level – literally !!. Earlier – the Bengali’s idea of beauty began and ended with the face (“Ma Lakshmir moton mukh”). Exercise was taboo for Bengali women and girls were seldom encouraged to play games or even take up sports like swimming seriously. Ladies started morning walks in sarees and “keds” only after they were diagnosed of blood ‘sugar’ (Diabetes) and took to yoga on developing arthritis. So you saw some of the most beautiful faces mounted on shapeless figures draped under the all concealing attire – the saree. (Katrina Kaif hadn’t arrived on the scene then to shrink the 9 yards to little over 9 inches ).

from 9 yards to 9 inches

Now Bengali girls are regularly hitting the gym. Bipasha – if not Karina – are their role models (one must give some credit to Rituparana as well - who was probably the first leading Bengali actress with a figure to flaunt). Vandana Luthra’s Slimming Salons are opening all over including in moffusil towns. Gone are the times when – as the rotund Rabindra Sangeet artist sang with a great deal of feeling “Aamar ei deho khani tuley dhoro” (invoking the Lord to lift the temporal body - figuratively of course ) someone from the audience said out aloud “Kshama korben - Parboi Na, Parbo Na” (sorry, can’t do that – implying you are too heavy !!). Today, it’s such a pleasure to see Paoli in tight body-hugging costume being lifted up in the air by her male accompanists in the dance troupe or a Sonali carrying off an off shoulder western gown with élan.

the gym-ing boudis

So far so good !! A friend told me, the mushrooming gyms and the Vandana Luthra slimming salons that have sprung up all over – even in mofussil towns - are not an unmixed blessing. As scores of ‘boudis’ make a bee-line for them and shed sarees in favour of jeans and tank-tops – the divorce rate in the state has gone up exponentially.

But, all said and done Bengal is in the cusp of a socio-cultural transformation. Now, if only the economy looked up a bit !!

Amma, Behenji and Didi

2011-07-04T00:48:00.025+05:30

(Mamata at the Writers Building after her swearing-in)

Singur Season 2

Mamata Banerjee has kicked off her innings in characteristic style – with a great flurry, seeking publicity and courting controversy from day one.
It seems her “surprise” visits to government departments and hospitals – without informing her officers and ministers – are undertaken only after tipping-off friendly TV channels.

The Singur Soap Opera Season II has also unfolded along predictable lines. First, the hurried ordinance and then passing of the Singur Land Act in the assembly. Her legal advisers would have surely told her that, it was bound to be challenged in court by the Tatas. But, so what ? – she could claim that, she has kept her promise to the electorate and started the process for returning the land in right earnest – blaming any delays on the Tatas and the courts. Those – who view the Supreme Court’s interim ruling as a set-back for the government could be mistaken. Even during the original Singur controversy in 2008 – the intelligentsia went ballistic but she knew her real constituency (read my earlier blogs: Nano Vision I and Nano Vision II).

TV Reality Show Queen

The knowledgeable and politically astute were not expecting a honeymoon. They had anticipated it would be more like a TV Reality Show wedding where the sparks and shoes start flying even before the bride takes off her grease paint. And, this lady never wears any make-up in the first place. So, it was back to the kitchen (cabinet) almost from the nuptial night.

In keeping with her image – she deliberately gives the impression of being in a mad rush, impatient and restless to get things done. And, a little more dangerously, having all the answers with her. This was on display her first interaction with the industry (her brusque disposal of all interjections) – which seemed more an exercise for the camera rather than a genuine interest to solicit ideas and encourage interaction. One suspects - the same would be the objective of forming the "mentor group" for Presidency College - a la the Nalanda University initiative of Nitish. Neither she nor her lieutanants (who faithfully emulate her churlish mannerisms and 'instant solution' proclivity) would have much time for advisors no matter what their stature may be. Her churlish handling of the situation arising out of the death of 18 infants at the Dr B C Roy Memorial Hospital was again true to form.

The worry is how far will mere rhetoric and native PR take her ? She may have the ideas – but does she have the plan and, more importantly, the people and administrative acumen to give it shape. That’s why most of her much touted projects in the railways went beyond the foundation stone ceremonies (and opening of new stations and introduction of new trains in West Bengal) and the ministry has been precariously close to being “derailed” – with an appalling fall in its operational efficiencies.

Poster boys or toy-boys

The older guard in the party are already feeling marginalized. Some senior leaders – like Subrata Mukherjee – have been given insignificant cabinet births – with most major portfolios retained by her. A veteran MLA I met the other day – lamented that they find it difficult to even get an audience with her. The more visible and vocal faces around her lack both administrative and political experience – in any case don’t have much authority to function on their own. Someone like Amit Mitra – is seen more as a “poster boy” - like some big names she had tried to ‘collect’ in the past – such as Nitish Sengupta, General Shankar Roychowdhury (who later went to Rajya Sabha as an independent supported by the Left Front) and the Panja brothers – with the strings of control firmly in her hand.

The bureaucracy is nervous on 2 counts. First, because of her impulsive, whimsical and unpredictable ways - though, this is primarily a concern of the senior officers at Writers’ Building who have greater interaction with her and, in any case, the 'babus' are trained to take the frailties and tantrums of their political masters (can't say mistresses, in this case) in their stride. But, what is making people down the line – especially in the districts - feel shaky is the absence of clear leadership at the ground level. In the Left Front regime there was no ambiguity in the line of command. It was either the local MLA or the party secretary who called the shots. Now everyone is a self-styled leader and none of the pious pronouncements from the top – advising cadres not to interfere with the administration are taken seriously by the local satraps.

the CEO syndrome

Personality cult is here to stay in Indian politics. Suddenly, our political leaders seem gripped by the CEO syndrome. So, it would be unrealistic to expect West Bengal to be any different. But, to be successful what’s the style Mamata Banerjee should adopt ? In neighbouring Bihar, Nitish too has largely by-passed his party men (much to their resentment – but the astounding results of the last election – silenced all criticism) and empowered the bureaucracy. He has gathered some outstanding officers – whose clear mandate is to deliver with speed. Narendra Modi has done pretty much the same in Gujrat, as has Navin Patnaik in Orissa with mixed results.

Even Mamata’s greatest admirers would not put her in the league of these 3 stalwarts of change and development. She would, probably, be more comfortable in positioning herself somewhere in between her two lady contemporaries – the Behenji in Lucknow and the Amma down South in Chennai. Both are imperious and neither have a strong reputation for probity (Mamata wears a brooch of integrity prominently on her pallu - but her partymen make no such pretence). But, in their own way they have ‘delivered’ for their respective constituencies – notwithstanding the corruption in both the states and abysmal Law and Order situation especially in UP. The progress made by Tamil Nadu in Jayalalitha’s previous term – when it had the second highest Industrial growth in the country (next only to Gujrat) is well-known. On a recent trip, I saw the transformation of Lucknow. Though many would call the grand new architectural extravaganza - monuments of megalomania, it says something about the lady’s execution capabilities. Even the CWG scam and a series of other scandals couldn't taint the image of Sheila Dixit, the grand-dame of Delhi - as an able administrator.

Scoring 'Self-goals'

A respected political analyst had said, the problem with the Left front was that, even when in power they viewed themselves as an “opposition party”. Mamata too has to quickly get out of that stormy petrel of protest syndrome. Otherwise – the hounds of the CPM are waiting in the wings to trip at her at the first opportunity, doing unto her what she did to them all these years. If she doesn’t change gears – she could well score a “self-goal” and get beaten in her own game.

Club Chicken

2011-06-23T00:01:00.018+05:30

There is an unseemly controversy at The Calcutta Club over the suspension of 2 Management Committee members – a somewhat usual occurrence, if not entirely unprecedented. One of them had sent out an email to the general members leveling some damaging charges against the incumbent President of the club, which was considered, probably rightly so, as a major misdemeanour not acceptable of a committee member. What the suspension effectively does is to debar the members from contesting the forthcoming annual elections of the club. A political masterstroke of "all the President's men" !!

Politics is not uncommon in clubs. In fact, some would argue – a healthy dose of politics is what makes club life what it is. The antics and machinations of rival groups at The Delhi Gymkhana – especially between its civilian and services factions – regularly make news in the mainline dailies. Members of many well-known clubs have been known to periodically go to court.But, what makes the current imbroglio at The Calcutta Club particularly interesting is that, one of the main issues of contention – is about the affairs of the kitchen and the Bar (Wine and Cigar Department).

In one of my earlier blogs (Raj Redux - click here) – I had described the club – as an extension of the “baithak khana” (parlour) of a North Calcutta Zamindar residence. The atmosphere remains like that of a Bengali joint family of olden days – with their share of enfant terribles and a few black sheep. So, you can trust a quintessentially Bengali institution to get worked up on the highly emotive subject of Food & Beverages.

In the instant case – it appears that, the previous committee had after a lot of deliberation changed the source of fish, poultry and meat supplies from the traditional vendors of New Market – to a Multinational Cash & Carry chain – that came to Calcutta sometime back. This did not go down well with the old guards of the kitchen. The current committee has reversed the decision and re-instated some of the earlier vendors. The letter of the dissenting Committee Members insinuates ulterior motives to this move among a whole host of other damning accusations.

I am not going to take sides, getting into the merits (or, for that matter, the lack of it ) of the allegations – though I would agree that there was serious breach of propriety on part of the earrant committee members in sending out such an email to general members without first tabling it before the committee. But, my concern remains wholly about the quality of food - because for me that's the principle attraction of the club (apart from it's great location) - for which I am prepared to suffer the atrocious service and shameless soliciting (for tips) of the bearers.

Incidentally, the Steward of another venerable club of Calcutta – who too have switched their supplies to the same Cash & Carry outfit – had sometime ago confided in my wife similar reservations about the quality of their stuff, lamenting the fall in standards. One thing I can vouch for is – on a good day, the beckti at the Calcutta Club – in any form, fried, grilled or as meuniere – is simply unbeatable. I can't say that, about the the other club anymore - though it's culinary excellence is legendary and still remains it's sole raison d'etre.

By and large - I have given up poultry – unless it’s the country (desi or gauti) chicken variety or duck. I think the broilers served in restaurants and hotels (now also in clubs) are better described as ‘wrestlers’ – which are as rubbery as they are tasteless. But, there are still a few places – where I eat chicken. These are usually the Muslim eateries in Calcutta or Delhi’s Jama – Masjid area (Karim's or Al Jawahar).

Today, caught in a heavy afternoon downpour on the way back from an external meeting, went to Shiraz in Park Circus for an unscheduled lunch and ordered a Chicken Chaamp to pair with the Mutton Biriyani. It was the breast of a tiny bird – tender and succulent. I had absolutely no doubt in my mind that – it could not have come from a Cash & Carry supermarket. It may not have been a pure grain fed free-range chicken – but it wasn’t from a commercial poultry farm either. The Miyan Restaurateurs and Bawarchis know their chicken for sure – and they could teach F & B Managers at Clubs and Hotels a thing or two about how to judge the quality of meats from the butcherie or vendors of fish and vegetables.

The Spiritual Bazaar and Testosterone UGs

2011-06-21T17:18:00.021+05:30

the spiritual economy

I don't think even the most ardent devotees of the Sai Baba would be surprised by the discovery of crores of rupees plus bullion and silver from his inner chamber. Religion in our secular nation operates pretty much on the principles of free market economy. So I don't quite fault the sage of Puthapurty or any other Baba, Mataji or Guru for amassing the wealth that gullible followers throw at their feet.

But, I am not sure if anyone has done an estimate of the size of this "spiritual bazaar" in monetory terms. Baba Ramdev claims that - if all the black money kept in Swiss and other foreign bank accounts was repatriated - then poverty would disappear from this country. I suspect that - if all the unaccounted wealth of our Godmen, women and religious trusts are brought to book - it would certainly lower the poverty index by a few basis points. It's another matter that, some of it would no doubt have found a way from the religious coffers to the pockets of politicians.

It's not that it's not happening even today. It was interesting to read sometime back how the Shiv Sena and the NCP cut a deal over the control of some major temple trust in Maharashtra. Apparently (if newspaper reports are to be believed), while NCP allowed the Sena the rights for the Siddhi Vinayak temple in Mumbai, the Sena llowed them to retain the franchise at the Sai Baba temple at Shirdi. It is common knowledge, how the ruling party in Andhra Pradesh exercise its influence at over the affairs of the Tirupati Devasthanam Trust.

In this regard, one can't help admire the practical foresight of Swami Vivekananda -considering he died so young (at 39). Knowing that money could easily be the undoing of the Sangha he was establishing - he laid down water tight rules of financial management at the Ramakrishna Math and Mission. It was mandated - a writ which runs even now without any dilution - that a not a single rupee received as donation or income, nor any monies spent - can go unaccounted. Therefore, you will note that even the monks of the order (as, indeed, the nums of Sarada Math) would issue a receipt alomost religiously - for the smallest donation.

testosterone fortified UGs

Among the Commercials seen on Bengali TV channels - the ones I find most offensive are those for male undergarments - featuring the stud brigade of Bollywood - Sunny Deol, Salman Khan, Sharukh Khan Akshay Kumar and now even the Chote Nawab (Saif). Last evening - an unforseen exigency made me go UG shopping in Durgapur. With some difficulty I found a hosiery shop in the local municipal market. And oh boy - did I have a choice? I was spoilt e - between Lux Cozi, Amul Macho, Dollar Club, Rupa Frontline and more. Brands which I never thought I'd ever touch. The tag line of one sounded like that of a popular cement brand "bahar se strong, andar se strong".

But, that made me think that, Bengalis may be suffering from a sudden crisis of libido. The other sleazy advertisements one sees are for some shady brands of deodorants (Click here to see video) and a highly suspect "Japani Tel" - which shows a snake charmer arousing a serpent, with obvious connotations.

Psychologists say - testosterone surge occurs in moments of elation and success - when there is an overwhleming sense of power. I am not sure if the converse would also true - in moments of despair and depression - when the spirit is willing and badly needs a boost but the proverbial flesh is weak.

This might sound as specious psychology - but could well be true for a race which can boast of only 2 testosterone heroes - Subhash Bose and Saurav Ganguly.

Hair-cut at a wedding

2011-06-20T23:19:00.011+05:30

Drove down to Durgapur (West Bengal) this afternoon - braving the rain and an upset tummy - to attend the wedding reception of a business associate's daughter.

I was quite awe-struck by the size and scale of the function - haven't attended a "Bengali wedding" (if there is such a term) like this even in Calcutta.

Obviously, it was 'new money' (in Bengali what we refer to as "kaccha poyesha" - literally, raw wealth) on display. But, for me it was a lesson in socio-cultural change that seemed to have swept the society in this intervening years that I have been away from Bengal. Bollywood and TV Serials have been the great unifier in this country.

The event itself must have been outsourced to a professional wedding-planner (didn't know that - we had them in Bengal, let alone in a small town like Durgapur). At the entrance - instead of traditional reception by the host family - there was a "helpdesk". Announcements over a public address system - was directing the traffic and guiding the drivers to the parking lot. There were over 3,000 guests. Needless to say the food was lavish. Apart from the main dining area - there was a "mela" kind of tent outside - with stalls for "chaat" (Phuchkas), rabdi-jalebi, coffee and ice-creams etc. There was an open bar (unthinkable till some years ago). A live musical performance was on - compered by a female MC, right across the stage where the bride was sitting. Clowns were walking through the crowd - entertaining the kids.

But, the ultimate was a Barber Shop and a Beauty Parlour for interested guests. Couldn't take a peek into the salon - but found the chaueffeurs were making good use of it - getting a shave or a head-massage.

So, it isn't as if there's no money left in West Bengal. But, wealth seems to have flown in a different direction. While industry has died a slow death and there has been a flight of capital from the state - it is the contractors, transporters, wheeler-dealers and political middle-men who have made it rich.

There's another strange breed of organisations - which have mushroomed in recent years. Some of these companies' have a mind-boggling range of businesses - from cement and steel, to food products, cosmetics and personal care products (soaps, shampoos and toothpastes), education and even tourism (Read article here) . Their source of funding is anybody's guess and theories abound from them being cover operations for politicians' monies to chit funds and ponzi schemes. One will probably never know the truth - but veryone seems to think that - the bubble will burst soon - like the great "Sanchaita" scandal of the 70s.

Till then - the newspapers and TV Channels (some of them fronts in their own rights) can make hay - as many of them are big advertisers while they last.

At the risk of sounding shamelessly parochial, I must admit - I came back to the hotel with a mild perverted sense of satisfaction that, at least in this case - the owner of the wealth was an ordinary uneducated Bengali. A rare specimen indeed !!

Post-script: It would be an unfair commentary if I didn't acknowledge, the main dinner selection was excellent. One of the best Pabda-maach I had in a long-time. The Iilish -tho' not exactly the "barsha" (peak monsoon) variety was good too and so was the Fish-Roll. Simple dessert of Rasogalla, Pantua and Kacha-golla. Wrapped up with a nice paan (from one of the stalls on the way out) - it was a satisfying meal indeed. And, most importantly, the hospitality of the bride's father - dressed in a simple white-turned-yellow shirt (his usual daily work attire) was genuinely warm.

Random ramblings from the road

2011-06-18T22:44:00.054+05:30

I. Ghosh and Ghose

Book marketing is a big thing these days. So, suddenly I find Amitav Ghosh all over in newspapers and magazines (probably, soon on television too, Sunil Sethi’s Just Books or Anuradha Sengupta’s Beautiful People) – with his interviews timed for the launch of his new book “The River of Smoke” – a sequel to the earlier “Sea of Poppies”, the second of his Ibis trilogy.

Excessive publicity of a book or a movie makes me wary – but I trust Arunava (Sinha)’s review (click here). Arunava – who was a year junior in school, has turned out to be one of the finest translator of Bengali literature. His – English rendition of Sankar’s Chowringhee is a big hit and was recently also reviewed in The Economist. I loved his – My Kind of Girl (Buddhadev Bose’ “Amar Moton Meye” ) and looking forward to another Bose masterpiece – Tithidore, to be published later this year. Arunava has recommended – the new translation of Shesher Kobita by Radha Chakraborty (Farewell Song , Penguin) will get hold of it soon.

Back to Amitava Ghosh and The River of Smoke – I am still a bit scared of getting mired in his excessive research, which has weighed down some of his previous works (especially – The Sea of Poppies). So, I have thought of a way out – just to be sure. I have promised to first gift it to a friend - who’s literary sensibilities I implicitly trust – for “book tasting”. But, the problem is – she is quite smitten by Ghosh the author. So, in this case, her judgement may not be entirely unbiased. Not that Ghosh will really worry about one less reader or a copy not sold.

(Read my earlier blogs on Amitava Ghosh In Bed with Ghose and Sailing with Priyanka on the Ibis )

II. Hardware vs Software

I have already managed to offend at least one person by professing my love for Mumbai on Facebook – while writing in the same breath that, I feel positively depressed every time I land in Calcutta or set foot on Howrah Station. We have agreed to settle scores in private.

For those of you who may be interested, I had written about my love affair with Bombay in an earlier blog (click here to read: She loves me, she loves me not). For Calcutta, I will probably have to write a book.

But, while channel surfing yesterday – I briefly heard Shuvaprasanna , the “poriborton sheel” (read “Trinamool panthi”) artist, say something on Star Ananda that struck a chord. He said – one of our inheritance from Rabindranath should have been the sense of aesthetics and beauty. Today, Bengalis seem to have lost it completely. He cited – Nandan (the theatre complex next to Rabindra Sadan) as an example – where one is blasted by the putrid smell of urinals as soon as one enters. I have never been there – so wouldn’t know and have to take his word for it.

For me the biggest eye-sores are the atrocious architecture – even in newer and more affluent areas such as Salt Lake. Some are not just ugly but real monstrosities that defy all sense of aesthetics. I have a theory for that. I think every Bengali is a frustrated architect at heart (apart from other things - such as a poet, see the fancy poetic names we give to our homes). Therefore, they do not find value in appointing a professional for designing their homes and would rather depend on the “raj-mistry” (mason) to do it at their bidding.

I have no reason to doubt Mamata’s resolve to transform West Bengal. Apart from turning Calcutta to London (which shouldn’t be difficult because Calcutta was indeed fashioned after London – as the comparison of the maps of Central London and Central Calcutta would easily show) and Darjeeling to Switzerland – I am told she wants to make Calcutta Airport an international hub like Singapore.

Everything is possible and putting together the ‘hardware’ is least of the problem. But, the real issue would be the ‘software’ – will she be able to change the mindset and work-culture of the people.

I think of this every time, I have to catch a morning flight from Dumdum and get stuck in long serpentine queues – sometimes up to almost an hour. I have taken a count – the Calcutta Airport has as many security scanners and channels as Bombay – which operates many more flights in any given hour. Why don’t we have such long queues in Mumbai then – it’s all to do with the attitude of the people. (it’s amazing how – the efficiency of the same organization like CISF or even the airlines vary from city to city).

Mamata's lofty declarations of “internationalizing” Indian Railways hasn't met with spectacular success. Therefore, I don’t feel so confident about the “poriborton” she’d be able to create, by rhetorics alone, without some major genetic re-engineering.

III. A matter of taste

Talking of cities – just returned from a short trip to Kuala Lumpur. This is probably my 5th or 6th visit to KL. But, I have still not warmed up to the city. I, probably, haven’t explored it enough – but don’t think it has too much too offer either. It still retains vestiges of its colonial past and has pretensions of being a ‘world city’ like Singapore – but somehow falls flat despite its put on neo-modern façade (sometimes you get the impression that it’s trying a bit too hard). Bangkok – is crowded and dirty but it has greater character and, more importantly, it has life that engulfs you like a wave. Hong Kong is a study in contrast – between its British heritage and Chinese hum-drum co-existing side-by-side. Shanghai and Tokyo are a different world of their own (haven’t been to Beijing).

But, I guess the rest of Malaysia is very beautiful. Expatriates also like to live here – says it has got a lot more to offer than Singapore and is well located to travel to other parts of South East Asia and the Far East.

Malaya food is not a patch on Thai cuisine ( I like it only in the US – when I am dying for Indian fare, it comes closest to my taste. The Penang chain of restaurants in the East Coast are my favourites). It’s a fusion of strong spices from different regions (including, of course, India) but lacking in the subtle flavours of Thailand. And, when it comes to women. I am yet to find a real Malaya beauty. Finally, it's all a matter of taste.

IV. Murder in Dey-light

The murder of J Dey – the journalist really saddened me. He was part of the launch team of Hindustan Times, Mumbai Edition. In fact, the inaugural issue had the lead story with his by-line about the infamous “Ash-Sallu” tapes. Though later the authenticity of the tapes were questioned (forensic tests etc like all the recent tape “leaks”), it didn’t take away anything from his reputation of being one of the most formidable feared investigative journalist and crime reporter in the country.

A man of few words – his image in a checked short-sleeved shirt (usually green or crimson with dark checks) and jeans, clutching his helmet is still stuck in my mind. I doubt if anything will come out of the investigations – despite the cudgels being picked up by his former colleagues and compatriots. The rot in our system is far too deep and the mafia-police nexus far too strong. So, one can only pray for the peace of his departed soul. A sad commentary on our society. But, unfortunately that’s the reality of the world we are living in today.

Kasht-kar-ani-mar = Customer

2011-06-02T17:06:00.035+05:30

Yesterday’s Mint carried a news (Read article by clicking here ) about Vodafone sending legal notice to a customer for “defaming” the company on Facebook. The customer, in turn, has threatened to go to the consumer court and also file criminal proceedings against the company.

I am not sure about the merits or the specific details of the case. But, to me it appears that, Vodafone’s action is not just directed at this single customer but is also intended as a warning signal to other irate users and beligerent customers not to mess with them. As one of my Twitter buddies quipped – it would seem that they have changed their credo from “ready to help” to “ready to sue”. I am also reasonably certain than many consumer and service companies will be watching from the sidelines the outcome this wrangle with active interest.

Packing a punch

The news had a minor import for someone like me as well (and, would make the wife worry silly after she reads this post) – beacuse I am also one of those vocal customers – who doesn’t take a major lapse in service silently. Email and Social networks have made lodging complaints easier from the days – a cartoon in Punch once beautifully portrayed – when you could only fume through the ears and curse “Wait, till I write a Letter to the Editor of The Times”.

PPC vs CPC

I would like to believe that I am not a habitual cribber and have no aspirations for becoming a ‘consumer activist” (though – I know some have turned it into a very paying profession). But I am a stickler for service. A friend told me, in airlines parlance I would be classified as a PPC rather than a CPC - the former standing for “potentially problematic customer” and the latter being “chronically problematic customer”.

adat se majboor !!

What to do – adat se majboor hoon !! My mother was the favourite cousin “sister” of a large bunch male cousins whom she grew up with. And, being the only “bhagne” (Bengali for bhanja) – I was spoilt silly by all of them and , as my Dad always complained, each one gifted one of their personality traits to me. (May be I should talk about it to my shrink and then blog on it !!) The one who had probably influenced me the most – taught me to never crib about service in a tea shop and be grateful for what you receive – because it’s worth more than what you pay for. But, when it’s a five star – who charge you a bomb on the promise of a moon – they better live up to their standards. Over time – I have extended this principle beyond hospitality industries to other service providers such as airlines and banks – all of whom try to sell on the basis of “experience”, reliability, trust etc and manufacturers who guarantee “quality”.

whose call is it anyway ?

As we turned into a consumer economy and there was an explosion in the service industry – be it banks, airlines, insurance and hotels, on line shopping, travel booking – it meant a boom of the “call centre” culture. Taking a cue from their counterparts in the west – the customer service cells in companies and service providers quickly withdrew behind an impregnable wall of call centre numbers and impersonal customer service email ids. So much so – if you check the websites of many of these companies or banks – you won’t even find the postal address and general telephone number of their offices, just in case you think of sending them a letter by post or call to speak to a company official. And, about the kind of support or problem resolution you get from the call centre staff – less said the better. It is very well brought in the recent TV Commercial of a cell phone company –featuring the Kapoor brat in a stand-up comedian act.

me zozzoo ?

I for one have been a zozzoo all along - a die-hard Voda / Hutch / Max customer from the time of inception of mobile telephony in India. All our family connections (except my official Blackberry) are Voda. But, it is also a fact that – very often I have had to seek the favour of friends in the organization (or the Corporate Relationship Manager ) to resolve problems with my accounts – almost inevitably running into dead-end with Customer-Care. Recently, when I switched to 3G services for my Blackberry – I encountered a problem for which the “technical support” of our corporate service provider gave me the most ridiculous explanation. Again, I to get it sorted out only with the intervention of a friend in that company.

On a trip to London sometime back – as I came out of the tube station I received an SMS message from my bank saying that my international credit card has been blocked due to some “suspect transactions” (had used it to recharge my Oyster Card just before that) and advised me to call the customer care number (in India) for help. First, it took me a god 3 – 4 minutes to get to the customer-care executive by-passing the recorded phone menu. Then – after validating my T-Pin and answering a slew of personal identification questions – the lady at the other end asked if I could tell her the amount of the last bill statement. When I told her that, I have an automatic direct debit instruction to my bank for the card and, therefore, didn’t remember the amount of the bill – she wanted to know – what were the last 5 transactions I had made on the card. Dammit – it was 9 O’clock at night in the UK and well past midnight back home in India. So from where on earth could I get her all those details. I asked to speak to her supervisor – which she first resisted but finally got her on the line after being kept on hold for another 5 minutes. And, mind you all this was happening over an international ‘roaming’ call – which was costing me Rs 150 a minute.

Voda wins again...

On returning to India I found a Rs 6k charge on my phone bill – which in fairness I couldn’t claim as a re-imbursement from the company. So, I first spoke and then wrote to customer service. I got the same standardized reply that, I should have informed the bank before leaving the country. I couldn’t understand, what was the point of having an international credit card – if I had to intimate the bank every time I travelled abroad. Next, they would probably want me to take their permission before stepping out of my house. Exasperated – I wrote to the expat CEO of the bank. Promptly, I got an email from their Head of Consumer Banking and a call from the PR Chief and in no time my telephone bill was settled. It was just a co-incidence that, in the final analysis, it is the cell-phone company (Voda in this case) which was the biggest beneficiary.

In my own experience, when complaints per email or “feedback forms” have not elicited any response – a simple mention on Twitter and Facebook has gotten the company – an airline or a large hotel chain - moving.

David vs Goliath

I hold no brief for any rogue consumer. But, I think this case could have wide ramifications on the system of consumer complaint redressal in this country. As I have mentioned earlier – I don’t know the provocations for Vodafone to contemplate such an extreme step. But, in India – where consumer rights is still at a very nascent stage – it’s very often a David vs Goliath story. If company officials become inaccessible and customer service remains – unresponsive, insensitive or incompetent - social networks could well become a legitimate forum for airing consumer grievances. But, if the Voda case is perceived as an act of intimidation - which might encourage other companies to follow similar method of dealing with inconvenient situations – it wouldn’t augur well for development of a healthy consumer culture in the country and might call for intervention of the government or courts to protect the rights of the ordinary consumers - who would not have the might of giant corporations with formidable legal muscles.

nursery lessons

In the nursery of consumer marketing where I grew up – we were taught, for every one complaint that reaches the company there are at least a hundred dissatisfied consumers who don’t bother to call or write but simply walk away for good. So we learnt to put up with serial offenders who would routinely insert rusty iron nails into packets of tea or insects in cold drink bottles and claim compensation from the company – for the sake of the many consumers who may have faced genuine quality issues.

One may ask – how does the same system work in western countries – especially when most of the “call centers” are located in India or other 3rd world countries. The answer to me is “accountability”. Abroad, no company can get away with their responsibility towards consumers by simply “outsourcing” customer-care. They are acutely aware of where the buck stops. The fallacy here is that, sometimes Indian companies think that by 'outsourcing' the process they can also shirk off their accountability.

A senior associate working for a public-sector "mini-ratna" had once told me jokingly – their definition of a customer. For us the customer is neither a king nor a queen - he or she is just one of those millions of faceless individuals for whom life is “Kasht-kar-ani maar” - said Singhvi-saab with a mischievous smile and a twinkle in his eyes. Dying by banging his head against the wall - used to be the lot of the Indian Consumer till not so long ago. It would be indeed sad, if professional arrogance makes some our leading consumer companies start thinking like public sector companies used to in licence and permit raj era.

But, till then I will think twice before I tweet next time when I suffer from airline rage, cell phone gripe or hotel blues. Or simply think of the lovable voda pug as an antidote to anger !!

Cutlets in the alley

2011-05-28T22:06:00.029+05:30

End of a hectic and eventful fortnight !!

(right Jaya's School Girls' Hostel)

First came Jaya's ICSE results at the dot of 3 pm on May 17th - which, of course, had all of us overjoyed. But, even before we could think of any celebrations - we rushed back to Mumbai to pack her bags for the new school ( The Valley - KFI) in Bangalore. In a way - it was for us like also saying a 'virtual' farewell to Mumbai - though we are yet to wind up our establishment at Phoenix Towers. All of us were a bit sad at that and before leaving Jaya asked - can't you get a transfer back to Mumbai? More than anything else - she'd miss the Phoenix Mall next door (High Street Phoenix)- which we had come to call "pasher bari" (the house next door - in Bengali).

We dropped her at school on Monday - the 23rd but went back there again the next day for a parents' orientation, when we got to spend some more time with her. And, after a lovely Khow-Suey and Single Malt evening at the C's - got back to Calcutta on Wednesday morning - to plunge head-long into work.

When the markets are down - you spend more time writing explanations than doing your job - which is, presumably, chasing sales numbers. But, it is a fine balance most professionals learn to strike over time.

But, what still amuses yours truly are the most ingenous stories people come up for low demand. After nearly 3 decades of working life - one has heard how poor grape crops in Hyderabad were affecting cattle-feed sales in other parts of the country or cold currents in the Atlantic were raising the price of fish in Bengal. Nowadays, of course, one has the 'one size fits all' theory of global warming that can be used any-which-way to suit an argument.

However, there may be a germ of truth in one of the factors being attributed to the slow-down of construction activities across the country. It is the scarcity of construction labour. Many believe that - poverty alleviation schemes like NREGA and cheap (Rs 2) rice are acting as dis-incentives for workers to leave their villages in search of work in the cities. It seems, many working in the cities have also got themsleves registered under MNREGA back home in their villages and have to keep returning there frequently to their names alive in the roster. The few who would still prefer to venture out - head for Mumbai and Delhi - where the earning and savings potential are higher. Not sure if this is merely anecdotal - but if it is borne out by some emperical studies - then we could be seeing a major sociological and demographic shift in the years to come.

One thing I do enjoy in my current job is, it takes me to places that I have never been before even within the city I grew up in. For example, today - I visited one of the largest cement whole-sale market in the country situated at the heart of Calcutta's most famous red-light district (Sonagachi). Savoured some divine "kacha-golla" sandesh - but was too full to have the Prawn Cutlet from Allen which caters especially to the elite clientele of the area.

And, something I hate on such trips - is the lack of toilet facilities at most of the establishments ( a basic necessity for a chronic patient of IBS - irritable bowel syndrome for the uninitiated). It makes me empathise so deeply with ladies who have to work in the markets. Even places in Bihar and Jharkahnd have better sanitation facilities. That, brings me to my favourite crib about the Bengali's poor sense of hygiene. But, will keep that for another day's post.

What's been given a convenient miss - with all the travel and long work schedule - over the last few months - is exercise. In an attempt at gentle pursuasion - the wife took me for a swim the other day to The Calcutta Club. ( click here for my bog on the clubs of India: Raj Redux) But, even before I had taken a dip, she came out in a huff from the Ladies Changing Room - saying it was stinking as someone had crapped in the shower.

I asked a friend's brother - a doc - who was there in the pool with us, whether it was a good idea to take a typhoid shot. He said - it's not going to be of much use. Micturition is a common problem in all swimming pools for which a Hepatitis Vaccine may work better. For the rest - just try not to swallow the water and hope that the chlorine would have done its job. But, the wife was firm in her ruling - no more swimming at the Cal Club from now on. Holy shit !!

The Greedy and the Needy

2011-05-16T22:16:00.022+05:30

Was having this rather stimulating quasi-philosophical discussion with the wife the other morning. Though it rendered me being incommunicado for a couple of days - it's still probably worth recounting for it's sheer existentialist import.

The context was the conviction of Raj Rajaratnam by the U S Trial Court in the Galleon Hedge Fund case and possible implication of his friend - Rajat Gupta,till just a few days ago the poster boy of - not just the Bongs - but the entire Indian diaspora - accused of leaking priviledged market sensitive information to him.

The question - obviously was - why should such a successful and respected professional like Gupta ("Ratan" - literally, meaning 'jewel'- to his friends and family ) falter thus (if true). The theory doing the rounds is - apparently, Gupta was suffering from "billionaires envy" and wanted to be in the charmed circle of Kravis (of Kohlberg, Kravis, Roberts & Co) and the likes (Read article).

Fresh from the parent's orientation at the Valley School - where we heard that, modern day life was all about "management of greed" - I was quick to pronounce it as a case of abject avarice.

But, then came the news of Dominique Strauss-Kahn - the IMF Chief, who it seems had gone a little beyond lifting the skirt of the hotel maid in his USD 3,000 suite in Manhattan. Was this also a case of 'greed' ?

Here, I had a point of difference. While the desire for money and power - can be attributed to 'greed' - sex is a matter of temptation. And, it is not just a matter of semantics, I argued (at my peril !!).

When Adam and Eve succumbed to the apple - it was not greed at work but sheer temptation. The same is true of alcohol or drugs. The temptation could lead tio craving and ultimately even to addiction - but the same can't be equated with greed.

There is another point of distinction to my mind - however, subtle. Temptation (or addiction) is the cause of undoing of the self - it seldom (at least directly) harms others. The same is not true of 'greed' , which is necessarily at the cost of others.

The owner of a publishing house I worked for, was rather tolerant of the sexual peccadiloes and drinking problem of his journalists. On being asked why - he used to say they were neither murderers nor thieves - whatever they were doing was at their own peril - so who was he to exercise his moral judgement upon what was, after all, a matter of their personal choice.

But,there is also the story of the honest prostitute who never took married clients -because she said her's was a noble profession to serve the 'needy' and not the 'greedy'.

Virgins don't (always) wear bras !!

2011-05-15T23:00:00.010+05:30

My friend an cuz-in-law Aakar calls Advani the 'worst kind of extremist' because - he lacks sense of proportion and use the extreme end of language (Read Aakar's Column in Mint) By that token - Bengalis are congenitally extremists. See the euphoria after the Trinamool victory. There were similar jubilation in 1977 - when the Left Front came back to power and again 5 years back when Buddha was annointed as the new messiah of Bengal. Why do we have to always swing between 2 extremes ? Even if the Left had to be taught a lesson - did we have to decimate them so totally ? A little moderation would have been good for everyone. Perhaps, even the CPM wouldn't have gone so much off the handle - if they had a strong opposition in the assembly. We now run the same risk with Trinamool. But, then we have never been good at treading the middle-ground.

The front page of yesterday's The Telegraph, Calcutta's (still) leading English daily - is a symbol of such kind of 'extremism'. The same newspaper group had gone ga-ga over Buddha earlier (to the extent that, people started joking that their flagship iconic publication should be re-christened "Ananda-shakti" - a la Ganashakti - the official mouthpiece of CPM) and had backed him to the hilt on the Singur and Nano. (They have a history of 'extremism' tho' - one remembers the photograph of Sanjay Gandhi vertically straddling half of the ABP's front-page during the Emergency). But, yesterday's paper took the cake. Even the mast-head was relegated to the bottom of the page. All the inside pages were separately numbered in roman numerals and captioned "Green Revolution" with the Trinamool emblem embedded in it. To me, it looked almost like a paid advertorial supplement of Trinamool. (See The Telegraph - epaper)

I couldn't resist sending in my tuppence worth of reader feedback per SMS to my Oxford educated editor friend of the paper and , taking the liberty of, also marking a copy to his boss - the Editor-in-Chief. The friend was dismissive - he wrote back "Your opinion to which you are welcome". But, his boss - who always loves a good argument - was more indulgent. He replied that - even respected UK newspapers are known to do this if the occasion so demanded. He cited 9/11 and major royal events (death of Lady Di ?) and asked me to judge the paper by it's content (as to whether it read like a 'paid supplement' ) rather than go by the looks. I tried to stump him by asking - if pushing the mast-head down to the bottom of the page didn't tantamount to violating the "virginity" of the front-page of which I have known him to be fiercely protective. He was quick to retort - "agree it should be rare and far between but virginity doesn't mean one always has to wear a bra ". Touche !!

But, what I didn't persist in asking him is - if likening Mamata's ascendancy with 9/11 and Lady Di's demise - would augur well for the state.

Like someone tweeted : Mamata is West Bengal's punishment for the sins of CPM.

(Read my earlier post on Mamata and Trinamool - apropos Singur : Nano Vision by clicking here)

Making history (the ICSE way)

2011-04-12T22:25:00.012+05:30

Jaya finished her Class 10 (ICSE) exams last month.

History is one of the subjects she disliked and certainly wasn't good at. So, she was understandably relieved at the end of the paper. She called me - palpably excited - over the phone to say "can you belive it - I'm done with history?" - I teased her, "others finish history, you sound as if you have made history".

Jokes apart, it was a bumpy ride for her. Though she enjoyed every bit her stay in Sahyadri (and is fiercely proud of her school) – academics were an uphill task for her. It wasn’t an easy call for us – there were obvious trade-offs between keeping her at home close to us and putting her in a free and nurturing environment like Sahyadri. Though she would have definitely benefitted from parental guidance, we were equally certain that the competitive pressures of a city school would have crushed her spirit.

No denying we had our moments of doubt and anxiety. But, every time we met the Principal and the teachers – we came back with the realization that, the problem lay more with us than the child. I remember – we once went to meet the young principal concerned about J’s progress (or, rather, the lack of it ) in class. We were quite flummoxed – when he asked us, if we were sure that we weren’t trying to impose our own expectations on our daughter. “Don’t you think – it’s been a great blessing that she has spent 5 very happy years of her life in this wonderful surrounding ?” – he retorted rhetorically. "Don’t tell her what she should do – just help her understand what she isn’t good at. The rest she will figure out for herself." Sound advice – we thought, as we trudged back to the school guest-house.

Now the hunt for a new school has begun – since at Sahyadri they don’t yet have a ‘Plus 2’ (Class XI and XII) section. Our impending move to Calcutta makes the situation a little more complex. Perhaps, having schooled in that city we are a bit biased. We know Jaya isn’t cut out for the top rung old favourites which are high on academics. Other than those, there are the few mass-production education factories (like my old alma-mater South Point and now also DPS) but she’ll be mince-meat in no time there. And, we are quite cynical about the new breed of the so called “international” schools – which promise to make Katrina Kaif of your daughter (through their ‘acting classes’). We have heard some ‘horror stories’ about these places. So the choice is really limited. As Jaya wants to pursue music - someone suggested Shantiniketan. But, without even visiting the place again, we know it’s a non-option. What Jaya needs is a school – that will give her the space to grow and let her progress at her own pace. Sadly, we don’t know of any such place in Calcutta.

Our first port of call was The Valley School in Bangalore – also run by the Krishnamurti Foundation. The parent teacher meeting that, preceded the interviews was itself an education for us. The Director of the school exhorted the parents – “don’t judge us by what we have achieved but by what we are attempting” and then decide if you wish to be part of this adventure. "The real challenge in this journey is not for the child – whose joyfulness we guarantee – but for the educators and the parents." This was followed by a short video of Jiddu Krishnamurti talking on education – which posed some more tough questions for us.

At the end of it – both Jaya and we were convinced that, if she has to go to a boarding it can only be at a KFI (Krishnamurti Foundation) School. One of the senior teachers on the panel quickly sized up Jaya and reading her mind - gently suggested that we shouldn't even waste our time checking out some other schools down south (run on similar lines)that we were planning to visit. That doesn’t mean Jaya will get admission automatically. Being essentially a day school, they have very few vacancies for boarders and the applicants are many. But, I guess the wait and the suspense are also part of the adventure - not just for us but also for Jaya.

We are keeping our fingers crossed !! Either way - it'll be the beginning of a new journey.

Related Blogposts: Masti Ka Pathshala and Back to School

The Kinky Mahatma and the prickly Indians

2011-04-03T14:53:00.016+05:30

We Indians are a rather prickly lot when it comes any writings on the private lives of our national icons – especially if it is by foreign authors. It is telling that, Indian writers generally steer clear of such “taboo” topics (barring a few like Sudhir Kakar) preferring not to court controversy and brick-bats. Western societies are far less touchy on such matters. You may call it chauvinistic hypocrisy or traits of a schizophrenic national character. It is common knowledge that many of our politicians lead rather colourful (nay,sleazy) lives, but our journos maintain a complicit silence over such stories – which you get to hear in the media cocktail circuit (with the rare exception of some toothless octogenerians like N. D. Tiwari and that too because the matter came into public domain due to a paternity suit filed by an alleged off-spring and his romps at the Hyderabad Raj Bhavan). JFK to Berlusconi

Yet, when it comes to salacious gossip about the sex lives of politicians of other countries – be it a Sarkozy, Berlusconi or serial scandals of British parliamentarians – we gleefully lap it all up and give them prime column space in our newspapers. Stories abound about the numerous love affairs of JFK but we get uptight at the mention of the Nehru-Edwina affair. A biography of Ambdkar that, is given a quiet burial because it mentioned his girl-friends.We fill our pages with pictures and stories of Prince William and his Kate - but never talk about our own Prince-in-waiting's Spanish girl-friend. Curiously, we apply different standards even for our neighbours in the sub-continent. After Shahbaz Bhatti – the liberal Governor of Pakistan’s Punjab province – was assassinated recently, a leading magazine carried a story about his playboy past – including details of his love child with a yesteryear diva of Indian media – now a significant other of a well-know industrialist. Perhaps, there was some professional envy at play there. So – every once in a few years when there is a new book on Gandhi that contains some references to his sexuality (something Gandhi had himself dwelt at some length in his Autobiography – My Experiments with Truth ) there is predictable public outrage followed by demand for banning of the book that finally whittles down to cynical dismissal as a cheap ‘publicity stunt’. The latest being the biography written by the Pulitzer winning former editor of New York Times – Joseph Lelyveld (Great Soul: Mahatma Gandhi and His Struggle with India). In what is by all accounts a very well researched biography – what has made head-lines are some passing quotations from letters written by Gandhi to his proclaimed “soulmate” Hermann Kallenbach, which has strong hints of his homosexual tendencies. “Your portrait (the only one) stands on my mantelpiece in my bedroom. The mantelpiece is opposite my bed…..how completely you have taken possession of my body. This is slavery with vengeance”, he wrote to Kallenbach, a wealthy bachelor of who later donated large parts of his considerable fortunes to Gandhi and remained his “follower” for life. Such is the extent of our blind worship that – we unquestioningly accept Gandhi’s somewhat specious explanation of why he chose to sleep naked with nubile young female companions. Boudi Boudoir

We are equally reticent about the love lives of our celebrities in the world of arts, film and literature. Stories abound about of the scores of muses (read, lovers) Tagore had in his long lifetime starting at a very young age with his sister-in-law (legitimizing the “boudi boudoir” tradition among Bongs) - but none of that is documented. Satyajit Ray’s affair with the heroine of some of his early masterpieces came to light after his death – when the lady in question decided to speak up. But, it was allowed to die down and we were happy to believe his wife’s version that apart from that one instance of straying (which she magnanimously condones as an error of judgement) he never looked outside of his marriage – though, some knowledgeable persons have their own casting couch theories. Sudhir Kakar, Jeffrey Kripal and some other psychologists have espoused controversial theories about Sri Ramakrishna’s sexuality, which have met with rightful condemnation from the “believers” (including yours truly).

Sex(uality) maketh a man

All this is not about vicarious voyeurism. What we fail to recognize is that, a person’s sexuality is a very important part in his evolution. You cannot fathom a great person in totality without understanding his sexuality. Though I wouldn’t go as far as saying ‘sex maketh a man’ (in more senses than one) – it certainly forms the essence of his personality. Even as Lelyveld himself argues "it is an effort of imagination that we should at least attempt" in our trying to understand what Gandhi aspired through his 'experiments'(he calls it a form of 'sexlessness' rather than bi-sexualism - or what is referred to as 'flexi-sexualism nowadays). We tend to easily deify our heroes and like to see them only in white. But, it is the shades of black and grey that truly defines them. Certainly – a Nityananda is no Gandhi – but I wonder what would have been the public reaction to similar “experiments” conducted – be it within the confines of a commune – in the this day and age - with our spycams and 'sting' operations.

Random rantings from the airport

2011-03-20T23:42:00.009+05:30

A stand-up comedian had once described landing at the IGI Airport in Delhi after an overseas trip was like returning from a honeymoon with Aishwarya Rai to find Mayawati in your bed. Now that most of the metro city airports (and even some of the mini-metro and B-town ones) have undergone a major facelift – the experience of arriving at Calcutta’s NSCB Airport is a similar anti-climax.

But, like everything else in the city what irks me is not the lack of swank, glamour or glitz – but the sheer attitude of the people. The “priority” tagged bags invariably arrive last. And, on complaining – the Baggage Services staff of even Jet Airways would plead “helplessness” – putting up a lame excuse of not being able to handle the load of more than one flight at a time. If you point out to them that, Mumbai and Delhi have a dozen flights landing together – they have the ready answer of “there they have more staff” – we are a “small airport”. You don’t have the heart to tell them that even smaller stations like Guwahati and Raipur do a far better job – because you realize that they are as frustrated as you are.

The airline loaders sit around chatting and the ground staff can’t get them to move their asses even by pleading – as they are all “unionised”.

As you leave the airport – you are greeted with the shabbiest sight – worse than any railways station and chased by ‘professional beggars’ all the way to the car. What a first impression we create for visitors to the city ? Though some may even argue that – in Bengal we don’t try to ‘window dress’ reality and give it the way it is from the word go.

Mornings are veritable nightmares – with mile long serpentine queues at security that can take anything up to an hour to negotiate. Again the excuse is too many flights and too few security channels – when the reality is that Mumbai has as many or less channels and X Ray machines with many more flights leaving at the same hour. It’s amazing how the efficiency level of the same CISF staff fall dramatically when they are posted in Calcutta.

Will Mamata Banerjee’s promised “paribartan” change any of this ? I bet not. The genetic code of Bengalis have been permanently mutated – giving rise to jokes such as the similarity between Bongs and sperms (only one in a bloody million work !!). As a race we are suffering from mass dysthymia and need compulsory universal administration of Prozac. Till then, there will be little to chose between Didi and Behenji.

The Siliguri connection

2011-03-09T00:00:00.009+05:30

Calcutta still manages to throw up a few pleasant surprises. Sealdah station was one of them. Was there last week to board the Darjeeling Mail for a team meeting at Siliguri (NJP). The new platform was so much more cleaner than Howrah. It’s far less crowded and even at the entrance one could find place for parking a car.

West Bengal is probably the only large state in the country that never had a second large urban center to boast of. Older District Towns like Burdawan, Behrampore, Malda had long passed into irrelevance. And, Bidhan Roy’s vision for creating alternate industrial centers and satellite townships (like Durgapur and Kalyani) to take the pressure off Calcutta – never fructified in the hands of successive governments.

Siliguri redeems this reputation to some extent – though’ more by default than anything else. Without any real manufacturing industry to boast of (despite the Left Front Governments half-baked attempts to create industrial zones such as Dabgram) and tea being on a decline, it has really thrived on dubious cross border trade through Bangladesh and Nepal.

But, it was nice to see some signs of economic resurgence. For a long time – The Sinclairs was the only livable hotel in town. Now, it has a smart new 4 Star – The Royal Sarovar. 2 large malls and multiplexes have come up. But, the real eye-opener was a 400 acre gated community – Uttarayan – very tastefully laid out over what once used to be a tea garden.

But, the Bagdogra airport is a shame. It’s the second of the only 2 commercial airport in the state and as the gateway to the entire North Bengal, Sikkim and Bhutan it has a sizeable traffic – a large number of them being foreign tourists. Now with the advent of the low-cost airlines – the number of flights have gone up exponentially. It has only one X-Ray Machine at the security and only 2 boarding gates. As it’s essentially a Defence Airport – commercial flights operate only around noon time – when it turns out to be a veritable mess – not entirely unexpected considering that Calcutta is only a shade better. The Dhaba kind of atmosphere and food in the airport cafeteria run by the Employees’ Co-operative (in true Marxist style) completes the picture.

The Darjeeling Mail itself was a nice experience. The AC I coach was one of the best I have traveled on - in recent times. New and well kept – the beddings were laundry fresh and the toilets in great shape. We were some 11 of us together crammed inside a 4 berth coupe – gorging on fried chilly chicken from Chung-Wah over Old Monk and Whiskey – followed by Kasha-Mangsho and Rooti.

The weather in Siliguri is still very pleasant in the evenings – slightly nippy but not sharply cold any longer. Just right for a grand meal of Chitol Maacher Peti, Mourola Maccher Chocchori, Chyapa Shutki’r bharta (sourced from a local restaurant called ‘Bong Connection’) in the open terrace - warmed up by generous doses of distilled spirits.

These are moments when you feel – life’s not so bad after all – even in an impoverished state. So you tell yourself – stop cribbing and enjoy what you have !!

Read related Blog: Gorkhaland Express (by clicking here)

Life on a rewind..

2011-03-08T22:25:00.007+05:30

Life’s on a rewind mode (the wife says - it's a 'winding down' phase). I am in the throes of moving work base to Calcutta – once again, taking up a new assignment (in Sales) within the company. Straddling between 2 charges for a while, travel has been crazy over the last 2 months and showing no signs of let up – as the demands of the job can only increase in a tough market. At 50, that’s going to be a difficult transition – but, I guess, being away for 3 years from front line action was getting a bit tiresome.

It’s no secret that none of us (me, perhaps, a little more than N & J) would like to leave Bombay – which has always been our favourite city. After 3 years of rather a pigeon-hole existence – just as we were beginning to get comfortable in our new home – when the news of this transfer came along in December. Jaya’s Class 10 (ICSE) exams are going on now. So, it won’t be before the results come out in May and we sort out her next steps – that we can physically move residence. Till then, I will have to continue the inter-city weekly commute. Having done that for long periods in the past (nearly 2 years, when I used to be with HT in Mumbai and N & J stayed back in Cal) know how stressful it can be.

But, there’s always an alternate way of looking at things - and with age one does tend to become a bit sentimental. In 2009, I was literally drafted in - out of the blue as it were - to trouble-shoot the tricky IR situation at our company’s new plant in Mejia, Bankura. This required me to camp in Calcutta for 2-3 weeks every month for the better part of the year. Looking back, I feel there could have been an underlying reason for it – as otherwise I couldn’t have spent as much time with my mother – little knowing that she would leave us so suddenly before the turn of the year.

This time around too, what I am enjoying most is the time I am getting to spend with my father – whether sharing a quiet drink in the evenings after coming home or having breakfast or dinner together. It’s amazing how – at 81, he has pulled his life together – trying to maintain his routine and keep the house just as my mother had left it. It’s touching how – he goes out of his way to make my stay comfortable taking care of every little detail – from my food to laundry and even making the bed – as if he is standing in for Amma. And, me shamelessly lapping it all up as the spoilt only child. But, it’s father-son bonding like I have never experienced in all these years. Or, may be it’s just time created for my unfinished lessons in growing up.

A season of autobiographies

2010-11-01T00:11:00.030+05:30

It’s a season of autobiographies. Some weeks back – I had written about Fali Nariman’s memoirs (read here). If that was a gem - B G Verghese’ “First Draft” (Tranquebar) is a rare treat.

Reading the lives of the “good and the great” is always inspirational. But, I find the memoirs of contemporary stalwarts no less fascinating as long as they are not just exercises in self-glorification and intellectual narcissism.

Sure, their accounts are bound to be coloured by personal bias and they would no doubt apply their own filters (or else – why would they undertake the audacious journey of writing a book if they didn’t have something of their own to say). Yet, they offer the by-stander valuable insights and perspective on people and events that has shaped some of our contemporary reality.

Besides, there is always something instructive not only in the successes and achievements, but even in the failings of people, who have lived a full life in every sense – personally and professionally.

GnT loaded Voyeurism

It’s with similar expectations, I had picked up the much-hyped autobiography of Tony Blair– but couldn’t make much headway. May be I am not so interested in modern British political history, but more likely I didn’t take to his style of writing. Even the chapter on Lady Di made tedious reading and despite my self-professed inclination for vicarious voyeurism didn’t manage to reach the part where, I believe, he admits that he was quite “an animal in bed” after downing several GnTs.

Although there are no such salacious confessions in either Nariman’s or Verghese’ book, I like them because these 2 very distinguished gentleman - both doyens in their own field have recounted their experiences spanning over 5 or 6 decades – keeping themselves firmly on the backseat. Not an easy thing to do for people who have not only been there and seen that but done pretty much everything there was to do in their chosen arena.

the many genres of illiteracy

The sheer sweep of BGV’s book, the range of his interests, the span and depth of his knowledge across subjects is truly awesome. No wonder he is concerned that, ‘…many educated middle-aged Indians, including policy makers, are astonishingly ill-informed about the context and background of seminal topics such as Kashmir…, Siachen…’. He attributes this to the absence of books on the general history of post-independence India. A void he has tried to fill in some measure in his own way.

At another place – he laments how much of our high politics is conducted “in a state of cartographic illiteracy” with even elementary geography having been devalued educationally as a discipline. He dares to say, therefore, “few of our policy makers have ever looked at a map of India and its neighbours in 60 years”.

Reading his memoir, at one level, I feel how little we have moved on certain issues as a nation over the last 60 years – Kashmir for instance. Simply, “changing the names and dates… (would make) it appear totally contemporary” – as he writes in the foreword.

The irony though is, issues which agitated our public psyche in the 60s and 70s – such as corruption in public life, professional (and intellectual) integrity of the bureaucracy and attempts towards having a ‘committed’ judiciary – all seem so passé now.

the price of feudocracy

Today – the going ‘price’ of an MLA or MP is general knowledge; that bureaucrats will be hand-maidens of their political bosses is an accepted fact and there is not even a flutter when one of the senior most and highly respected lawyer of the country hands over in an open court sealed envelope to the Chief Justice of India containing names of previous CJIs who were ‘known’ to be corrupt. It is, therefore, hardly surprising that - the rot has also insidiously crept in to our armed forces - still one of the finest and most respected in the world.

The parts of the book (other than, of course, his account of the Emergency era) – which I found particularly riveting were the chapters on his tenure as the Press Officer of Indira Gandhi during her first term as PM and, thereafter, his stint as the Editor of the Hindustan Times.

a little left of self-interest

In the 2 Chapters “Enter Mrs. G: Madam Prime Minister, Sir” and “A Mandate for Change” he provides a invaluable peek into Indira Gandhi's formative years in office and early events that shaped her attitude - deeply suspicion of her advisors - trusting only her won instincts (like Joan of Arc listen to her ‘inner voice’, which – as they said – was only “a little left of self interest”) and her family. A trait that now appears to be deeply embedded in the genetic code of the dynasty.

‘The Editor’s Den’ read with what he has written in a later chapter (‘The professor will see you now’) as a footnote serves as a capsule commentary on the gradual ascent and the quick decline of the Indian media. (Journalists as activists and propagandists, editorializing in news columns, decline of editors lack of editorial control, deals struck with business houses and political interests, the spoils being shared all along the line). While, he admits, that “there are exceptions, of course, and some of the best writing and coverage is superior to what there was earlier….But the average is sorely disappointing.”

True the age of the 'larger-than-life' Editors has been long gone (and, not just in India) I can't help recalling here the quip of a proprietor-editor, one of the last of the Mohicans. Talking of a poster-boy of the current lot of celebrity-editors - he said in his inimitable style - "the chap may have gone to Oxford, but even his best friend would not accuse him of being educated".

But, the central story, of course, is that of his historic sacking from the position of the Editor of HT. He has reproduced the correspondence exchange preceding that between him and the owner of the paper (K K Birla) and the proceedings that followed in the Press Council and the High Court. This was– perhaps – the first big ‘acid test’ of Editorial independence in Indian media (barring, probably, the lesser known episode in The Statesman relating to Pran Chopra in the 60s).

Saints, SUVs and Sweat Equity

Though not comparable either in stature or circumstances - the recent tale of a young editor (co-incidentally a product of that very same stable on KG Marg) who suffered a similar fate at a fledgling TV news channel (To read click here: My Settlement with NewsX by Avirook Sen) will make the earlier generation of proprietors look like saints. (Avirook managed to get Rs 2 crores and keep his SUV by threatening to take them to court. Then he went on a sabbaticcal to write his just published travelogue "Looking for America", Harper Collins, India)

That brings me to another little anecdote. Post the Emergency, Verghese contested the election as an independent candidate from Kerala. Funding came from ‘friends, family and those who believed in press freedom’ (which was his electoral ‘platform’). He lost despite support of the CPIM.

Though he doesn’t talk about it himself, a professional compatriot of his has written about this in his review of the book for a magazine. It seems that, after the elections there was still some money left in the kitty. Verghese returned it to all the donors in proportion to their original contributions.

Contrast this with another illustrious Malayali - of his partner’s “sweat equity” fame - who fought and won in the last parliamentary elections from the same state and it would, more or less, complete the picture of our drifting value system.

Finally, Verghese’ prescription for staying young is to be ‘active and engaged’ (he says – he has been ever more active in retirement). He advises – “eat what you will in moderation and do not exercise too much - (as even) that too is an indulgence”. Wonder what does he say to his younger son Rahul who has taken to running Marathon for a living (Virtual Marathon - click here).

3 Wise Men......

2010-08-09T17:48:00.028+05:30

A hospital – no matter how plush – is not the most exciting place to spend the better part of a week. Any amount of flirting with the docile “Mallu” nurses (no offence meant – some of my best women friends have been from that southern-most region of our land) or the pretty dietician can uplift the spirit.

But, it isn't so much the after-effects of my tryst with a female of the wrong species (‘Aedes’ as distinct from ‘Anopheles’ – yes, I am down with Dengue and not Malaria !!), what I am forced to watch on prime time television every single day that's making me depressed.

…. a virgin ??

There is an unkind joke about why Christmas is not such a popular festival in Delhi. That’s because, it is difficult to find 3 wise men and a virgin in the capital city. While I have no authority to comment on the latter (tho’ not too long ago Matrimonial Columns - of what was then proudly proclaimed as Delhi’s “Best Punjabi Newspaper in English” - used to be replete with ads of “5 figure earning businessman looking for a beautiful virgin”), watching the debates on TV I would tend to believe the former. It is always the same set of the – so called – commentators, party “spokespersons”, self-styled citizens champions and an ubiquitous ‘ad-man’ who hop from channel to channel holding forth on issues as diverse as Kashmir, corruption, Rail accident, the Maoist menace, cricket, floods, rail accidents and even gay rights. If that is an index of the collective intellectual capital of the country – then God save us all.

What’s irking me the most is, people who I would like to hear most on these subject – the Prime Minister being foremost among them - are maintaining a deafening silence. The Congress spokesperson tried to justify his reticence the other day saying – if he is not making statements in public doesn’t mean he is not talking through other channels. I cannot think of an Obama, Cameron or even the otherwise flippant Sarkozy keeping mum if a crisis like Kashmir or a CWG scam were to happen in their countries. While the latter would have certainly invited the proverbial ‘kick-ass’ response, they’d be taken to the cleaners by the media and the public - with their popularity ratings plummeting - if they didn’t voice their concerns, tried to reach out to the affected people and assure the country at large about effective steps being put in place to tackle the situation.

Karan Thapar has written a beautiful piece in last Sunday’s HT – Silent Shame in which he makes this point rather tellingly thru the voice of his pet dog Pertie (to read click here)

when silence tells a thousand words

This policy of studied silence reminds me of what used to be said about Narasimha Rao’s : “No decision is also a decision”. Tho' it's co-incidental that MMS was his Finance Minister - the similarities don’t end there. By all accounts, corruption has acquired epic proportions under the UPA as it had in the Narasimha Rao regime which was largely considered to be the first era of reforms. To me having a squeaky clean PM (who would make the legendary wife of Caesar blush by his high standards of integrity) is of little value if under his watch we have purveyors of large-scale corruption.

Political scientists teach us that, good governance and good politics are not necessarily peas of the same pod. It may be argued that, corruption is only a topic of cocktail conversation for the urban elite and the masses couldn’t care less about it. The same, I am afraid, can’t hold true for price rise and development. It’s all very well for the Finance Minister to justify Inflation on the back of Economic Growth in his Parliament speech and the same to be parroted ad-nauseam by his less fecund junior colleagues in the party seeking their 2 minutes of limelight on national television.

There is a rather cynical school of thought that, the government can afford to be blasé because there are no major elections in sight. If that were so, then it is indeed a sad commentary on our national leadership. But, somehow – in my layman’s view (literally, lying in the hospital bed), I don’t think this going to cut ice for much longer even with their “aam-admi” vote-bank. There may be a silent momentum gathering - that is not yet visible to the untrained commoners’ eye. It is only a matter of time before this seething anger boils over as a groundswell of public opinion. That’s when, they too will have to start seriously worrying about corruption and price rise.

If the glaring disparity between Hyderabad and the rest of Andhra could be the cause of undoing of the Chandrababu Naidu government – the sharp contrast of Delhi (both pre and post CWG) with the rest of the country ( including even the other metro-cities with their crumbling civic infra-structure ) could raise similar issues of lop-sided development at a national level with certain regions developing at the (perceived) expense of others.

the "Price" of National Pride

I am not a Leftist in either thought or temperament. But, I do feel that, had the money being spent on the Commonwealth Games (Rs 50,000 – 80,000 crores – USD 10-15 billion going by various estimates) in the name of buying “National Pride” been spent on development of regions like Dantewada and Bastar, we would have been closer to solving the Maoist problem and that would have contributed much more to reinforcing our ‘national pride’ than any number of CWGs and Asian Games can do.

Overall, we are in for tough times ahead – double-digit growth projections notwithstanding.

In my mind, I have no doubt that this government too wants to tackle price rise, corruption, insurgency and even Kashmir. But the question is do they know and, more importantly, have the will to do what it takes ?

Foot-notes:

1)The visuals coming in from Leh shows foreign tourists joining the armed forces in rescue operations. Wonder whether there were also some Indian tourists among them or were they all queuing up at airport for the first available flight.

2) A few days ago I surprised to see in front-page of The Economic Times photographs of the former MOS of External Affairs and his wife-in-waiting at a private dinner event and wondered about its relevance to the readers of a financial newspaper. For the last 2 days I find - all leading TV channels beaming footages of the same couple’s pre-nuptial visit to the Ajmer Sharif. Obviously, I have got my news-sense all screwed up.

Salt and Pepper

2010-07-30T11:51:00.039+05:30

Took in 2 good movies last weekend – one a breathless entertainer and the other a mellow reflective romantic drama. The first was the over-hyped – Angelina Jolie’s thriller - S.A.L.T . It was so fast paced that it didn’t allow any time to think or question the sheer absurdity of the script. The original screenplay, I believe, was written for Tom Cruise and had to undergo a sex reversal of sorts when he turned it down and Jolie stepped into the role. I must admit it was much more fun watching Angelina perform the high voltage stunts and (even though the sex sequences - as shown on the TV clips - had been censored) her feminine vulnerability succeeds in arousing the audience's adrenalin (and related hormones) more than a cold-as-steel Cruise could possibly have.

And some pepper ......

(Penelope Cruz in a scene from the film)

old age is not for sissies

The second movie, which I downloaded from the net, was more up my street – Elegy starring Ben Kingsley and Penelope Cruz (click here for synopsis and previews). In a screen adaptation of the Phillip Roth novel – The Dying Animal, Kingsley plays David Kepesh a charismatic author and professor who serially bedded the best looking student of his class (taking care to skirt the sexual harassment code of the college by waiting till they get their grades). “When you make love to a woman you get revenge for all the things that defeated you in life” says Kepesh. He finally meets his nemesis – when he gets into a erotic entanglement with the stunningly beautiful Cuban co-ed - 30 years his younger – Consuella Castilo

Not quite in the league of Brando’s – The Last Tango, Kingsley is brilliant as the ageing academic who is trying to come to terms with the existential enigma of growing old vs growing up – something I had touched upon in my earlier blog Midlife Delinquencies (click here to read). The subject of an older man having an affair with a woman much younger to him has been beaten to death in literature and the movies. But, this one treats a serious subject without making it heavy - made possible by a very intelligent screenplay and superbly calibrated acting by all the lead characters. The film is full of some profound dialogue - gain delivered very lightly. For eg - Kepesh says : "Beautiful women are invisible because we get so dazzled by the outside we fail to look inside."

Standing by the window watching the rain, he talks to himself - “Old age sneaks up on you, and the next thing you know you're asking yourself, I'm asking myself, why can't an old man act his real age? How is it possible for me to still be involved in the carnal aspects of the human comedy? Because, in my head, nothing has changed”

The sexual chemistry between Kingsley and Cruz palpably pierces through the screen. But, this PC (unlike another I was briefly obsessed with sometime ago !!) is something else. To call her ravishing or just hauntingly beautiful would be an understatement – sans her clothes she is like a Goddess – worthy of worship as her on-screen predator honestly admits (see clip).

After all, as Kepesh paraphrases Betty Davies, “old age is not for sissies”.

another kind of BIMARU

Reading the memoirs of Ashish Bose – Headcount. Bose is a pioneer of demographic studies in India and is credited with the coinage of the term – BIMARU states (referring to the population issues of Bihar, Madhya Pradesh, Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh) and other theories such as “linguistic displacement” in states like Assam post-independence.

Though, by his own admission, Bose has at times got valuable insights from ordinary people such as his “maalishwala” – he is undoubtedly a man of great erudition, who has also led a full life beyond academia. But, the book is poorly written and badly edited (surprising for a Penguin title). Coming right after Fali Nariman’s autobiography it makes a disappointing read (especially his rather simplistic account of the Emergency and mild fawning of the Nehru-Gandhi clan).

A mentors' mentor

2010-07-26T12:17:00.017+05:30

I didn’t know Tarun Sheth, former Head of Management Development of Hindustan Lever – later mentor at the HR Consulting and Search firm, Shilputsi – that his wife founded and run for the most part by his 2 very talented daughters – Shipa and, later – only, Purvi, too well. I was traveling in the hills of Kumaon last week and missed the news of his death in the papers. I came to learn about it from the email of an old colleague and at once knew that I wanted to attend his memorial service on my return to Mumbai.

the missing "merchants"

So, I went to the Indian Merchants’ Chamber Hall at Churchgate on Thursday evening. It wasn’t a very large gathering. I thought that most people who had come were there not merely to mark attendance. – but, because, they genuinely felt that Tarun had touched their lives meaningfully at some point in their careers. And, this was not limited just to the old Levers fraternity. Apart from family, friends and old neighbours there were few elder IIM – A alumni (he taught there before joining HLL) and some senior corporate professionals whom he would have befriended during his Shilputsi years. The current top-brass of “HUL” were conspicuous by their absence except for Harish Manwani and Shreejit Mishra whom I could spot. But, coming to think of it – Tarun had retired in 1987 and most of today’s stars weren’t – so to speak – even “born” then.

The function itself was understated and dignified in keeping with the personality of the man who was being remembered. A small bunch of people spoke – 6 to be precise including his daughter -Atsi and Ashok Vasudevan who sent a very touching voice-recorded tribute from the US.

the amraas guru

The remembrances marked the measure of the man that visibly resonated with the audience. As in modern high rises, low-ceilings being the order of the new corporate architecture - It’s not just they don’t have room in organizations for professionals as tall – but, as RG (an old friend and associate) wrote in his piece in ET (click here to read) he was a rare HR practitioner with a “humane” side (an oxymoron as it may sound to be).

I didn’t spend much time in Lever House between 1983 (when I joined HLL) and 1987 (when Tarun left) – so didn’t get the opportunity to know him very closely. I have a rather sepia tinted recollection of him in his corner room on 2nd Floor West Wing (which was later appropriated by Amy Kharas and successive Heads of Administration) – that was like an in-house shrink’s cabin of sorts before it was turned into a police station interrogation room in times to come.

{I didn't have the privilege of being invited for any of his fabled "Amraas" parties and, so, had no idea of his legendary capacity for mangoes (believe he could down 25 katoris in a single sitting !!). I do remember a funny incident though, when a new recruit – taking his offer to help him “settle in” too literally – went to him for getting a gas connection that rattled even his most unflappable self.}

I was there at the condolence meeting because, for me Tarun embodied much of the values that, the old HLL – that youngsters joined with stars in their eyes - stood for. If today, Lever can boast of the maximum number of CXOs to have come out of its stable spreading across industries in India and, now, even overseas– a large chunk of the credit must go to the likes of the Sheth - for laying the foundations of the HR system which withstood the ravages of time till the 'age of deconstruction' began.

In a way – therefore - I felt, I was representing in a small way many old compatriots - whose careers he had helped to shape - who wanted to be there but couldn't make it - either because of distance or some other reason.

Midlife Delinquency

2010-07-11T15:13:00.032+05:30

As threads of gray begin to show on my pate, those who have always believed that I colour my hair think that I’m making an age appropriate – albeit long over-due - correction as I approach 50. Others who know that I have been genetically gifted in this respect (my father who’ll turn 80 this year – has never used hair-dye – still retains generous tracts of black hair) attribute it to the stresses and strains of the last few years.

Though medical evidence would indicate that, the biological clock keeps ticking away non-stop, I believe – mentally – we age at discrete intervals rather than in a continuum. These step changes occur with important turns and events in our lives. Till then we continue to ignore many telltale external signs even if they are staring us in the face. We take time to reset our internal 'stop watch' until something life-changing happen to us.

This timing gap is – I guess – what people refer to as growing old (ageing) and growing up. The first is physiological and the other psychological. The variance between the 2 often manifests in people stretching themselves beyond their physical or mental capacity – with not-so-happy consequences. Sometimes – the effect of such excesses are only evident with a time lag – but it takes its toll for sure on the mind and / or the body - whether in the short or the long run. What was ok in the 30s and early 40s may not be what we are capable of taking in our late 40s or 50s. Personally, I am skeptical of statements such as – “you are as old as you feel”. That, to me is very often a recipe - if not for disaster, certainly - for major missteps and faltering, arising out of what psychologists call “mid-life delinquency”.

Coloured Linen Bush-shirt Syndrome

Sometime psychological changes set in sub-consciously but we don’t realize it. I remember my mother making fun seeing me in a pastel peach linen bush-shirt – a few years back – saying “Sandip is now beginning to show his age” (she knew I didn’t like to wear bright colours in my younger days – and she herself thought older men wear shocking shades in a mode of self-denial of their age).

Therefore, attempts at altering appearance may not be so misplaced or ill advised after all. It could, in fact be a tacit but reassuring recognition of the inevitable. Though, personally, I will never be apologetic about wearing colourful shirts, at the same time I will not be converted to a customer of L’ Oreal (or for that matter – good ol’ Godrej) hair colour products.

So, have I changed standing at the threshold of 50? Surely, I must have with so much that has changed around me. Some changes are for others to see and there are parts that only I know of.

There is a saying among the Bengalis that, the “Goylas” (or “go-walas”, i.e. milkmen - as the Ghoses are jokingly referred to) attain wisdom only after 40. Staying true to this adage – I admit – I took my own time in growing up and needed a few hard knocks and rough brushes from life to get me going.

Turbulent thirties and flourishing forties

Though my thirties may have been a little turbulent, the forties were far from flourishing (check out Gail Sheehy's Men's Passages). Life didn’t go quite as per the script, I had chosen for myself. That has made me somewhat inward looking - which friends interpret as turning ‘anti-social’ and a sure prescription for depression. Another sign of age is, perhaps, a throwback to the past - memories that were long lost (“things that I had forgotten, I had forgotten”) – suddenly coming up to the surface. With the ‘mortality markers’ (BP, Cholesterol, Blood Sugar) moving up - and some friends prematurely dropping off the map - death seems to be at shake-hand length.

Keeping God at arm's length

Yet, in what might seem like an odd contradiction, I sense a slight distancing from the concept of “God”. Never overly or overtly religious – my visits to temples or places of worship have reduced significantly. It’s been a long time since I caught myself either praying or meditating (which could also be a function of my fragmented state of mind). Though I wouldn’t call it a loss of faith – I feel the relationship is becoming more collegial.

That’s why – I have always been attracted to someone like Sri Ramakrishna – with whom you could relate more as family rather than a guru (Vivekananda – is a bit a bit intimidating with his intellect and force of character and someone like Jiddu Krishnamurty and Aurobindo intellectually inaccessible) – and, of late, I have taken a liking for the Dalai Lama – who wears “His Holiness” so lightly.

Last week, I saw the Dalai Lama’s interview (click here to see video)by Barkha Dutt on the occasion of his 75th Birthday aired on NDTV. Don’t think there was anything new in her questions or his answers. But, with his infectious laughter and child-like simplicity - he created subtle waves of endearing energy that could be transmitted even across an electronic medium.

From the edge of a cliff

But, dammit – this was not meant to be a confessional piece. Perched on the edge of a cliff – as I look at the mist and low hanging clouds shrouding the view of the valley below, I have come to admire 2 kinds of people over the years. First are the ones who have learnt to re-invent themselves and re-channel their energies into creating something new. I have seen quite a few of them from close quarters. To do justice to them – would require more than a few lines. They each deserve at least a short blog of their own.

The second are people who have lived their life to the full – despite all their faults and frailties. That’s why I am enjoying so much reading the just published autobiography of Fali Nariman – Before Memory Fades (Hay House). It’s wonderful to know that, even at 81 – the prospects and thrills of winning a difficult case still turn on the wily old lawyer. ‘The race is over, but the work is never done while the power to work remains’ – he writes quoting Oliver Wendell Holmes, JR.

( PS: I will come back to my take on the Maoists in a later post - hopefully soon)

Infantile Disorder

2010-05-31T00:38:00.025+05:30

Growing up in Calcutta of the late 60s and early 70s we were taught ‘Naxalism’ is a bad word. In the early or middle years of school – we were in no position to comprehend the ideological import of the “movement”. As children all that we heard or saw were bombs, killings, curfews and ubiquitous armed CRPF jawans everywhere - including in temple precincts.

For the petty bourgeoisie (“bhadrolok”) Bengali – whose 3 basic pillars of life were – Mohun Bagan, Congress and Calcutta Club - anything “left” of center was politically incorrect.

I remember the mildly disparaging comments that people of my Dad’s generation would pass about the children of friends and relatives – studying at the Presidency College or doing their Masters at the Calcutta University – who displayed the slightest leftist streak – labeling them at once as “Naxals” (“Oor cheley /meye toh Naxal korey”).

A sinister tag was attached to the names of Naxal leaders like Charu Mazumdar and Kanu Sanyal - tho’ the same Bengal had produced many an armed revolutionary during the freedom struggle who are still deified by the people. When an ailing Charu Mazumdar was brought to the PG hospital for treatment under police custody – there was a quiet jubilation at the “people’s enemy” having finally been captured.

Kanu Sanyal (who recently committed suicide)’s sister – Sumita - used to play supporting roles in Bengali movies (she had also acted in a few Hindi movies like Hrishikesh Mukherjee's 'Anand' and 'Aashirwad'). Barely coming of age, we found it difficult to believe how could the brother of such a comely woman be a “criminal”.

There was another reason for us to think the way we did was probably because, there wasn’t a family in Calcutta who hadn’t lost someone to the “movement” in those years – whether as victims of the Naxals or at the other end of the gun to “police encounters”. (Tho’ I am told the original Naxals thought it infra-dig to use “bullets” against their enemies. Stabbing a victim apparently expresses class hatred better. My mother’s uncle was killed with a sickle – near their village home in Chinsurah on a fateful Saraswati Puja eve in 1971).

Movies like Tapan Sinha’s Apanjan tried to capture the mood of the times. But, perhaps the most authentic account of the period is contained in Sunil Ganguly’s modern day epic novel “Purbo-Paschim”.

Much later, I had a closer brush with the Maoists in Nepal. To me it was a natural progression of the many waves of back-lash against years of misrule by Royalty and their elite coterie in Kathmandu. But like all other ‘revolutions’ before it – notably the watershed of circa 1990-91, that established the Westminster form of “democracy” reducing the Monarchy to a “constitutional” form – this one, which was to make Nepal a “Republic”, fast lost its sheen of idealism the closer they came to power.

Around this time last year – the West Bengal State General Secretary of the CPIM – whom I had met in some other connection – taught me the term “Infantile Disorder” an expression coined by Lenin to explain left wing extremism that has now become common parlance in Debates on Maoist insurgency now heard ad nauseam on Television.

(Note: Just to make things abundantly clear, Biman Bose' reference was to the neo-Maoists and not their principal political opponent in the State)

to be continued…

The 'GhoseSpot' turns 100

2010-05-18T01:38:00.023+05:30

It’s the first ‘century’ of my life. This is the 100th post on “The GhoseSpot”. I never fail to mention to those who enquire – with a degree of immodesty that comes naturally to me – that, I have been blogging since 2001. Much before most people had heard of the term.

Bloggers' Block and Testosterone Bosses

100 posts in 9 years is not exactly a Tendulkar-esque feat, I admit. (actually, the count is 102; I took off 2 pieces I had written on Kashmir – at the prodding of the wife - because they were attracting too much attention from, shall we say, – slightly disconcerting quarters of the world ). But then, I had gone into a lengthy sabbatical in between. Co-incidentally – that was also the period when I was working with the media. I have often wondered what could have been the cause of my “bloggers’ block” during those years - but haven’t been able to arrive at a clear answer. Not sure – if I was overly self-conscious being surrounded by journalists and professional writers or was it simply a passing phase. Probably it had something to do – as is very often the case – with my underlying emotional state, arising from the deep professional discontent I was nurturing at that time in a highly politicized and toxic work place (presided over by a testosterone driven boss).

Why do I blog ?

At some point - every blogger comes face-to-face with the inevitable question - “Why do I blog ?” ( I think this comes more naturally than – what should have been asked in the first place – “Why should I blog ?” ). Exactly 2 years ago, I had put up a beautifully written piece from the New York Times: Exposed – Why People Blog ( Click here to read), which says it all and more.

I am reminded of an anecdote narrated by the celebrated Bengali author – Samaresh Basu once on TV. He was asked by Leela Roy ( the Indianised-American wife of Annada Shankar Roy) - “Samaresh, tumi keno lekho (why do you write) ?” He replied, “Ami likhi manush-ke jaanbar janye” (through my writings, I come to understand people)”. To which Leela Roy asked him in turn – “Keno, nijeke jaanbar janye noy” ( Why, don’t you write to know yourself ? ). This is a conversation that still resonates with me.

The Ghoses of Kats

What I started in 2001 as a somewhat light hearted social diary of our hugely memorable days in Kathmandu ( I called it “The Ghoses of Kats” then ) has over time – become more of a personal journal. The style and tone of the writings have also evolved with age - I guess. Though I don’t often go back to reading the old posts – I am sure if I did they would trace - my own inner journey through – what has certainly been for me - a mellowing 40s.

Many friends who chance upon the Blog or stray into The GhoseSpot while trawling the net have remarked that, the earlier posts were much more carefree and spontaneous – with a pace and cadence of their own. They say, in contrast the later writings appear somewhat stilted and guarded – holding back more than they reveal. They also disapprove of my self-deprecating tone and the strenuous attempts at being unnecessarily risque. They are probably too polite and gentle to use words like “fake” or "affected" - but what they probably mean - in short - is that the pieces lack intimacy and, therefore, fail to connect. But again, that too can just be a reflection of my current existence – when the best that I can possibly do is drift with the tide.

There is no denying that all writers – bloggers included - have a narcissist under their skin. Otherwise, how can they be presumptuous enough to put their work up in the public domain – no matter how mediocre – thinking that it would be of interest to others. I too will be less than honest – if I were to say that I don’t derive my own little highs counting the number of hits the site gets. And, it does feel good every time someone takes note of a posting or acknowledge that they have been reading the blog – even if occasionally.

It's my trash

Sometimes critiques and criticisms can also flatter the ego. One regular follower (whose comments I routinely expunge) keeps urging me to take on an editor - assiduously listing all the syntax and spelling errors on every post. Once at the IIC Bar, a journalist friend of mine charged me point blank on my face – in her lolly Mallu accent – "why do you inflict such terrible stuff on your unsuspecting friends ? Please kill it (the blog) immediately - as soon as you can get to a computer", she admonished. I retorted in the same vein (emboldened – no doubt - by the alcohol) – “I write not for others but more myself”. Later, after many days, I was mightily tickled – when she mentioned one of my posts in passing – revealing that she had not stopped reading the blog after all - despite the revulsion she felt towards my literary atrocities. That's what good friends are for !!

Others have complained that, my posts are too long and make tedious reading. I have thought of reducing the lengths –if only in the interest of my own time. Very often – I don’t get to write for days – when thoughts just come and go. Shorter pieces would allow me to post more regularly – but I am not sure if that would be more soul satisfying.

The Blog is not just a 'release' for me - as some friendly readers tend to think. It's become a little retreat where I can run to whenever I need a break. Not a room where I shut myself out from the world, but a room where I can sit and enjoy a drink with close friends or simply put my feet up and gaze at the sky. The Blog has helped me retain my sanity through some very trying periods of mid-life and mid-career crises - holding the body and soul together (in more senses than one !!).

At times, I do wish that I could get more deeply personal in the blog. But, there’s only thus far one can go in public view living within the confines of work and family. And, who knows – may be my story is buried under this heap of 100 – only to be unearthed at a moment when I am least expecting it to show up.

So till then, I shall continue to write for myself – in the hope that, I will find my own voice someday. So what if it’s trash. It is my trash.

The Loss of Innocence

2010-05-09T23:42:00.031+05:30

This afternoon, I finally ended my extended affair with Fusun. It was an all-consuming experience lasting over several weeks. At the end of it, I am left drained and exhausted with satiety.

For those of you – who haven’t yet read Orhan Pamuk’s “The Museum of Innocence” (click here to read excerpts)– she is the heroine of the book and the subject of a tragic and obsessive love of the narrator, Kemal Basmaci – a rich Istanbulli playboy.

I discovered Pamuk a few years back with his – “Snow” – another riveting and haunting novel - which, I think, has been his most powerful book before this. As I don’t much care for historical novels – therefore, “My Name is Red”, for which he got the Nobel, didn’t quite appeal to me – though by all accounts it’s a masterpiece.

I think it was Kingsley Amis who said, writing is the ultimate form of telepathy. Through books thoughts are transmitted over time and space – and the author enters the reader’s mind. The Museum of Innocence is that kind of a book. It is almost maddening in its minutiae. He does not just invade your head but possesses it. Time and again thru’ its 532 pages, I have wondered if he’ll be able to pull it off – only to be surprised at being drawn inexorably to the next chapter as if in an hypnotic trance.

It is tantalizing in its Hemingwayesque simplicity of narration. There is a hallucinatory quality about the love story of Fusun and Kemal, painted against a rich backdrop of upper-class Istanbul society in the cusp of modernity (".... poised uncomfortably between modern and traditional attitudes to love and sex, with eros half out of his cage, but honour and shame still coordinating the perception of private conduct" as one critic puts it so beautifully. Inncocence, obviously, refers to virginity: "Kemal is happily engaged to Sibel .......who as he puts it – 'given me her virginity',...... and before long Fusun too has 'deliberately elected to give her virginity'.... and she vows not to sleep with another man - the deflowering is ominously juxtaposed with images of the Feast of the Sacrifice, with lambs being butchered on every corner of Istanbul" - James Lasdun, in The Guardian)

For me, the description of Istanbul in 70s and early 80s is not very unlike the Calcutta we grew up in - give or take a few years either way. Fusun’s family gathered around the television is so reminiscent of the good ol’ Doordarshan days. The art film scene of Istanbul could easily be compared with vintage Tollygunj of the same period. At some point, Kemal makes a remark : I had forgotten what I had forgotten (or something close to that effect). I was overcome by a similar feeling a few months back, when – following my Mother’s death – I was in Calcutta for one of the longest period of time in recent years. Chatting with visitors – friends and relatives – who were dropping by brought back a stream of memories (of people, objects and places) that I thought had had long ago slipped away from my cumulative consciousness.

Great literature – they say – teach us something about ourselves. Reading ‘The Museum of Innocence’ we recognize the shades of Kemal (or for that matter Sibel or Fusun ) in us. And like him, we too have nuggets of trivia and trinkets stacked in the attics of our brain – our own little Museums of Innocence.

"I would hate for it to be called a love story," said Pamuk in an interview. "The book is an exploration of how life treats us, how people, circumstances and geography — the chemistry of streets in Istanbul, for instance — change, and we mortals are left helpless as things go beyond our control."

Going by the graphic story-telling, it would be natural to surmise that, at least in parts, it is an autobiographical novel. Answering this - by now what has become a routine question for him at all Book Reading Sessions, Pamuk teases : “ Kemal is not Orhan, but then I can’t convince you that Orhan is not Kemal... (tho') the only similarity between them is that both "were having a good life in a poor country"( so true for the India you and I live in too). The challenge for a writer, we know, is to keep the reader guessing as to what is fiction, what is reality. That is the master novelist for you.

I am sure that, thanks to the publicity he got for the new woman in his life, Kiran Desai - there age difference - 57 & 38 - almost the same as that of Kemal and Fusun (click here). ‘The Museum of Innocence’ will out-sell all his previous books in India. Probably realizing that (or the influence of his girl friend) , Pamuk throws a generous smattering of India in to his book – such as the Tagore Museum in Calcutta or the Halal restaurant in Delhi. But, one thing’s for sure – after this Turkey will feature high on my list of places I want to travel to (just as, I belive, Goa has suddenly become popular with Turkish tourists after Orhan and Kiran have dropped anchor there to work on their respective new projects). May be I’ll go there in time for the opening of the Pamuk Museum

Read my takes on Amitava Ghosh' - The Sea of Poppies at "In bed with Ghosh" and "Sailing with Priyanka on the Ibis". Also Kunal Basu's - The Japanese Wife at Lady Canning Lives in Japan

muk Museum.

Gastro-sexual Escapades

2010-04-03T21:32:00.037+05:30

My mother wasn’t a great cook – but a competent one. Like other things in life her “practical” nature extended to the kitchen as well. On the other hand, her mother - my Didi-ma - was almost a gourmet chef. This was remarkable because, she became a widow in her early 30s and didn’t have meat, fish or any form of non-vegetarian food the rest of her life. Yet, she would churn out the most amazing specialty European and Bengali fare with effortless ease. (one of her best was Smoked Hilsa – deboned and cooked on a bed of ‘mudki’ spread over charcoal) But, this was true of many Bengali ladies of that era with a western upbringing and, in her case, she came from an hotelier family where she could hone her culinary skills under the tutelage of the ‘Khansamas’.

the simple and ( a wee-bit) sexy

Coming back to my mother, she never spent too much time in the kitchen. On most days – her cooking would be over by 9 in the morning at the latest. One of her favourite pastime – though - was watching cookery shows on TV. My father tells me she has left behind several note books full of recipes – which we would have to discover and explore someday. However, she did like to experiment in the kitchen. In trying out new recipes – she didn’t strive for perfection or go looking for exotic ingredients. She would improvise mostly with whatever was available at home – only sometimes getting some special condiments or fresh herbs from her occasional trips to Calcutta’s New Market. The results were often mixed – but interesting enough for friends and relatives, who – though not exactly connoisseurs - loved the “nouvelle” touch in the dishes that were rather low on spices and oil for the Bengali palate. It was the kind of cooking her favourite niece calls a "Flash in the Pan” in her recently published cookbook of the same name.

...and, meals of substance

Parties were not the order of the day then - but, we had a couple of large feasts in a year. One such ‘big do’ would be post Kali – Puja or Diwali – when she invited her large band of cousins for “Bhai-Phonta”. On these occasions, we called in a professional cook. There was a ‘Mogh’ colony next to Lotus Cinema on Surendra Nath Banerjee Road in Taltala. The Moghs were of Burmese-Buddhist origin from the Cox Bazar region of Bangladesh. They had the generic title of ‘Baruah’ and worked down generations as Bawarchis in the “Box Wallah” companies. There was a Mogh Chef in my Dad’s office. He would moonlight on his off days and come to our house. He was a mean cook. The menu would be simple but substantial. Roast of small spring chickens, mutton collar, fish kebabs or biriyani – rounded off with a mouth watering trifle or bread pudding.

the Sky(room) was the limit

Eating out was not so big with us, as - I guess – it wasn’t in most traditional families. We would look forward to a Chinese meal at “The Waldorf” on Park Street – every time my uncle from Allahabad visited (Crab-meat Asparagus Soup, Sweet and Sour Vegetables, Mandarin Fish and Soya Chilli Chicken) or North-Indian / Punjabi at Ambers or Kwality’s (Chicken Bharta and Mutton Burra kebabs) on someone’s Wedding Anniversary or Birthday. The high point, of course, was Sky Room ( Blue-Fox and Moulin Rouge was out of bounds for the children as those were Cabaret joints) with its Chicken Tetrazinni and Zuccotto cake for dessert. Other than that, it was mainly club food at the CSC – Chow mien, Thukpa or Momos after a swim and the odd Continental Dinner of Chicken Ala-Kiev or Fish Meuniere . Junk food was restricted to the rare binge on Phuckas at Dhakuria Lakes (Southern Avenue) – later Bhel-Puri or Pav Bhaji at Victoria before the ubiquitous Kathi Roll descended onto the streets of Calcutta from Nizam’s on Hogg Street (behind New Market – near Minerva Cinema and Kolkata Municipal Corporation Head-quarters) via Karco and Badshah in the same area.

the price of hunger

It’s no surprise therefore that my culinary sensibilities were honed from these early experiences and memories that still linger on my taste buds. A new journey began when I left home to start my work career. The first realization was – every time you felt hungry it cost you money. The days in “Hotel de Papa” – as the Bengalis would joke – were over for good. You had to pay for food. The second realization to follow soon was – the homely Daal tasted much better than the priciest item on the menu of the fanciest restaurant. Add to that the home-style Mutton or Chicken Curry and it was bliss. Even the humble fish that one had looked down upon all through childhood was like a piece of home.

gastro-sexual concepts

But, it was not every day, or every week for that matter, that one would find the kind Samaritan calling you over home for a meal with the family. That’s when my courtship with the pots and pans started. It was a pre-marital affair that turned out to be a bigamous relationship almost from the very start with the wife arriving on the scene in close succession. But, the good part was that - we were both equal novices in the kitchen. So, the conjugal arena soon shifted to the open kitchen in our 3rd floor terrace flat on Prabhat Road 5th Lane in Pune and we took to the pitch with shared enthusiasm - she armed with her mother’s copiously compiled recipes and me with the Leela Majumdar primer “Ranna’r Boi” - later graduating to the Calcutta Cookbook. That was before the advent of the internet.

Over the years , of course – as one would expect – Nina has overtaken me by miles, like so many other aspects of life, and I have turned into a consummate ‘concept cook’ – that is I provide the concept and someone else cooks. But, in this of age “gastro-sexual” males my repertoire remains functional rather than fancy, earthy not esoteric - refined even if they not very evolved, which I believe is just age-appropriate.

(amma's photo and food shots courtesy - Joyeeta Ghose)

For a change

2010-03-14T18:42:00.031+05:30

The Bengalis called it “change” for short – meaning a change of weather and place. They’d say - “change e jacchi” – literally, going for a change (sic) - “Ektu jal, hawaa badal korey aashi”. So, in winters they’d move base to what was colloquially referred to as the “West” (Paschim) – small towns of Bihar (now Jharkahnd) - Deoghar, Madhupur, Hazaribagh, Ranchi – sometime even as far as Banaras. In summers – it would be to the sea-side of Puri or Gopalpur (Ganjam, Orissa) or to the hills in Darjeeling and Kalimpong. It was bit like the old colonial concept of shifting capital for summers or winters – or the European custom of heading out to the Riviera or the Alps. The self styled “aristocrats” had their summer or winter homes at those places. Others would rent a house or have long-stay arrangements at hotels ( the more “well-to-do” in places like the BNR in Puri or The Windamere in Darjeeling). Though we were nowhere as privileged – going on long vacations was still very much the norm even in ordinary middle-class homes.

So, I don’t remember ever going on a holiday that was less than - at least - a fortnight (something we can't even imagine in today's work-life)। Usually – my father would take leave in the period intervening between Durga Puja and Kali-Puja (Diwali). Quite often, we would travel to Allahabad – where my mother’s younger sister and her favourite cousin lived – and from there head-out in a larger group in another direction. Thus, we toured the Kumaon Hill circuit of Nainital-Ranikhet-Almora, the golden triangle of Agra-Jaipur-Delhi and, on another occasion, parts of Madhya Pradesh covering Khajuraho-Jabalpore.

These were not very organized or planned trips। Travelling in 2 or 3 jalopie-loads (squeezing in 6, sometimes 7 or 8 including children into the old Ambassadors and land-masters), it was like picnic on the road with its fair share of misadventures. Practically every second night we would have to find a new place to camp or pitch a virtual tent at a Circuit Houses, Forest / Dak Bunglows, PWD Rest-houses or the Guest House of a Government Undertaking – greasing the palms of the chowkidar or seeking the benefaction of the junior local officials – or at times make way into the Holiday Home of a company. Sometimes, we were lucky to be able to make use the house of someone distantly known through a relative or friend.

Deem-er Dalna and Dak Banglow Chicken Curry

Rarely did we have a cook accompanying us – so it was usually the women who had to swing into action no sooner had the luggage been dumped into the rooms. While the rice and dal (part of the dry ration and provisions that were carried) was put to boil – couple of the men would scurry to the market for vegetables (and, on a good day, country chicken - otherwise it was mostly eggs for “deem-er dalna” click here for recipe) and their evening’s quota of whiskey (Aristocrat and Black Knight being the preferred brands of those days) . Breakfast would almost always be of bread, boiled eggs and the mandatory banana for the kids. Lunch on the road would naturally have to be in Dhabas – but in towns we would get to ‘splurge’ at a ‘family restaurant’ ( the high points being Kwality’s or Jone Hing in Lucknow, the Niros or LMB in Jaipur – even tho’ the last mentioned was purely vegetarian – and the likes of them) or in the cafeteria of a Tourist Lodge. (For recipe of Dak Bunglow Chicken Curry Click here)

the original 'time-share'

But, there was also a second format of holidays that we followed. Every other year, we would choose just a single destination to go and drop anchor for a month or so. The choice of place would, per necessity, depend on the availability of someone’s house who was willing to let it out to us (usually for free – the ‘token’ reciprocation would be in the form of a dinner invitation at home on our return) . Coming to think of it – this was, perhaps, the older form of ‘time-share’ holidays.

Normally – 2 families (presumably, like minded and compatible) would travel together (3 were a crowd and too many variables to accommodate), as apart from providing the ‘social’ critical mass not only did the holiday economics worked out better as the ‘overheads’ could be split – but also the logistics due to the comfort of numbers. Besides, traveling in a group broke the monotony of long train journeys– often extending beyond 2 nights (tho’ air-fares must have been a fraction of what the ‘low cost airlines’ of today charge, it was not an option even for the most affluent).

On reaching the final station of rest, we would go about setting up a temporary home almost like new immigrants. Life would quickly fall in to a routine – be it the long walks in the mornings to the market at other end of town or the gentle trudge in the evenings to the Military Farm Dairy to get cream for the strawberries. We would very soon be on familiar terms with not just the local grocer and baker – but, at times, even the best tailor of the place from whom – for some inexplicable reason – my uncle decided to order a suit and had to make umpteen rounds to get the fit exactly right. In the process, the rest of us too – including the ladies - had some piece of winter clothing stitched from him. On the weekly trips for encashing Travellers’ Cheques ( as there were no Credit Cards or ATMs then) – the Bank Manager – would not only give us sight-seeing tips but also, occasionally, share little nuggets of gossip about celebrities who would come for escapades to some tranquil hide-outs in the vicinity. . Before long, it would be time to leave and we would go about bidding farewell with a promise to come back soon – which, at least for then, were meant genuinely.

Charing Cross in T Nagar

One such holiday – we had enjoyed a lot was in Ooty circa 1973. Took my father there – at the end of our trip to Wellington, Coonoor, earlier this month - after a gap of nearly 37 years. It wasn’t such a good idea – because, within 3 months of my Mother’s passing away, it only brought back for him a flood of old memories. We drove down Havelock Road to see the house where we had stayed (that belonged to a leading stevedore of Madras). It was now in shambles and a slum had sprung up around it. Shinkows – which, I believe, is not a patch of its old self - was shut for renovation. Among the old shops only Chellaram’s had retained some of its old character – Mohan’s was now like any other touristy shop at a hill station. Charing Cross could easily pass off as a junction in T Nagar, Chennai. Everything else – not surprisingly – had changed beyond recognition with the exception of a few tucked away secrets like the King’s Cliff. What we could manage for him was a panoramic photograph of Ooty shot in the 70s from Elk Hill mounted on the wall of the reception at the Ooty Club – which itself had stood still in time.

Amma

2009-12-06T09:40:00.016+05:30

My mother - Jharna - passed away early last Friday morning (4th Dec) after a brief 5 day illness. She was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) the previous Saturday - 28th Nov - which, incidentally, was their 50th Wedding Anniversary. She had no prior symptoms or indication. It would seem like, she was waiting for that day before declaring the close of her innings. I wouldn't know if it was out of sheer prescience that she had instructed us long ago not to plan any anniversary celebrations for them - saying that she'd rather use the money for some good cause later. She was all of 68.

By the grace of God, she didn't suffer too much and was lucid till the very end.Tho' in distress from a pulmonary infection that had set in, she was aware of every minute detail, talking (giving my father and Nina instructions on minor issues of the house-hold) and sometimes even joking with the doctors, monks (Swamis) and nuns (Mataji-s) of RKM who came to see her. She passed away in her sleep at 0100 AM. She had been admitted on Monday (30th) at the Ramakrishna Mission Seva Pratisthan (Shishu Mangal) on Lansdowne Road, Calcutta - a place of her own choosing.

Those of you - whose lives she had touched, would know that she wouldn't have liked to be mourned in her death. But, remembered for the happy times she shared with all of us.

For us life has changed permanently. But, I hope and pray that, she enjoys the same sense of peace and tranquility that was so characteristic of her, wherever she may find her abode of rest.

Feather-weight erotica

2009-11-11T23:03:00.032+05:30

I finally succumbed. Friends and family know that there are a few things in life that leave me helplessly weak-kneed. There are some temptations in life I can’t resist for too long. Buying books is just one of them. So ignoring the hype generated by the ‘inspired’ reviews in every magazine and newspaper (including – surprisingly – a high-brow business newspaper, which even carried an excerpt click here to read), I picked up from the new Delhi Airport Bookshop what’s been touted as the first ever anthology of Indian Erotic Writing - Electric Feather: The Tranquebar Book Of Erotic Stories by Ruchir Joshi, Tranquebar Books. In the foreword ‘Indian’ has been qualified as “Indian (South Asian) authors writing in English”.

On the flight, a colleague traveling with me quickly flicked the copy but was equally prompt in returning it when we got off the plane – saying, he didn’t wish to take it home and get the wife all worked up (no pun intended). My lady at home was characteristically nonchalant. "Don't take it along on the long trip ahead", she counselled explaining that she thought it may not be very conducive to my current physical condition, following the minor surgical procedure I had undergone a few months ago.

So, I had to wait till my return last week before taking up the book. I liked Ruchir Joshi’s introduction. Though his justification for doing such an anthology was a trifle convoluted (and, unnecessary I thought), what I found interesting was his account of the reactions he evinced from different established authors whom he had approached for contributing to the collection. But, honestly I couldn’t proceed beyond the first 2 pages of any story that I tried. Each one was more juvenile and puerile than the other. To me they were the print equivalent of the crude desi-porn movies shot with hand held movie cameras that we saw in our college days – courtesy some adventurous classmates who dared to raid their parents’ closets (those were before the days of camcorders and video parlours).

Vernacular Treasures

In contrast, I remembered some of the lovely erotic passages one has read in modern Bengali literature – the writings of Samaresh Basu, Buddhadev Bose, Buddhadev Guha, Sunil Gangopadhyay and so many others. I am quite sure there are similar works in other Indian languages with strong literary traditions – Tamil, Kannada, Oriya, Assamese and, 'oh-how-can-I-forget' – Marathi, living in Mumbai, or even in Hindi, rising above the stereo type of the sleazy paperbacks one sees lined on pavement book shops.

Recently, I remember watching a TV documentary on a developing cult in Tamil literature of erotic poetry being written by a band of young women poets (SheWrite, A film by Anjali Monteiro & K P Jayasankar click here). I wonder, how much richer the collection could have been – if it included translations of real authors writing in real Indian languages. Perhaps, Mr Joshi – educated in one of Calcutta's so called "English Medium" Schools, may not have been exposed to these facets of modern Indian literature (Or else, he may have mildly moderated his assertions such as "we in the subcontinent still live trapped in a cat’s cradle of taboos and repressions").

More interesting than the book, I believe, was the launch event. Read about it here. But, for me the only silver lining is that, there could be life beyond blogging. One can always turn to writing facile erotica.

One for the road...

2009-11-08T12:16:00.033+05:30

There were some 30 of us from over 20 different countries spread widely across the 5 continents. The age group varied from early 30s to the late 50s – and I was clearly on the upper quartile. Almost a third of the group were women – though none of the kind to set my heart racing.

We were gathered at an ancient chateau (Bellinglise - it is said Joan of Arc was imprisoned here) converted to an inn – an hour’s drive north of Paris for a company training programme. Situated in the midst of thick woods - the setting was idyllic. The chateau lighted up in the evenings – with the moon reflecting on a lake – looked like an enchanted castle (read a poem of Alan Seeger dedicated to Bellinglise by clicking here).

Being a veteran of many such courses and conferences, I arrived with a small pouch of cynicism in my carry-on duffle bag. My misgivings didn’t turn out to be entirely unfounded – as the faculty came across as - at best - mediocre and the course contents also pretty elementary. But, I didn’t mind. The food was outstanding at every meal, the pace of the programme was relaxed and the schedule light – leaving enough free-time to do our own stuff be it going on long walks and cycling in the forest, soaking in the Japanese tub or simply hanging out at the open bar.

going 'solo'

By the end of the 3rd day a little boredom was beginning to set in. So, when we came to know that the penultimate afternoon has been set aside for ‘solo’ personal reflection by the participants – even the most laid-back amongst us thought it was becoming too much of a ‘time-pass’ and the facilitators were probably taking it a bit too easy.

There was no guideline or brief on what we were supposed to do in those 2 hours of solitary “retreat”. It was meant to be a period of free thinking on any subject – professional or personal – trying to cut off any extraneous thoughts or distractions. However, 3 conditions were stipulated. First, all of us had to leave our mobile phones and Blackberries behind. Second, we had to go it alone – unaccompanied by any of our course mates. And finally, we could chose any place inside or outside the chateau premises except that we were not allowed to go back to our own rooms – throwing cold water on what many of us were secretly contemplating.

breaking the mould

So we dispersed in different directions with our ‘Moleskin’ Notebooks in hand -somewhat skeptically. We saw Bob – from Edmonton, West Canada - heading out towards the Spa, Dimitri – the American-Greek - positioned himself beneath the large cypress tree and the 4 Koreans walked out in a group – chatting, blissfully ignoring the very specific instructions. Tony – our Chinese colleague – who was always half asleep with his persisting jet lag ambled across the drive way looking a bit disoriented and the Americans disappeared into the forest. I chose the lonely trail across the lake.

putting the pieces back together

We all strolled back in around teatime. The usual chatter that surrounds the mid-afternoon recess was missing. People weren’t pensive – but they were palpably quiet. Slowly we adjourned once more into our team rooms. There was a look of expectation on every face - about “what next?”, when Kris – our rakishly handsome and charming Flemish facilitator walked in. But, he was clearly far too seasoned to be drawn easily in to telling us where do we go from there. Wearing a beatific smile, he stared at us quizzically, waiting for one us to break the silence, which - by now – seemed almost ready to burst.

the melting moment

Burst it did and how. Don’t exactly remember who – it just could have been any one of us – suggested that, we could probably share our individual experiences with the group. This caused a virtual eruption around the room. It was as if our collective sensibilities had been assaulted, threatening to violate of our right to privacy. The individual reactions brought to the fore the cultural differences among us. Some were downright offended, others exuded a sense of outraged modesty. The French vehemently shook their heads in dissent; Tony asked “why ?” looking genuinely flummoxed; the girl from Romania got emotionally worked up; the Americans were more vocal – tho’ restrained - in their objections; the lone Korean in our team withdrew visibly further into a shell and the 2 of us South Asians didn’t seem to quite understand what the fuss was all about.

from stand-off to take-off

From the rumblings and murmurs it appeared that we were fast approaching a veritable 'stand-off' that was going to - almost ineveitably - end up in a churlish ‘walk-out’. But then, suddenly - came the moment of meltdown. I think it was Bob who took the lead and said that, he was comfortable about sharing his experience without revealing the details – as they were intimately personal. Soon the trickle became a flow and others followed – as if on cue.

Little wonder, each one’s journey was very different from the rest. But, there was no mistaking that - in our own way - each of us (the four-some Koreans included) had touched a deeper point of consciousness. The result may not have been 'life transforming' – but it had certainly brought home some significant realization – perhaps, disturbing for some – but nevertheless important. And, who knows – it could just be working away insidiously in the sub-conscious to bring about a change – hopefully positive, which we’ll only see much later in retrospect.

take home

In those 90 minutes or so, the atmosphere in the room changed as we discovered a new chemistry of trust and mutual respect between us. That evening the bar was less boisterous – but every one seemed to enjoy their drinks more and even the food at the dinner table tasted better, as did the wine. The women appeared much nicer too.

Looking back, even if this was just one thing we took back home, it made those 5 days very precious and memorable. For me the bigger lesson was, learning - be it in a course or in life - doesn’t always come from cramming but giving ourselves the time and space to reflect.

Anatomy of a gourmet

2009-10-17T10:22:00.014+05:30

I think it was a character in John Le-Carre’s latest book – who calls herself a ‘water gourmet’. Can’t claim that ,despite my frequent attempts at alcohol sabbatical, I have reached that stage of ‘evolution’ yet - but, over the years I have come to appreciate more the virtues of aqua-pura.

good food and rude words

Till a few years back, I liked to believe that – I knew a little about food . But, now I am extremely careful and self-conscious while talking on food – even among friends - as practically every other person I meet considers himself or herself a ‘foodie’. Over the past few years, food columns have erupted all over in newspapers and magazines as, indeed, “Food Shows” are hogging prime time on TV. I don’t have the statistics, but I suspect that the maximum number of blogs are written on food. (There is a theory that, the less people cook at home – the more they like to read about food – explaining the booming sales of recipe books and the soaring popularity of TV Chefs like the late lamented Keith Floyd or our own desi-boy Sanjeev Kapur).

[You may call it synchronicity – but while I was writing this piece, I came across on a friend’s tweet the link to an essay written by Buddhadeb Bose on Bengali Cuisine and Food habits way back in the 70s. That’s what I call real food-writing (to read Bose’s full article click here).

One of the finest ‘food-writing’ by an Indian that I have come across is a series “Sukhadyo Subachan” by Pratap Kumar Roy that used to be carried many years ago in the Bengali newspaper AajKal – much before ‘foodies’ and ‘food columnists’ had become so ubiquitous. The pieces have later been compiled into a book called “Mahabhoj” – by Ananda publishers. Those amongst you who can read Bengali and are fans of the pretentious "Rude Food" writings of a celebrity editor, may like to browse thru the book if you can lay your hands on a copy somewhere].

Bruni or Belucci

When it comes to wines – I am quite an illiterate. My repertoire doesn’t go much beyond the Sula, Grover or Nasik Valley and I can hardly tell a Bourdeux from a Barolo - my preference for the latter has more to do with my fascination for Italian beauties like Monica Belucci ( not Carla Bruni tho’ – who to me is neither wholly Italian nor French ) than my love of Italian food. I fashionably dislike Californian wines (just as anything American) be it Napa or Sonoma and feign disdain for Australian Shiraz more as a mark of inverse racial snobbery, just as I praise Chilean vintages as an expression of ‘new world’ solidarity. But, in short – I know nothing about wines – except that the tannins in reds help me get rid of meat morsels from my cavities.

Till such time boot-legged JW Black Label reigned supreme at parties and Chivas was considered a rarity – reserved for special guests on occasions, I could hold forth with impunity on the merits of Islay Malts over their Spey-side brethrens. But not any more, since the Laphroigs and Lagavulins have invaded the living rooms of the yuppy set – who now look down upon the Glen sisters (..fiddich, …livet and …morangie) as passe and for whom the 'age' of Macallans' is only a number on the bottle. Belonging to a generation who grew up on ACP (Aristocrat Premium) and DSP (Directors’ Special) , when Peter Scot was the ultimate toast of social refinement – I, therefore, find ‘Single Origin’ Darjeeling Tea a much safer subject of party conversation. Tho’ hearing of the relative merits of a second - "flush" Makaibari over a Castleton many turn instinctively towards the mens’ room.

In Coffee – Coorg and Colombian were both ‘c’ words for me. Over time – I have learnt that there are a few more alphabets in between like B, J and K…. as in Brazil, Jamaica and Kenya . But, not much has ever happened to me over coffee.

As for Cheese, I don’t even wish to get started. Every time I have tried expound on the anthropology of Indian cheeses - and claim that, the Bandel Smoked Cheese and Kalimpong do indeed have indigenous roots - I have been snubbed short.

the last bastion of a retired parvenu

However, there is still one unclaimed territory remaining – over which I can claim some degree of proprietorship. I fancy myself as something of a massage (as distinct from ‘masseuse’) connoisseur.

I was probably initiated into the pleasures of a gentle oil rub soon after birth by the nurse, who used to subject me to a daily dose of olive oil treatment. But, my earliest memory of a wholesome massage go back to childhood – when we used to go for family weekend retreats to my maternal village home on the outskirts of Calcutta.

After breakfast – the men-folk (including the boys ) would line up in the courtyard with a thin and skimpy “gamccha” wrapped around their waists and would take turns to spread themselves on a mat – under the mellow winter sun. Sohan-lal – our good Chowkidar cum Care-taker of Bihari roots, who was a wrestler in his youth – would give each one of us a vigorous kneading with mustard oil – before pouring buckets of cold water over us straight from the deep-well (‘paat- kua) – while we rinsed ourselves with generous dollops of ‘khol’ (fresh mustard cake) brought from the nearby oil-mill for use as a natural body-scrub.

Though there are European forms of massage – such as the Swedish, I think massage is essentially an oriental art form. It is only in the East that we attach so much importance to the body in relation to the internal physical well-being of a person (referring to it as a ‘temple’ etc) given our more holistic approach to health (think of Aurveda, Yoga or Chinese Medicine with all its emphasis of Yin, Yang and ‘Qui’ - in the latter lies the origins of "cross-gender" massage). In the West, generally – the physique has more of an external connotation as a symbol of sexuality, as it were. Therefore – benefits of massage are not seen beyond ephedrine inducing muscle relaxation or, at best, sensual arousal.

of an ancient art and an ancient trade

In comparison, we give a greater stress on the therapeutic effects of massage. In the orient – I think there are essentially 2 broad systems of massage. The first based on acupressure along the meridians - such as Shiatsu- and the other that involves stretching of muscles and rotation of joints - as in Thai Massage – which, I consider to be something like, “passive yoga”. Variants such as the Balinese Massage combine a bit of both the systems – adding to it elements such as aroma-therapy, which appeals to the western tourist as well as help Spas charge an extra premium.

It took me a while to figure out – “Ancient Thai Massage” was not a reference to the “ancient” lady masseurs in Pat-pong Massage joints – but to the art form taught in Monasteries such as Wat-Po in Bangkok traditionally to blind people due to their heightened sense of touch.

Though Kerala Massage Parlors are sprouting like wild mushrooms everywhere – even up in the Himalayan Hill-stations – it’s not my kind of stuff. I don’t quite relish the veritable oil-bath with the masseurs’ hands running down in rapid motions along the slippery contours of the anatomy. Also, I am deeply skeptical of its much-professed medical benefits being really commensurate with the quantity of oil that is spent in the process.

But, at the end of the day – there is nothing like a good Hindustani Massage. Contrary to popular belief – a good North-Indian ‘maalish’ is not all about pounding, kneading and twisting. A well-trained masseur – usually from the barber (‘Nai’ or ‘Napit’) community – would know basic elements of osteopathy and physio-therapy and use it to r good effect for alleviating many minor ailments of the bones, muscles and, at times also, nerves.

My quest for a good massage has sometimes landed me into odd predicaments. No, not in the Sois of Sukhumvit – as you might jump to conclusion – but in strange places like the Circuit House in Bhedhaghat near Jabalpur, where we had gone to see the Marble Rocks and Duandhar Falls. Half-way through the session, the masseur ran away leaving me dripping in oil and shivering in the cold. I couldn’t even go for a bath as he hadn’t heated the oil on the wood-fired chullah. He returned only after an hour to say with a grin that he had gone off to watch the latest episode of the Ramayana, which ruled the air-waves on TV those days and brought the entire ‘cow-belt’ to a virtual stand-still every Sunday morning.

Confessions of a spiritual junkie

2009-08-02T13:25:00.030+05:30

(Debra Winger and John Malkovich in a scene from Bertolucci's 'The Sheltering Sky' - photo courtesy: Imageshack)

My dear cousin and a close friend want me to go and see a shrink. It was sparked off by an innocuous admission on FaceBook about mid-week lows. But, little do they know that I love shrinks. Actually, I am an amateur one myself. I decided to try my luck at prurient psychology after my practice as a quack gynaecologist went bust – with most of my clients, both past and potential, fast hitting the median and preferring to opt for safer and surer surgical solutions.

'shrink-ism'

But, jokes apart, I am a great believer of (psycho)therapy. I was introduced to “shrink-ism” by a Salesian priest from my alma-mater (Don Bosco)– who took a sabbatical to get a degree on applied psychology from the US. On his return he set up a counseling service for fellow priests of the order, who – not unlike lay parishioners – had their own share of mid-life blues that – in their case - usually manifested in a crisis of faith.

I found this interesting – as I didn’t know of any similar tradition amongst some of the Hindu religious orders that I am acquainted with. I remember having a very spirited discussion on the subject with some friendly monks of the RKM, who, of course, scoffed at the idea (somewhat complacently, I thought ). They felt, our Hindu philosophical traditions have in-built systems (or ‘release mechanisms’) for taking care of such phases of self-doubt and confusion, which are inevitable in the path of renunciation and were, in fact, essential experiences for attaining ultimate realization. Though no authority either in philosophy or psychology, I agreed to disagree.

struggling souls trapped inside cassocks

Meanwhile, the Salesian shrinks soon found out that, the need for such psychological intervention extended well beyond the struggling souls trapped inside a pastor’s cassock. They quickly expanded the network of the Bosco Psychological Services (Okhala, Delhi) across the country with centers such as Prafulta (in Mumbai) and Sumedha (in Jeolikote, near Nainital), that offered a full range of psychological services for treating conditions as diverse as marital disharmony, adolescent delinquency and learning disabilities to depression and manic disorders.

Contrary to popular belief, Mid-life Crisis (MLC) is not always about extramarital affairs and sex addiction. Those are the easier and perhaps the more enjoyable aspects of it. The best definition I have heard of is – MLC sets in with the first intimations of mortality. Till a point in life, we take tomorrow for granted. Then comes an event (usually in the later 30s or early 40s for an average male) – could be a minor ailment such as diabetes or high-cholesterol or the demise of a close relative - which suddenly brings home the point that life is finite, after all. Paul Bowles in his book ‘The Sheltering Sky’ (rendered immortal by the Bernardo Bertolucci film starring Debra Winger and John Malkovich - click here to see Video clip) puts it beautifully: if asked “how many more full-moons will you see in this life ?” our instinctive response is “countless”. But, come to think of it – not too many, perhaps 4 or 5 or may be 20 at best. It's a disturbing sense of time running-out, literally and figuritively, in every aspect of life - physical, personal or professional.

of cloisters and closets

Mid-life is, therefore, essentially a time to take stock of life and re-examine your values and goals to re-set your sails and radar. But, I wonder if priests can come out of their cloisters (you might argue they have a long tradition of ‘confession’), why is it that we ordinary folks are so afraid of opening the closets of our mind to a neutral listener.

Thanks to Bro Jose and his spiritual mentor Pita (Fr) Lourdes (who I came to know later), I got a glimpse of different schools of therapy – from Jungian Analysis to CBT (Cognitive Behaviour Therapy) and sampled some of them. Being an early adapter (for those of you – who haven’t noticed – yours truly as been blogging since 2001 – long before ‘blogs’ became a house-hold term) and an inveterate tourist of the psycho-spiritual circuit, I have met a few celebrity shrinks – seeking them out in the back-lanes of Bandra, in their high perches in Worli or or idyllic Goan hide-outs.

Blog Therapy

‘Talk therapy’ has helped me make major career change decisions and deal with toxic bosses. Everyone, to whom I have recommended therapy so far and have chosen to try it – especially those dealing with trauma and depression, has come out as neo-converts of its benefits.

We think either with our head or with our heart. While talking in a non-judgmental environment – suddenly there comes a point when the thoughts in the head coincide with those of the heart. That’s when realization dawns and the healing occurs.

This brings back to what the senior monk at RKM told me. It is after all a quest for finding out who you are and coming to terms with it. It doesn’t matter which route you take. And if you lose your way – you can always take to blogging , which, by the way, can be deeply therapeutic as well. Try it for yourself.

Celebrity chatter

2009-07-22T23:51:00.021+05:30

I have never made a secret of my partiality towards pretty co-passengers on a flight. They are the ultimate objects of fantasy in mid-air and I find their company immensely energizing especially on a long-haul. I enjoy talking to interesting fellow travellers of either sex. I don’t mind even a crass politician next to me. But, somehow, I am not one of those who get starry eyed with a tinsel town celebrity on the plane. You may call it some kind of an inverse snobbery. But the truth is, I find most of them (and, I have met a few) – intellectually challenged, outright boring and suffocating. A majority can’t even make decent conversation and I am usually overcome by pity at their strained attempt to behave ‘normal’ in an acutely synthetic and self-conscious way. Only a few can really drop their airs. But, why should they? After all, they have worked hard to reach where they have and it all comes as a part of the accoutrement of stardom.

Part offended, part be-friended

So once – while flying back from Bangalore to Mumbai, I part surprised and part offended Sharmila Tagore by moving over to a free set across the aisle. She was flummoxed. I had to think of an excuse on the fly and told her, I didn’t wish to disturb her with my snoring, which she acknowledged with an understanding smile – looking somewhat re-assured. On another occasion – about which my boss can’t stop teasing me – I had a nubile Bollywood starlet seated next to me. Her Mom - a “has been” Bengali Bombshell (in more ways than one) and herself the daughter of a legendary Bengali actress was on the row behind us. When I gallantly offered her my seat (which I declared was an act of "supreme sacrifice" on my part only to allow mother daughter bonding in the skies) she looked at me with utter disbelief and said with a knowing smile – “you must be a married man and afraid of your wife – otherwise how could you give up such an opportunity ?”. "No !!", I retorted, " it's just that I am travelling with my Boss (who was a few seats away)".

Kafka on the plane

Occasionally one is surprised tho’ .. like on a recent trip to Calcutta on one of the budget airlines, I met this very sharp-looking young girl – reading Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore. I initially mistook her as a college kid going home for her vacation and tried to strike a conversation about her taste in literature. But, she turned out to be one of the latest imports of “Tollywood”. Daughter of a Bihari IAS officer and a Punjabi mother – who’s acts in Hindi TV serials, she wants to take up acting as a career and was cutting her teeth in Bengali films.

But, most of them make a sad spectacle. For example, very often on the Saturday morning Kingfisher flight from Calcutta to Mumbai, I travel with a faded and aged matinee idol of the 70s and 80s. Though he has done some very meaningful roles lately (both in art films and main-stream cinema) – nowadays, he now appears frequently as judge on TV "reality shows". I am bemused to see him desperately seeking attention – in his black denim jacket and jeans with ankle high suede boots and Ray-ban shades. And, how his shriveled up skin picks up a faint glow of delight - every time someone walks up to him for an autograph or a request to pose before a mobile-phone camera for a photograph with their accompanying son or daughter.

Then there are the mousy looking "item girls" and emaciated models. But, the good part is – since they mostly lead nocturnal lives – on flights they immediately curl-up under blankets and go to sleep putting on their eye-pads.

Even they are barely tolerable… but now we have a new crop of celebrities taking over the front section of the aircraft. They are the TV anchors – who fancy themselves as being the ‘thinking men’s stars’. Instant recognition and intellectual pretensions make a heady combination – as one of them recently wrote in her own blog (Click here to read)

Testosterone Heroes

Cricketers are a different lot altogether. Frankly, even they leave me a trifle cold – not that I have met too many of them. Some come across as supremely arrogant – though I am told, the best of them are unmistakably cerebral and decidedly modest. I believe, Sourav Ganguly – who was labeled as Bengal’s only testosterone hero after Subhash Bose –falls somewhere in-between. But, last evening – on an official call of duty - I got to spend quite some time with Mahi ( M S Dhoni) and was completely bowled over by his disarming candour and genuine warmth. With his feet and head exactly where they ought to be (firmly on the ground and the shoulder - respectively), I feel confident that the Indian team is safe in his keeper’s hands – notwithstanding the controversies cooked up by the media and fuelled by the machiavellian shenanigans of the BCCI politicos.

Scribbles in-between flights

2009-07-16T23:14:00.007+05:30

Managed to get out of Calcutta in the nick of time. Tired of early morning and late evening flights – had booked myself on the afternoon 3 O’ clock flight.. Couldn’t have timed it better, the city is now up in flames as a reaction against yesterday’s violence in Mangalkot (Burdawan) where some Congress leaders were assaulted by CPM cadres. Trust ABP and Star Ananda to come up with the news caption: "Mangal Kot e A-Mangal".

Nina wasn’t as lucky. She was planning on traveling tomorrow – but a 12-hour Bandh has been declared in the city. So, she can now get back only on Saturday - just in time for our trip to Pune.

The Speaker of the West Bengal Assembly - Hasim Abdul Halim – has gone on record today saying – “ the Police should be active - neither be ‘over-active’ or ‘in-active’. I have been at the receiving end of latter in the last few weeks – when despite instructions from the CM’s office the police has refused to move – ignoring orders of the District Administration.

Somehow – I get the feeling that Buddha will be Bengal’s Gorbachov. He will oversee the end of the Left Front rule in the state. As a friend remarked, unless Mamata works real hard at political suicide and self-destruction – there’s no stopping the Trinamool from coming to power in 2011........................

Landed in Mumbai to find the Meru cabs have been shunted out of the airport – under pressure from the Black and Yellow (Kali-peeli) and Blue (Cool) Cabs who were losing business to them. A new system of “pre-paid” cabs has been introduced from today – but being unhappy with the arrangement the Black and Yellow cabs went on a boycott. So …chaos !! After a long wait managed to get home in Blue Cab – finally !!........................

Went for the Bastille Day function in Calcutta on the 14th. A sedate affair (mercifully !!) in comparison to the massive gala in Mumbai – where, I believe, the crowd danced to “ Om Shanti Om” ( how typically French !! ...Carla would have loved it no doubt) till the wee hours ...…..

Till last year Calcutta didn’t have a full-fledged Consul. And, under the patronage of the “Hony Consul” - a prosperous city businessman - the celebrations were like a veritable “shaadi bari” – with long queues for dinner.

(Sunanda K Datta-Ray had written a piece some years back – about how Calcutta has been converted into a city of “Hony Consuls” – with more and more countries closing down their Consulates as cost-cutting measure. One, therefore, hardly saw the cars with “CC Number plates” anymore. They aree replaced by those marked “Hony Consuls”, which has become some kind of a status symbol in the business community)

But, the Sarkozy government isn’t so generous. Therefore, the consulate has to depend on ‘sponsors’ - usually French companies who have establishments in town or other businesses with some French connection – to pick up the bill for the wine and dinner. Since, Calcutta doesn’t have too many of these - the scale of the reception has to be necessarily modest.

The story isn’t very different for other countries – at least the European ones for sure – either. The Indian Embassies and Missions are among the few – who splurge on their National Day ( in fact – for us it’s 2 days – 26th January and Independence Day). Perhaps, an assertion of our new-found economic affluence........................

Atoned for the indulgences of the last few days – with a dinner of spinach, mushrooms and tofu blanched in sesame oil with some steamed broccoli on the side. Hope it is as healthy as it is made to sound.

Tho’, had a mean Khow-Suey with some lovely Riesling at the young Banerjees of Mandeville Gardens last evening.

Weekend Contemplations on Love and Beauty beyond 40...

2009-04-11T11:36:00.045+05:30

This time in London, I had kept the weekend free to catch a show on the West end. People I asked for recommendations talked about the latest production at Wyndham’s – Madame de Sade – starring Judi Dench, tho’ they themselves hadn’t seen it yet. (Click here)

Heaving bosoms and washboard tummies`

The play is based on Yukio Mishima’s famous Japanese novel on the life of Marquis de Sade (a decadent aristocrat imprisoned in the Bastille for his lurid sexual escapades) as told from the perspective of the many women in his life. But, despite the salacious blurbs the lukewarm reviews on the free papers I picked up on the tube – left me cold. But then, I am also not a great fan of bosom heaving period and costume dramas in the first place.

So, I gave up the idea of a play and wandered around aimlessly in the Covent Garden – Leicester Square area on a pleasant 14 º C afternoon. After a satisfying pub lunch (pie and mash with a pint of good ale) at the Nags Head, I headed out towards the Odeon. But old age has an uncanny knack of sending untimely reminder slips . Earlier – I could have traversed Central London for hours occasionally hopping into a bus or a short ride on the tube. Wrapping up the day - quite literally - with a satisfying meal of crispy aromatic duck pancakes in Soho China Town. Before long I felt totally drained and even a shot of double espresso at the new Costa’s round the corner couldn’t pick me up. Exhausted, I found myself taking the escalator up the Trocadero Cinemas near Picadilly Circus, buying a ticket for the new Julia Roberts flick – Duplicity, which was showing next.

Due to the effect of the beer or the walk, I am not sure which – I shamelessly dozed off even before the trailers had begun to roll. I don’t know if I was snoring too, since in a near empty theatre there was no one on the next seat to poke me. When I woke up a good 30 minutes into the film, Owen was dropping his signature pick-up line "I excel at remembering people I have slept with; that's been a traditional area of strength for me". The film is at best a slick entertainer about 2 con artists – Roberts and Owen – trying to outsmart each other in their own game of gypping a major drug company with the fake formula of an over-the-counter cure for baldness. Smart cinematography and sharp dialogues are the mainstay of the movie banking heavily on the glamour quotient of the 2 lead actors (tho’ Owen struts around with his bare torso, Julia barely shows any skin at all – but more on that later).

Adolescent fantasies

Duplicity reminded me of another film in the same genre from the 70s – Thief who came to Dinner, Ryan O’Neil played a high-society jewel thief and Jaqueline Bisset was his partner in crime. It’s easy to understand why Bisset, more than the film, had made a deep impression on a teenage mind, which was further indelibly re-engraved in movies like the ‘Deep’ that followed with its stunning opening sequence of Bisset scuba-diving in a wet T-Shirt. That brings me to the all important question – is Julia Roberts really HOT or simply 'pretty'?

I personally think that her looks have been grossly over-rated. She definitely isn’t beautiful in a classical sense – like say Audrey Hepburn of yore, Nicole Kidman, Natalie Portman or a Keira Knightly of more recent vintage. She doesn’t have the heady blend of understated sensuality and over-pouring oomph of an Angelina Jolie. In Pretty Woman, it was her freshness rather than her sexiness and unaffected charm that made her so appealing and caught people’s fancy, than probably the more natural consummate tartalinas such as a Katherine Zeta Jones, Penelope Cruz or a Cameron Diaz would have.

But, then what is it about her that I liked in this movie ? It couldn’t have been her acting – for which she had little scope to display her prowess. Yet, had it not been for her I would have happily slept thru the movie (and still felt that I have got my money’s worth for the £7 I spent on the ticket ) and, most certainly, the images wouldn't have been lingering in my mind even after a month. There was something mesmerising about her character -for which, I savoured spending those 2 hours with her in air-conditioned comfort that was beyond giving my tired feet some well deserved rest.

Magical Menopause or Mid-life fixations

I finally chanced upon the answer in the recent issue of TIME – in which Mary Pols analyses her …… (Read Full Article by clicking here)

“Claire would like Owen to love her, but it’s clear she’d survive without him. Their relationship is not a road to an altar; it’s about being with someone who gets you. It’s mature love in short.

What about being mature in years ? Forty or thereabouts is often the most attractive age for women, when you are old to really appreciate, understand and know how to flatter yourself. But in Hollywood it mostly leads to unintentional vanishing acts or inspires unfortunate experiments with surgery.

Motherhood, by the way, looks good on her. Onscreen – she’s lush and full: any woman who has breast-fed will recognize the source of her Duplicity cleavage. Her Claire makes Owen’s Ray even more swoon-worthy, we know he appreciates a real woman.

If you are nostalgic for the pretty woman in pink-and-black spandex, too bad. Robert’s isn’t shoe horning herself back into a prostitute’s work outfit. She’s too sensible to even try.”

In real-life I know some women above 40 – who fit Mol’s description of Roberts almost to a tee (and, I'm not talking of cleavage here). They carry age, marriage and motherhood on an even keel with a great deal of panache and elan. But, I can’t think of any examples in Bollywood of actresses who have been able to make such seamless transition with age. But we are an evolving lot and I would still place my bet on Priyanka – tho’ I wish she wouldn’t succumb to peer pressure and try getting to size-zero. Well, I may not be a Marquis or an Owen - but at way past 40, I am beginning to understand a thing or two about women, love and beauty.