Salil's Bhang

Labour Death Counter - Bangalore

2011-02-21T18:56:00.003+05:30

Date	Site	No. Dead	Press
Nov 7, 04	Commercial Building, RT Nagar	5	Click
Dec 14, 06	Infosys Campus	5	Click
May 12, 08	Luxury Appt, Banerghatta Road	2	Click
Sep 27, 08	MG Road	1	Click
Oct 24, 08	Prestige Shantinikethan	4	Click
Dec 09, 08	Prestige Shantinikethan -II	2	Click
Jan 28, 11	Under Pass, Hennur	1	Click
Feb 2, 2011	Banerghatta Road	5	Click
May 6, 2011	Building site of ex- CM Dharam Singh	1	Click
	More to Come	..
	Total Dead	26

Adfilm Shootout

2010-12-27T16:20:00.032+05:30

START .. CAMERA…ACTION    Jeeth called out

A white sedan is parked on a village road with three tracks - lush green in the middle and solidified red path on the sides. The road goes straight for about hundred meters between a fully pregnant paddy field and turns left.

Ben dressed in formals walks hastily towards the car . He slings the woolen sweater on to his shoulder as he walks. The harassed look on his face is amplified by the calm chill in the air. He is closely tracked by Akash – the domestic help with a timid look as if his whole life depended on Ben. Ben pays no attention, gets into the car, closes the door with a thud and starts it. Akash follows the car as it revs up slowly with his hands folded asking for Ben’s forgiveness. Ben ignores and speeds away.

CUT .. CUT …the director Jeeth called out. “ For god’s sake Akash… can’t you feel it. You need to look desperate. This is taking too long”   and walked to grab a cup of coffee.

A makeup man brushed Akash’s face off the sweat. This is not going per plan, he thought. Countless hours spend rehearsing the expression and movement for this role. His guru used to savor him sparring with co-actors at theater workshops. But roles were not easy to come and auditions were a mere ritual. Every one wanted to work within the comfort zone of known actors or ones who came with references. Without contacts in the actors mafia and circumscribed social skills Akash could never land up in good roles. He was almost giving up when he came across Jeeth few weeks back.

Jeeth was a close buddy of the mad advertising days. Days where Akash believed that one has to be defined by their work. Campaigns for undies to sugar water - they had been through it all until one day Akash snapped and quit the make believe. Jeeth limped a little more and resigned to wander a bit. The lust for unknown propelled him to places far and wide , the Bombay ad world, managing communications for a health resort that turned out to be elaborate money laundering venture and a host of others. Finally he landed up as an ad film maker in his home town and made it in a few years. Not as a success with money and power. But with a string of uncompromising films that took the adworld by its clarity of purpose. The wild bunch met over arrack after a chance encounter at a concert, chastised by the years in between. That is when it took off. Jeeth was casting for a new film and Akash seemed to fit perfectly.

For Akash this role meant a entry to the world of fantasy. For him a character was a tool to explore the depths of his mindscape. Akash pitted again himself. He fought with it, loved it and even imagined how the character made love. The Freudian approach to character building injected a strong dose of realism into his performances. No wonder the times that he played Iago in a modern adaptation of Othello was when his marriage broke up, irretrievably. By then he was smitten by the acting bug and quit his regular job. A good performance in Jeeth’s ad film will get him in the view finder of film czar’s and a maybe meatier role in the feature film that Jeeth was secretly scripting.

“By the power of grey skull I haaaaave the power” he roared inside as Jeeth cranked up for the next take.

This one was more forceful and came from the depths of kundalini. He dug into the hearts of all the maids who looked after him while his parents very busy going up the corporate ladder. It came effortlessly. The quality of emotion varies only in tones. You just have to be able to project your pain to another.

“CUT, that was good” called out Jeeth as he canned the shot and moved towards the next.

“Thank God”

Ben got out of the car and they started walking towards the next shot. It was set in slightly elevated platform after the sharp left turn ahead. The crew was setting up the lights and equipment. A buffalo with a white tuft between the muddy horns dragged its head from the thick undergrowth and gawked intensely at Akash as if he were a star. He   chuckled at the ovation.

Abruptly a loud clamor erupted from where the new shot was being set. There were sounds of metal clanking and a boom from a blast. Jeeth was shouting for help on the top of his voice. The buffalo darted away with a below that shook the life out them. They scurried in top speed towards the turn which was a little far. As they were running an open Jeep advanced threateningly waving swords, metal sheaths and daggers like mahakali of ten hands. A gang of screaming rowdies, swinging swords asymmetrically, chopped the foliage and anything that came in between. Akash hopped away from the road to evade the trajectory of an iron rod that hissed death.

He puffed and gasped beyond the turn to the scene. The musical show set designed by the art team was thrashed into a temple ground after the festival. Destruction was all around. Light bulbs and glass pieces powdered the floor. The cutter stands bend to gravity defying shapes and sets chopped with the plaster of paris clinging in oddball shapes. He rushed towards Jeeth perched on the edge of the set - a cutter stand on him. They had sprayed a bucket of red paint from the art team all over him. He was alright but for a minor bruise on his left arm. Light boys, art director and others in the set were limping back to their frames over a layer of smoke, their spirits sullied.

Jeeth hitched on to a stool as he scanned the remnants of the sets - dreams beaten to pulp. This was to be his last. Ad-films is not what he wanted to do. Peddling a rotten whisky or making a murky builder look cool. Advertising had lost all its sanity - dressing up a pile of crap into a femme fatale, complete with oomph and character. But there was money in pimping and he needed it, to make his feature debut. Being a national brand there were loads of cash in this project. He just had to deliver on time and the feature film was in sight – not as a reams of paper that it had been for the last ten years. But there it was razed to the ground like a pack of cards.

“What happened ? ‘ Akash called out in anxiety.

“Those were Mini’s goons”

“Mini who” Akash cried out. Then he realized. It was a couple of days ago. Akash had been with Jeeth since the start of this ad-film helping him out with creative inputs and running errands. Busy days usually ended at a local bar, over rice brew and choicest sea food. The conversation was good with an eclectic mix of mill workers, fishermen, traders etc and always bordered on the political. They were discussing the candidates for the municipal elections once and Jeeth with his strong center of left politics went ballistic on Mini the current member from the ward. She hadn’t done much except for pushing the contracts for her loafer husband called Mr fifteen percent for the cut he demanded from municipal projects. Few folks in the next table who had come after Mini’s election campaign didn’t take kindly to Jeeth’s diatribe and picked up the argument. The political animal in Jeeth got unleased and he challenged them for a bet that Mini would be defeated in polls and would loose her margin money. Akash had to be at his persuasive best to get Jeeth out of the bar that night.

“Is she crazy to take a bar brawl so seriously” Akash couldn’t help.

Mini was defeated badly in the elections as Jeeth predicted. Maybe this was her way of getting back at Jeeth for declaring the obvious.

“They have taken the camera and all the lighting equipment. My film is dead even before it is born” Jeeth was beaten. Akash looked around. If only they could get the camera they could continue with the shoot. The production guys can arrange the smaller equipment and sets pretty quickly he thought. They could atleast restart the shoot tomorrow. It was important for him too.

“Let me try talking to my brother” Akash sparked. His brother was a contractor in the Municipality and was in first name terms with Mini’s Husband. Maybe he could broker a compromise. There is quite a lot at stake here for everyone. The sets were bumping back into action. The whole incident was big fight sequence to the production boys and they were back in business after it.

Akash’s brother called back. Apparently he had arranged for a compromise discussion and Jeeth had to meet Mini. But the skeptic in Jeeth lost the verve to fight, even to salvage his reputation as a filmmaker. Akash had to nudge with all sorts of dire consequences to get him for the meeting. They drove through winding roads to Mini’s den – a beautiful compound with impressive brick house in the middle.

Mini was perched on a reclining chair with her cohorts around. They walked in and stood sheepishly in her durbar. Did it beat Jeeth to think that a Woman was reigning over his destiny. He hadn’t seen her much earlier , but She looked very familiar. It had a calmness that reminded him of someone. yes ..yes the lead character in his film- the one for which he had sweated all this while. It swiftly hit on Jeeth. Hers was the demeanor that remained elusive, a middle aged mother struggling with a paraplegic son. Money woes apart he never could identify a face true to role. In all the auditions for ad films he was secretly looking for that unique face- a continence that takes all the pain in the world with a smile. And there she was, at the most unexpected of places. Jeeth cried Eurekaaa inside.

“Do you remember me?” asked Mini stoically. “I had auditioned for an ad-film with you . The one for an ayurvedic soap.”. That was his fist film done at a shoestring budget for a client who was bend on selecting the models himself. But he couldn’t remember her from the hundreds he auditioned.

“She is too dark for the role. That’s how you dismissed me”

ചെക്ക്‌ പോസ്റ്റ്‌

2010-11-08T20:32:00.008+05:30

അക്ഷരതെറ്റുകള്‍ ക്ഷമിക്കുക. ഇംഗ്ലീഷില്‍ മലയാളം എഴുതാന്‍ പഠിച്ചു വരുന്നതെയുള്ളു.

രാവിലെ ബൈകുമായ് ഇറങ്ങമ്പോള്‍ ഇങ്ങനെ ഒരു സ്ഥലതെതെമെന്നു വിചാരിച്ചിരുന്നില്ല. ഒന്‍പതരയോടെ ഞാന്‍ആ ഇടുങ്ങിയ ഒഫീസ്സില്‍ എത്തിയിരുന്നു. കാര്യം ഇടുങ്ങിയതണെങ്ങിലും ഇവിടം ഇച്ചിരി ഭംഗിയൊക്കെ ഉണ്ട്കേട്ടോ. കോണ്‍ക്രീറ്റ് കൊണ്ടുള്ള ഈ നരകത്തില്‍ എന്റെ ഓഫീസ് ഒരു വേറിട്ട കാഴ്ചയായിരുന്നു . മെയിന്‍റോഡില്‍നിന്ന് അല്പം മാറി ഒരു രണ്ടു നില കെട്ടിടം . വളരെ പണിപെട്ടലെ ഉള്ളില്‍ ഒരു വീടുണ്ടെന്നു പുറത്തുനിന്നാല്‍ കാണുക ഉള്ളു. റോഡിനു ചേര്‍ന്ന് നിര നിരയായി പലതരം മരങ്ങള്‍, നാനാ വര്‍ണങളിലുള്ളബോഗൈ൯വില്ലകള്‍ എല്ലെം പടര്ര്‍ന്ന് പന്ദ്ദലിച്ചു ആ മുറ്റം ഒരു ചെറിയ കുറ്റികാടു തന്നെ ആയിരുന്നു. പണ്ടെങ്ങോഇവിടെ വളരെ അഠിത്യമുള്ള ഒരു കുടംബം ജീവിച്ചിരിക്കണം . മെയിന്‍ റോഡിനോട് ചെര്നുള്ള ഒരു ഇരുമ്പ് ഗറെറ്റിന്‍ഉള്ളുടെ വേണം അകത്തു കടക്കാന്‍.

ഒരു ഒറ്റയടി പാത ഗേറ്റില്‍ നിന്ന് വീട് വരേ നിവര്‍ന് കിടന്നു. അതിനു ഇരു വശവും നല്ല കട്ടിയോടു കൊടിയ പഴയ തരാം പുല്ല് . കാലത്തിന്റെ ഒഴുക്കില്‍ പെട്ട് ഒണങ്ങി തടിച്ചു അങ്ങിങ്ങായി നിന്നിരുന്ന ചില റോസാ തണ്ടുകള്‍. അതില്‍ ഒന്നില്‍ വളരെ വൈകി പ്രസവിച്ച പോലെ ഒരു വെള്ള റോസാ. പാതയുടെ വലതു വശത്തുള്ള മുറ്റത്തിന്റെ ഒത്ത നട്ക്ക് യവന മത്രികയിലുള്ള ഒരു പ്രതിമ കയ്യില്‍ വെള്ളം എന്നോ നിലച്ചൊരു ജല്ധാരയുംമായി ആരെയോ കാത്തു നില്‍കുന്ന പോലെ. അതിന്റെയ ചുറ്റും ജല്ധാരക് വേണ്ടിയുള ചെറിയ ഒരു തടാകം. ആ വഴി ചെന്ന് നില്കുന്നത് വീടിന്റെ ഇട്തുവഴതുള്ള ഒരു ചെറിയ കോവണിയിലാണ് . പണ്ടെങ്ങോ വെള്ള പൂശിയ ആ കോവണിയും അതിന്റെ മതിലും പൂപല്‍ പിടിച്ചു ഇരുണ്ട നിരംയിരുണ്ണ്‍ . കോവണി കേറി ചെന്നിനിടതുള്ള ഒരു ഒറ്റമുരിറിയായിരുന്നു ഞങ്ങളുടെയ ഓഫീസ് . അങ്ങിങ്ങായി പലതരം ഫയലുകള്‍ അട്ടിയിട്ടു വച്ചിരിക്കുന്നു. അധികമാരും അങ്ങിനെ വരാത്ത സ്ഥലമായതിനാല്‍ വൃത്തിയാക്കാന്‍ ആരും വന്നിരിന്നില്ല.

രാവിലെ ഞാന്‍ അങ്ങിനെ ഓഫീസില്‍ വരാറില്ല. ശരിക്കും എനിക്ക ഒഫീസ്സില്‍ തന്നേ പോകണ്ട കാര്യമില്ല. മദ്രാസിലുള ഒരു സ്ഥപനിതിന്റെ ഇവിടതെ ഓഫീസ് മാനേജര്‍ ആയി ആണെന്റെ ജോലി. ഈ പട്ടണത്തിലുള്ളപഴയതും പുതിടിയതുമായ ഇടപാടുകാരെ ഇടകൊന്നു പോയി കാണുക, പുതിയ ഉത്പന്നങ്ങള്‍ വിപണിയില്‍ ഇറങ്ങുമ്പോള്‍ അതിന്റെ ഒരു സാമ്പിള്‍ എത്തിച്ചു കൊടുക്കുകാ, ചെറുതും വലുതുമായ അവരുടെയ പ്രശനങ്ങള്‍ ഹെഡ്ഒഫീസില്‍ റിപ്പോര്‍ട്ട്‌ ചെയ്യുക , കുസ്ടൊമെര്സിന്ടെ ഓര്‍ഡര്‍ എടുക്കുക തുടങ്ങിയ ചില കാര്യയങ്ങള്‍ മാത്രമേ എനിക്ക് ചെയണ്ടിയതോളു. സാദാരണ ഞാന്‍ വീട്ടില്‍ നിന്ന് നേരെ ഇടപാടുകാരുടെ അടുത്ത് പോകുകയാണ്പതിവ്. ഇന്ന് പക്ഷെ ഹെഡ് ഓഫീസിലുള്ള റാം വിളിച്ചു ഒരു സാമ്പിള്‍ ആയച്ചിടുന്ടെന്നും അതുമായിപട്ടണത്തിന്റെ അതിര്‍ത്തിയിലുള്ള ഒരു വ്യവസായ ശാലയില്‍ എത്തണമെന്ന് പറഞ്ഞതിനാലാണ് എനിക്ക്ഓഫ്സില്‍ വരണ്ടി വന്നത്. ആ സാമ്പിള്‍ എന്റെ ബാഗിലാക്കി ഞാന്‍ ഓഫ്സില്‍ നിന്ന് ഇറങ്ങി.

ബൈകുലൂടെ ചില ഇടവഴിക താണ്ടി ഞാന്‍ യാത്ര തൊടങ്ങി. വ്യവസായശാല ഇരിക്കുന്ന സ്ഥലം ഞാന്‍ അധികം പോകാത്ത ഒരു ഭാഗത്തായിരുന്നു. പട്ടണത്തിന്റെ പഴയ ഭാഗവും കടന്നു വളരെ ദൂരം താണ്ടി വേണം അവിടെഎത്താന്‍‍. കാലങ്ങളായി പുറം ഗ്രമാങ്ങിളില്‍ നിന്ന് വന്നവര്‍ തിങ്ങി പാര്‍ത്തിരുന്നു ചെറിയ ഗലികളില്‍ ആയിരുന്നുഇരു വശത്തും. ഞാന്‍ ബൈകുമായി കാഴ്ചകള്‍ കണ്ടു നീങ്ങി. പതിയെ ജനവാസം കുറഞ്ഞു വന്നു. ഇപ്പോള്‍ നല്ലപച്ചപുള സ്ഥലമാണ്‌ ഇരു വശവും. കൂടുതുലും ആപ്പിള്‍ തോട്ടങ്ങളായിരുന്നു, ഇടയ്ക്കു കൃഷി ചെയ്യതെ ഇട്ടു തഴച്ചു വളരുന്നചില തൊടികളും. ചുറ്റുമുള്ള വശ്യ ഭംഗി ആസ്വദിച്ച് ഞാന്‍ ബൈക്ക് പതിയെയ ഓടിചു.

റോഡ്‌ ഇടത്തോട്ട് പെട്ടന്ന് തിരിഞ്ഞു. വേരെയ വഴിയൊന്നും ശ്രടയില്‍ പെടാതതിനാല്‍ ഞാന്‍ ആ തിരുവെടുത്തു. വഴി കൊറെ കൂടി ചെറുതയിയിരുന്നു. പക്ഷെ ഇവിടം കൂടുതല്‍ സുന്ദരമായിരികുന്നു. വഴി തെറ്റിയെനറിഞ്ഞിട്ടും ആവഴി തന്നെയആണ് ശരി എന്ന പോലെ. ചുറ്റിലെ മാസ്മരികമായ വിജനതയും താണ്ടി പെട്ടന്ന് ഒരു ചെക്ക്‌ പോസ്റ്റ്‌കണ്മറായി . അതിനടുത് പുത്യ തരാം A K 47 തോക്കുകളുമായി മൂന്ന് ജവാന്മാര്‍. ബൈകിന്റെ ശബ്ധം ദൂരെ നിന്ന് കേട്ടഅവര്‍ വഴിലോട്ടു നോക്കി നില്കുകയായിരുന്നു. എന്ത് കൊണ്ടോ പെട്ടന് കണ്ട ചെക്ക്‌ പോസ്റ്റിനു മുന്‍പിലുള പെട്ടികടകരികിലോട്ടു ഞാന്‍ വണ്ടി ഒതുക്കി. ബൈക്കില്‍ നിന്നിറങ്ങി ഒരു സാദാരണ ഭാവത്തില്‍ ഞാന്‍ ആ കടയിലോട്ടു കയറി ഒരു സിഗരറ്റ് ചോദിച്ചു. മരപള്ളികള്‍ കൊണ്ടുണ്ടാക്കിയ ആ കടയില്‍ ഭംഗിയായി സോപ്പ്, പേസ്റ്റ് മുതലായവ അടുക്കി വച്ചിരിരുന്നു.

“ ഈ വഴി ആദ്യമായിട്ടനെന്നു തോന്നുന്നു” കടകാരന്‍ ചോദിച്ചു

“ഞാന്‍ ആ വ്യവസായശാലയിലോട്ട് വന്നതാ. ഈ വഴി കണ്ടപ്പോള്‍ ഒന്ന് കയറി നോകാമെന്നു വിചരിചൂ ”

“അത് കുഞ്ഞെ ഇവിടെ അധികം നില്‍കാന്‍ കൊള്ളത്തില്ല. ദാ ആ ചെക്ക്പോസ്റ്റിനപുറം കൊടും കാടാ . തീവ്രവാദികളുടെ വിഹാര കേന്ദ്രം. ചെക്ക്‌പോസ്റ്റു കഴിഞ്ഞാല്‍ പിന്നെയ ഇന്ത്യന്‍ പോലീസിനും പട്ടാളത്തിനും ഒരുഅധികാരവുമില്ല. അങ്ങനെയ ആരും ഈ വഴിയിലൂടെ പോകാറില്ല ” രണ്ടു പട്ടാളക്കാര്‍ അപ്പോള്‍ എന്നെ തിരക്കി വന്ന പോലെ

“ഹുമം" ഒരാള്‍ മുരണ്ടു. ഞാന്‍ സിഗരറ്റ് കുത്തി കെടുത്തി

“അതേ സാറെ വഴി തെറ്റി വന്നതാ. ഇവിടെ അടുത്തളാ വ്യവസായശാലയിലോട്ട് പോകണ്ടാത്താ” കടകാരന്‍ ചാടിപറഞ്ഞു

“ ഐഡന്റിറ്റി കാര്‍ഡ്‌ വെലാതും ഉണ്ടോ കയ്യില്‍” ഞാന്‍ പോക്കറ്റില്‍ കയിട്ടപോഴേക്കും അയ്യാള്‍ ഒരു സിഗരട്ടുംഎടുത്തു തിരിച്ചു നടന്നു കൊണ്ട് പറഞ്ഞു “പെട്ടന്ന് തിരിച്ചു വിടോ ഇപ്പോള്‍ പട്രോളിംഗ് വണ്ടി വരും”

എന്തോ അവിടെ അകെ ഒരു തരാം നിഘൂടത തലം കെട്ടിയിരിക്കുന്ന പോലെ. ഒന്നഅപ്പറം പോകണമെന്ന് തോന്നി. ഞാന്‍ പട്ടാളക്കാരന് പോയ ഭാഗതോട്ടു നോക്കി അങ്ങനെ നിന്നു. വേറൊരു ലോകം, വേറൊരു പ്രഭാതം, വേറെസമസ്യകള്‍ എന്തോ വിശുധിയുള സ്ഥലം പോലെ ആ ചെക്ക്പോസ്റ്റിനപുറം തോന്നിച്ചു. അങ്ങോട്ട്‌ പോകാന്‍ഉദ്ദേശിചവര്ക് ഈ ചെക്ക്പോസ്റ്റ് ഒരു ചെറിയ തടസം മാത്രം . കാട്ടിലൂടെ മറ്റനേകം വഴികളുണ്ടാകും .

എന്റെ ചിന്ത മനസിലാകിയെന്നോണം കടകരന “ കുഞ്ഞെ ആധികം താമസികണ്ടാ” സിഗരെടിന്റെ കാശുംകൊടുത്ത ഞാന്‍ കടകരനൊടു സലാം പറഞ്ഞു. ബൈക്ക് സ്റ്റാര്‍ട്ട്‌ ചെയ്തപോല്‍ വീണ്ടും ആ ലോകതോക്ക് ഞാന്‍ഉള്കടമയി ഞാന്‍ നോക്കി. ഇവിടം താണ്ടി ഒരിക്കല്‍ പോകണം

ഫക്ടറിയിലോട്ടുള വഴി കണ്ടു പിടിക്കാന്‍ വലിയ പാട് പെടണ്ട വനില്ല. കയ്യില്‍ കരുതിയിരുന്ന സാമ്പിള്‍ അവിടതെ മാനജറെ ഏല്പിച്ചു ഞാന്‍ പെട്ടന്ന് ഓഫീസിലോട്ട് തിരിച്ചു. പോകുന്ന വഴി ഒക്കെ ചെക്ക്പോസ്റ്റിനപുറംമായിരുന്നു മനസ്സില്‍.

തിരിച്ചു ഓഫീസില്‍ പോകുന്ന വഴി മദ്രാസില്‍ നിന്ന് രാമിന്റെ ഫോണ്‍ വീണ്ടും “പെട്ടന്ന് ഓഫീസിലോട്ട് ഒന്ന്വരണം ” ഞാന്‍ എതികൊണ്ടിരികുകയാണെന്ന് പറഞ്ഞു ഫോണ്‍ വെച്ച്. എന്താ ഇപ്പോള്‍ പെട്ടന്ന് . സാദാരണപുള്ളികാരന്‍ ഇത്ര സംഘര്‍ഷഭരിതനായി കേട്ടിടില്ല. ചുറ്റിലോന്നും ശ്രധികാതെ ഞാന്‍ വണ്ടി വേഗം ഓടിച്ചു.

ഓഫീസിലെതെയാപ്പോള്‍ റാം ഒരു വെരുകിനെ പോലെ അങ്ങോട്ടും ഇങ്ങോട്ടും നടകുന്നു. ഒഫിസിന്റെ വലതുവശതയീ ഒരു മുറി പൂട്ടിയിട്ടിരുന്നു. ഞാന്‍ തന്നെയ വല്ലപോഴുമെ അത് തുറക്കുറൊളു . റാം അതിന്റെ വാതില്‍ തുറന്നഎന്തോ തെരഞ്ഞിരികുന്നു. ഈ റൂം എന്തിനു തൊറന്നു എന്നാ ഭാവത്തില്‍ ഞാന്‍ രാമിനെ നോക്കി

“രണ്ടാഴച്ചതെക്ക് ഇവിടേയാ എന്റെയ വാസം . രവില്ല താന്‍ പോയ ഫാക്ടറിയില്‍ ചില്ല ജോലികള്‍ ചെയ്യാനുള്ളഓര്‍ഡര്‍ കിട്ടിയിരിക്കുന്നു. നാളെ തന്നെ തുടങ്ങണം പോല്‍” അത് ശരി എന്നാല്‍ എന്തിനയാളെ ഈ കുടുസുമുറിയിലോട്ടു പറഞ്ഞു വിട്ടു

“ഇവിടെ അടിച്ചു തളി ഒന്നുമില്ലെ” റാം ക്ഷോഭിച്ചിരുന്നു . ഞാന്‍ മിണ്ടാതെ കുടുസ്സു മുറിയിലോട്ടു കയറി. അതിന്റെമുക്കാല്‍ ഭാഗവും കോളേജ് ഹോസ്റ്റലില്‍ ഉള്ള മാതിരി ഒരു ഇരിമ്പു കട്ടില്‍ ആയിരുന്നു. കട്ടിലിനു മുകളില്‍അട്ടികളായി ഫയലുകളും , രേഖകളും, വര്‍ത്തമാനപ്പത്രങ്ങളും. ബാക്കിയുള്ള സ്ഥലതു ഒരു ചെറിയ മേശ . എല്ലാത്തിനും മുകളില്‍ ഇരിഞ്ചു കട്ടിക്ക് പോടീ. . പതിയെയ ഒരു കേട്ട് ഫയല്‍ ഞാന്‍ എടുതപോള്‍ ചെറിയ പാറ്റകള്‍അങ്ങോട്ടും ഇങ്ങോട്ടോം ഓടി.

“ഏതു ദുഷിച്ച സംയ്താണോ ഈ ജോലിയില്‍ ചേരാന്‍ തോന്നിയത്” റാം വിലപിചൂ. രണ്ടു പേരും കൂടി പിടിച്ചു ആകട്ടില്‍ പുറത്തിറക്കാന്‍ ഒന്ന് നോക്കി. പക്ഷെ അതിനു വീതി വളരെ കൂടുതല്‍ ആയതിനാല്‍ ചെറിയ വാതിലിലൂടെഅത് ഇറങ്ങുംമായിരുനില്ല . കട്ടില്‍ താഴതിട്ടപോഴാണ് മുകളില്‍ നിന്ന് ഒരു കിളിയുടെ ശബ്ദം. തട്ടിലെ ഓടു ഒരുഭാഗത്ത്‌ മൊത്തമായി പോയിരിക്കുന്നു. പുറത്തുള്ള മാവിന്റെയ ശിഖരങ്ങള്‍ അതിലൂടെയ കാണാമായിരുന്നു. ഉള്ളില്‍ഒരു ചിരിയുമായി രാമിനെ നോക്കിയപൂല്‍ അയ്യാള്‍ ആരോ മരിച്ച പോലെ മുകളിലോട്ടു നോക്കി നില്കുന്നു. അയ്യാല്ളൊടു അല്പം സഹതാപം തോന്നി. രാവിലെ കണ്ട ചെക്ക്പോസ്റ്റ് വീണ്ടും ഓര്മ വന്നു. എങ്ങനെ അവിടംകടനെത്തം എന്നായി വീണ്ടും ചിന്ത.

അപ്പോഴാണു കട്ടിലിന്റെ പുറകു വശത്തൊരു വാതില്‍ കണ്ടത്. മതിലിന്റെ അതെ നിറത്തിലുള്ള പെയിന്റ്ആയതിനാല്‍ പെട്ടെന്ന് ശ്രധികില്ല. വര്‍ഷങ്ങളായുള്ള പൊടിയും കൂടി ആയപ്പോള്‍ വളരെ പണിപെട്ടലെ അത്കാണൂ. കട്ടില്‍ പതിയെ തള്ളി ഞാന്‍ ആ വാതില്‍ തുറന്നു.

വളരെ വൃത്യായി സൂക്ഷിച്ചിരിക്കുന്ന ഒരു ഇടതെകന്നു ആ വാതില്‍ തുറന്നത് . ചുറ്റും ശുഭ്രമായ് വെളുപ്പ്‌. തറയില്‍ വേലു കല്ലുകള്‍ പടിപിചിരിക്കുന്നു. മതിലികളില്‍ പുതിയ തരാം വെള്ള പെയിന്റ്. വെള്ള അടിച്ചിരിക്കുന ജനലുകള്‍ ക്ക്മുകളില്‍ തൂവെള്ള നിറമുള്ള ജനല്‍മറ. ആ മുറിയില്‍ എല്ലാം വെള്ളമയമായിരുന്നു. സ്വപ്നങ്ങളില്‍ കാണാറുള്ള സ്വര്‍ഗംപോലെ. മുറിയുടെ ഒത്ത നടകു മുട്ടതുള്ളത് പോലെയുള്ള ഒരു പ്രതിമ. കയ്യില്‍ ഒരു ജല്ധാരയുംമായി. അതില്‍ നിന്ന്നിരയെയ വെള്ളം വരുന്നുണ്ട്.

ആ സ്വീകരണ മുറിയും താണ്ടി ഒരു ഇടനാഴിയിലോട്ടു ഞാന്‍ നടന്നു. അതിനിരുവശവും അധുനിക രീതിയില്‍ അലങ്ങരിചിരികുന്ന വിസ്ത്രിതിയുള്ള കിടപ്പ്മുറികള്‍ . ഈ മുറികള്‍ക്ക് പിന്നില്‍ നല്ല അഭിരിചിയുള്ള ആരുടെയോ ബുദ്ധി പ്രവര്‍ത്തിച്ചിരിക്കണം. വെണ്‍മയായിരുന്നു അവിടെയും. കട്ടിയുള്ള മേത്തക്ക് മുകളില്‍ നല്ലമൃദുവായ വെള്ള വിരി. മൂലയില്‍ വെള്ള ഫ്രെമുള്ള കണ്ണാടി. ഏതോ ഒരു മായിക ലോകതെതിയ പോലെ. ഇത്ര ഭങ്ങിയായി ഒരു മുറി എങ്ങിനെ ഇവിടെ വന്നു ? . ഇത്രും നാളായി ഓഫീസില്‍ വന്നിട്ടും എന്തെ ഈ മുറികള്‍ ഞാന്‍ കണ്ടില്ല. വീണ്ടുമൊരു സ്വപ്നത്തിലേക്ക് വഴുതി വീഴുകയാണോ?

Nation on Selective Amnesia

2010-10-05T17:19:00.004+05:30

As the Common Wealth Games juggernaut sets to roll with its pomp and gaiety there are cheer leaders from all sections of the spectrum thumping India has arrived. In the force of this submerging cacophony the one strain that stands out is the metaphor that the Games sort of peaked towards the opening ceremony like a big fat Indian wedding. That despite all the muck that preceded, all crimes of the past are forgiven because the opening circus gave an orgasmic high. And then there was the usual dollops of jingoism that comes with the not so subtle message of the relentless march towards super-powerdom.

No where in recent history has the idea of Manufacturing Consent so clearly substantiated. For weeks on end in the run up towards the games there was a collective fury against the gross mismanagement of the organizing committee. Starting with corruption about contracts to UK based company peaking with the collapse of a footbridge to false ceiling coming of at the weight lifting venue. Then as the opening ceremony got closer everybody apparently learned their lessons overnight whatever was bad about the games got forgotten. It reads like a classic Hollywood script where the hero is put to innumerable conflicts and finally comes out a winner despite all the odds. Can an entire population be hoodwinked into such synchronicity. Why is the debate always hijacked to a safe terrain where the question and answers make no difference.

The question has to start from the propriety of the games. In nation where there has 421 million people live below the poverty line is this 6 billion dollar extravaganza with tax payers money the answer. It is 15 billion by another estimate. Nobody knows and will ever know what it costs for this ten day orgy . This is when the state is slowly withdrawing form vital sectors like education and healthcare. There are elaborate numbers on the economic impact of the games thrown by the organizing committee. But these for now most remains in the area of conjecture. And doesn’t this game reek of colonial arrogance. As recently as 1970 this games was called the British Empire and Commonwealth Games.

Will this mela have an impact in India’s dismal performance in international sports ? Sports administrators across the nation have commented that a minuscule portion of what is spend in the name of games would have helped to create meaningful sports infrastructure and training facilities. This could have helped to recover from the ignobility of a single gold medal in the Beijing Olympics. This billion dollar jamboree is not the answer to India’s problem is world sports

An event of this nature does create construction jobs in large numbers. But a report by a committee appointed by the Delhi high court on the "condition of workers" engaged in construction work is Commonwealth Games sites points is appalling to say the least. Independent investigations have found that more than 70 workers have been killed in accidents at the sites since work began. There is very little regard to the safety of workers mandated when making such grandiose structures. The workers are being made to work in harsh and unsafe conditions without basic amenities. The labor is subcontracted many times over that the average worker pay at the CWG site is 114 while the minimum daily wages mandated in Delhi is Rs. 151.

The ten lakh treadmill that was trumpeted in the media is small change compared to the Rs 2500 crore irregularities uncovered by the Central Vigilance Commission. The report included the use of sub-standard material, rigging of bids, sanctioning of projects which were not needed, favoritism in selection of contractors and private bidders being allowed to tamper with figures post-auction. A Tehleka report points to organizing committee Secretary Kalmadi’s ingenuity in awarding contracts : find a foreign firm to act as a partner in crime, then tilt the rules in such a way that no domestic competitor met the requirements. Kalmadi’s killer clause in all the tenders is that the companies making bids should have “relevant experience of working with sports events”. Thus a firm which manufactures generators was disqualified because it had never supplied its products for a sports event. That is why gensets are coming from abroad — so are furniture, treadmills, toilet paper and sanitary napkins. The size and contour of the corruption basket will only be larger if the governmental agencies would have the gut to go behind this.

CWG is a smart enterprise to channel public funds to the rich and needy under the pretext of nationalism-on-viagra. With all the shady deals that has gone into it, the only hope is that some kind of disaster doesn’t strike while the games are on. Not because it will injure the cause of India. But it will be irredeemable loss to the families.

Corporate Psychopath and Carlton Towers

2010-06-20T10:14:00.003+05:30

An oft repeated narrative after the Carlton Towers fire is the government’s lethargy in addressing the concerns of the victims and the lack of institutional mechanisms to avert similar events. But in the humdrum of the diatribe against the state, there is a class which conveniently chooses to be blind-eyed about its responsibilities – the Corporates. The Carlton tower tragedy is a definitive case of corporate negligence and culpability as much as it is a case of state antipathy.

Risk assessment, mandated in western countries including the U.K and USA where many of the finance companies affected at Carlton Towers are headquartered is a thing of the past. Circumstantial evidence at Carlton Towers shows how little attention corporates paid to this important requirement. One of the companies had converted the fire exits into office space locking all the exit doors – a key piece which significantly delayed the response of the rescue team. . A private equity fund had senior personnel from Philippines to fire audit the companies it had invested in, but did not think it important enough to do a similar audit for its own office. A lot of these holier-than-thou companies would have gone bust if a similar event had happened in their headquarters. The Corporate Manslaughter and Homicide Act 2007 in UK sets out to heavily penalize an organization where a failure in the way activities were managed or organized results in a person’s death.

The same sloppiness extends to their dad-to-day operations. Fire drills are passé. Most employees didn’t even know the location of the fire exits. A global major which provides real estate consultancy and advises clients on safety issues didn’t even have a smoke alarm which could have averted death and other injuries in their office.

But their conduct post tragedy has showed their real cold bloodedness. The best settlement done by the real estate major mentioned above was peanuts compared to what the company might have had to shell out in case they had to make a similar settlement elsewhere. A private equity fund made some verbal promises but has not done anything for the families of three employees who passed away. The relatives already beaten by the emotional trauma are in no mood to fight. And even if they want to put up a fight these companies would hide behind the legalize denying even the paltry sum they have committed in some cases. For the families it is a case of beggars can’t be choosers.

The treatment meted out to the injured is no better. A private equity firm promised to foot hospital expenses so that their injured employee could be shifted to a private room from the ICU as the government reimbursement covered only ICU+general ward expenses or none at all. As the hospitalization got extended and costs increased, the firm changed its stance citing that their head office in London would not approve of it. The affected had to go to the general ward where she was repeatedly struck with infections and is still far from recovery. An employee who was the point man for the company commented cryptically “Let us accept that she is poor and can’t go to a private room,” like the seven figure salaried MD of his company.

The plight of contract employees is better not said. The family of a deceased office boy who was the sole bread winner of the family has not received any compensation from his company and calls to the company head honchos by his family remain unanswered. A badly injured housekeeping lady contracted from a leading housekeeping service provider in Bangalore has not received her salary from March nor any reimbursement of her medical expenses. This is when her monthly salary is a paltry three thousand rupees. The dichotomy here is that these companies could have been sued for millions of dollars in their home countries for similar behavior. Unfortunately in India, corporate laws on workplace accidents are not well defined.

Where is the corporate social responsibility that head honchos of these companies profess from all possible pulpits. The companies in this case showed all symptoms of a corporate psychopath as expounded by the cult documentary “The Corporation” - Callous disregard for the feelings of other people, reckless contempt for the safety of others, and the failure to conform to social norms and respect for the law. With the focus on the responsibility of the Carlton Towers owners association and the state authorities in the tragedy, it has become easy for corporates to conceal their own involvement in and responsibility for the crime. It is high time that we stop them from preying and exploiting others without regard for legal rules or moral limits.

Love thy things as you would love yourself

2010-01-05T12:22:00.003+05:30

A thought from the lady of the house struck as revelation one morning. How do we relate to the things around us? The refrigerator that keeps the food fresh, the cot that gives a good nights sleep with its warm embrace, the work desk that keeps us in good posture all through the day, the mobile phone that keeps us connected and all those devices and contraptions that we interact with every second of our lives. Do we respect them, do we thank them for their services. Does ownership give us the right to be inconsiderate and mistreat them ?.

At the dawn of civilization there were only a few equipments that our forefathers had to interact to – a couple of twigs and leaves to create fire, maybe logs of wood that helped them move heavy objects. The post-industrial society that we live in now has spawned millions of tools and devices that make living simple and comfortable. One way to look at the world that we live in is as the manufacture and distribution of devices/equipments to live our lives. They are every where and we touch them at every point in our lives from the scissors that the doctor uses to cut the umbilical chord and mark your entry into the world, to the spade that fills up mud into our graves and takes to the unknown – our lives could be read as a serial relationship with things.

Things have a grey, genderless, cold, non-living existence in our mental map. We don’t go kiss our refrigerators good bye before a holiday. Neither do we say thanks to the car for having driven us three hundred kilometers of rough country terrain. But they create a range of positive experiences and emotions in our lives. Imagine going into an air-conditioned room after walking through the streets of Madras in May or seeing world cup football for the first time - mine was a brazil match in 84 on a Sony TV. Things always give their intended output without much fuss. A reclining chair always gives a comfortable seating without asking to be fed and taken care of. At times it is their absence that reminds us of their presence. Try forgetting your toothbrush when on an overnight train journey or try making coffee without a gas stove. In being able to create a mood or sensation the objects fulfill one of the primary traits of living organisms.

A lot of our memories have links to the objects. One of my recurring images about paternal grandmother is a wooden chest in which she kept all her clothes and other precious things locked. She was very protective about it and only her favorite grandchildren among the fifty odd had the permission to have a peek inside. There were rows of white clothes, reading glasses of grandfather who had died earlier, some documents and sweet smell of attar ( perfume ) everywhere. On a recent visit to a close friend’s house the large sofa in the living room and meat safe in the dining stood out. He had changed homes about three or four times in the last fifteen years. But that sofa and meat safe were my locus standi to the fact that it was the same house where we spend endless nights - smoking cigarettes, sharing stories of first love.

Adaptability another cornerstone of the Darwinian world view fits well with object world. Any new TV could be programmed to thousand different set of color and sound combination. Washing machines now have intelligence to control the spin and amount of water to be used. If we look at adaptability from a higher perspective there is the equivalent of evolution in living organisms. The simple pen has evolved from a quill to the ball point variety through a process of mutation and inventions over centuries. Understanding of gravity, capillary action and metallurgy helped inventors of the time create the earliest fountain pen and since then the pen has gone through a cycles of adaptation. And with age of the computers pen is facing the threat of extinction. Maybe the pen might transform with another technology to create a device that will fit the new age. It is not difficult to imagine things as having a life of their own.

The concept of Ayudha pooja inherited from our tribal past – bears testimony to the importance our ancestors gave to these tools and objects in their way of life. In the Adivasi way of life they had a place almost on par with their deities and were worshiped with due reverence. Compare this with materialistic society we live in, where objects are to be possessed and disposed of at will. It is somehow reminiscent of slave trade from our not so distance past and success is judged by the possession of the latest gadgets and things –flat screen TV, petrol guzzling SUV’s and washing machine that can do small chat. They are not there for the value they deliver, but more as show pieces for others. The industrial complex thrives on producing and obsolescing things at a rapid pace. Ten years back tea was still served in steel tumblers and china cups at parties. Now we have the ubiquitous plastic cups. The tumbler could be washed and reused many times where as the plastic cup is use and throw. The average life span of a car was more than twenty five years in the seventies while average life of the cars now is less than ten years. Remember the second-hand Ambassador or Lambretta scooter which had the pride of place when it came into the family. Constantly bombarded with advertisements for newer models we are branded losers if things are not cycled rapidly. Fat with slim. Twenty four inch with thirty six inch. Where is the time to form an engagement? When was the last time we washed the cars ourselves?

The question then is to discover their rightful place in our lives, without being overtly attached to them. A deeper commitment to them can help in breaking the churn of things and use them better. When we wake up after a good nights sleep, do we ever think that that the comfortable cot and bed played their part well. Yes it was our hard or easily earned money. But in reducing it to a purely transactional model aren’t we falling in the same rut of not acknowledging what gives us happiness and comfort. What if we wink at the cot and say thanks and smile at the tooth brush and say good morning. The story of Prahalada and Narsimha is a testimony to the underlying sanctity of everything we consider as non living. Like a sculptor who gives life to a piece of rock every object can take a living form when steered by the right hands.

The lady of the house had to once dispose a red refrigerator that she so liked. She went around identifying proper suitor for the lady in red and found a young couple who couldn’t afford a new one. The money was inconsequential, but the bride would be respected and looked after well in the new home - the marriage was arranged. You see love blooms when it is given without restraint and so I love.

2009-07-01T12:27:00.000+05:30

Re-reading Gandhiji’s Experiments with Truth

2009-05-15T11:16:00.005+05:30

The greatness of the man was his simplicity. I couldn’t help thinking of the advertisement in Dooradarshan promoting Gandhian values as I was reading the “My Experiments with Truth” the second time. Here was the man who gave India and the world at large, some of the potent non-violent tools of political struggle and a generation later, he seems to have vanished out our mind-space, except for some passing reference in school textbooks. I don’t even remember a lesson on Gandhiji in my school days though there was a lesson on a farmer going to meet Vladmir Lenin and extolling the simplicity of his life in our Malayalam reader. The left always had imaginative ways of using the school curriculum to inculcate their core values.

I did have a previous attempt at reading the book. Valipachi (Maternal grandfather) had a decent library at home. After school and hostel closed for summer vacations I would be at Najarakattu ( Maternal home) till my parents travel back from Vadakara or Tirur in north Kerala where Bapachi would be posted. One of the standard assignments that English public schools of yore had was to learn two English words daily during vacations. There wasn’t any active monitoring of this but Muvattupuzha being a place I didn’t have any friends and most of my cousins being much elder to me I started harking on Valipachi’s library.

My Experiments with Truth was a part of the attempt to learn new words . I didn’t traverse beyond the one-third of the book during that vacation –from eight to ninth standard. But an episode about Gandhiji’s childhood attempts at eating meat and how out of guilt, he confessed to his father remained in my memory for a long time. There was something sacred about that reading I remember. I would do it only after a bath in the morning and in the large cool drawing room of the house , it felt like I was touching a part of our history. Lolita from Valiapachi’s Presidency days did tempt me, but I don’t remember reading it until I was in pre-degree. Probably one of the few who has read a grandfather’s copy of the timeless classic that got sexuality into mainstream publishing.

In Gandhiji the private and public experiences came together in such beautiful combination that it was difficult to distinguish them. For him there was no political struggle without the personal. All the major political expressions that Gandhi founded came out of his personal quest to refine himself and find the true meaning of life. Satyagraha, Non-violence and Civil Disobedience owes it to a constant process of spiritual distillation that Gandhi practiced throughout his life that the essential moral timbre for these tools was built-in from his life experiences. In-fact for Gandhiji, Satayagrha – the quest for truth was a more a personal philosophy than a political tool. The origin and practice of it is captured vividly in the book Satyagraha about his period in South Africa and portrayed by Rajat Kapur in the film “ The Making of Mahatma” directed by Shyam Benegal.

Congress did have a tryst with Civil Disobedience that was not as effective and bordered on anarchy before Gandhi started to drive the national movement. For him the means was as important as the end and Gandhi would resort to a fast to reset it in the true course. A lesser soul would have winked at minor transgressions, but not Gandhi. He always looked at them as opportunities to strengthen the moral fabric.

Gandhiji approach to politics and religion was another facet that set him miles ahead of his time. Coming from a strong Vaishnaviate tradition , he believed that faith was an essential part of the political landscape of the sub-continent. Recognition of the cultural and sociological identities of Hinduism, Isalm and other religions was the primary to bringing the nation together. His personal view on religion was not very scriptural or traditional and tempered by a rational view of practices taking only the good ones. Though he strongly supported the revisionist causes, Gandhiji understood the religion was so ingrained in the Indian psyche that it was not possible to have a strong national foundation by ignoring them.

This view strongly contrasted with the Nehuru’s secular ideas that dominated the politics of the young nation. There was a sustained campaign to wipe religious symbols from all aspects of public life. Modern historians point to this persistent attempts at removing religiosity to be the prime reason for the strengthening of right wing parties from the late eighties. Religion is so elemental to the nation’s genetic make-up and it was foolhardy to think that it would go away if it didn’t find a legitimate expression. Rather it hoarded in national consciousness like virus that is subdued through induced medication and comes out with destructive force. In retrospect Indian’s early leaders should have co-opted religion into our constitution in more holistic ways as Gandhiji wanted it. This would have set the nation on totally different trajectory.

Article in Deep Focus - Film Quarterly

2008-11-12T09:57:00.006+05:30

Review of the film Memoirs posted in the blog was published in Deep Focus a film quarterly

Life in Sine - Film

2007-12-04T10:13:00.006+05:30

Festivals
Best Director: ICE 2008, Poona
Competition: SIGNS 2007, Trivandrum.
Competition : DigitAll Movement Poona
Film Camp, Banglore
Ala Short Film Festival, Calicut
Competition: Chicago Short Film Fest 08
Click here if you prefer watching in YouTube

poster, brands and some jagada

2007-11-08T11:29:00.003+05:30

GCDA (jagada) gang
dudu: janis joplin, poison. Now in Advertising
neo: doors, romeo. Now in Automobiles
red: allan parsons project, weed. Now in : s/w

Forwarded conversation
Subject: nice poster on the roof
------------------------

this is a poster on the roof of the smoking room of infosys bangalore.. thats dosent concern the 2 any wayz......

way to go guyzz............

----------
From: Dudu

fcuk infosys. this is the smoking room of everest advertising, mumbai.

u think IT guys can think like this :-)

red - no offence bcoz i haven't considered u as one IT guy.

cheers

dudu

----------

From: red

well........absolutely not ...... i don't consider myself as a part of any group let alone IT... but there indeed is a lot of crap sitting in there as creative czars in advertising as if they were chosen by god almighty......

i am starting to think that there is a big ethical question in advertising in pushing stuff people don't need. You probably have heard about Naomi Klien http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/No_Logo

----------

From: Neo

I fully agree with u both u guys. According to the practical skeptic like me i feel that a person views himself or herself through others' perceptions in society and in turn he or she gains identity and is the result of the concept in which we learn to see ourselves as others do . ( no offense dude)

This begins at an early age when we are young (gcda days) and continues throughout the entirety of a person's life.

One might never stop modifying their self unless all social interactions are ceased . They might then put forward an influential summary of their perspective.

so for me IT is only learning some abrevations and jargons

and Branding is selling the art of learning how to sell stuff not required to layman.

chill

Neo

----------

From: red

Great Neo........I bet middle east has turned you into a philosopher ....that is Sartre and Existentialism at its best ...........see the excerpts from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Existentialism

The Gaze
Sartre believed that beings possess the power to look at themselves and at another or an object, which is to use one's mind to look at the person in static. This concept of "looking" and the power to look, is referred to as The Gaze. This destroys an object's subjectivity. The thing becomes an "in itself" or an object. Sartre stated that this form of consciousness was used quite often in inter-personal relationships. People place meaning onto what other people think of them rather than what they think of themselves. This process of radically re-aligning this meaning from The Gaze onto one's own being is what leads to periods of so-called "existential angst".

Being for others
Sartre believed that people who cannot embrace their freedom seek to be "looked at," that is, to be made an object of another's subjectivity. This creates a clash of freedoms whereby person A's being (or sense of identity) is controlled by what person B's thoughts about him are.

----------

From: Dudu

i don't agree with red neither agree with naomi klein and the no logo.

it is just another publicity stunt by a journalist.

what has she become after that. she becomes a brand. don't forget that.

forget ad agencies and corporates. we are just pure mortals.

brands go as dated as olympics began and even cleopatra, shakespeare. they were all brands of their own age and era.

on the ethical question of pushing stuff people don't need. if not today it will be required tomorrow. some markets may be immature to accept a product or an offering. period.

and to sign off - consumer is not a moron, he is your wife.

and if advertising people are chosen by god almighty, yes definitely yes. we all are. even IT guys ;-)

cheers dudu

----------

From: red

this is a debate that will never lead to a consensus ......coz is it very tied to each indvidulals politics, economics and a host of other things... and the debate is not just about advertising alone.......however it is important to see the other side rather being cocooned ....

cleopatra, shakespeare..... they all have different identities.. looking them as a brand is only one way .....tomorrow there might be another construct like a "brand" and you could ascribe them to that too. like the liberation theologists who say that Jesus Christ is the first Marxist which is very true coz he fought for the downtrodden. it is all different points of view as they say

==========================================================================================

In this context suggest you to watch this interesting documentary when you get time .pretty long one ..but a must watch i would say
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=192012118972057552

< http://www.thecorporation.com/ > THE CORPORATION explores the nature and spectacular rise of the dominant institution of our time. Footage from pop culture, advertising, TV news, and corporate propaganda, illuminates the corporation's grip on our lives. Taking its legal status as a "person" to its logical conclusion, the film puts the corporation on the psychiatrist's couch to ask "What kind of person is it?" Provoking, witty, sweepingly informative, The Corporation includes forty interviews with corporate insiders and critics - including Milton Friedman, Noam Chomsky, Naomi Klein, and Michael Moore - plus true confessions, case studies and strategies for change.

Winner of 24 INTERNATIONAL AWARDS, 10 of them AUDIENCE CHOICE AWARDS including the AUDIENCE AWARD for DOCUMENTARY in WORLD CINEMA at the 2004 SUNDANCE FILM FESTIVAL.

----------

From: neo

fellas

when i took that picture and attached it on to my mail and made up my tale

i wasnt quite in my senses but now i feel i am good in BRANDING as well as IT.(INFOSYS)

bye neo

----------
From: dudu

in the context of people becoming brands, brand is what masses know. they can easily relate to it. have they ever read shakespeare - NO.

for eg let's take david beckham - the masses know he is a big brand. he is the one face of english football. his wife is victoris of spice girls. his sons name is romeo and something.

he is now even the face of american soccer. and that too for an obscene amount transfer. when did america started playing soccer? puzzles me.

masses are interested in page 3. accept it. and it is aspirational too. will they ever get to see them in real life. they might not. but they will know everything from his birth. this is not meant for soccer fans alone or beckham fans. everyone knows. and why everyone knows.

bcoz he is a brand. he is a good marketing guy. he has stupendopus spin doctors. he is a great PR guy. but he is not the greatest talented english footballer who was born on that part of the world. i wud say he is one of the least talented minus the dead ball spot kicks.

cheers dudu

----------
From: neo

hell.......

branding is done in a different way here in the middle east... no one looks for beckhan and his

' victoria 's secret ' here. no one cares abt the money and not necessarily has his "american dream".

for the cause of Arab resistance to the zionist program in palestine branding zionism as colonialism, thereby denying recognition of any Jewish national needs and entitlement to palestine as the Land of Israel has became a constitutive myth of the Arab discourse against the Jews.

The answer is that branding has become one of the world's most potent defamatory code-words. Hence those who seek fatally to stigmatize creed / products / humans grasp it with alacrity as a weapon in the struggle to end the existence of such.

precisely your question dudu " what is the connection between america and soccer?" who lost out ? soccer hungry fans in europe? soccer itself? england? imagine baseball which started when cricket was already there for decades and rugby ( american football ) when soccer existed years before........ helooooo now i hear some branding happening.....

they even have a world series baseball competition every year but the only teams playing are from the usa only.

now my conclusion

brandingl serves as a litmus test for distinguishing people - those who are hostile to every fuking thing other than their own perception and those who are conscientious critics of the policies and actions of everything other thing in this universe.

Neo

Would like to take on one line from Dudu .... Masses are interested in page 3

that sort of sums up the entire argument that marketers have for the current state of affairs or degeneration if i could say so...we follow where the market is...if for that Times of India has to show nude women on its sports page so be it ( I am not being a moralist here ) ..we are being led by the least common factor in all aspects of our existence. but classical marketing theory also can create a market when there is none. how did Coke become such a behemoth when for all of our existence we lived without something like that. Its like a . chicken or egg situation ..market or brands..... leading to a gradual dilution of all values and making us pathetically homogenous... kellogs for breakfast, colorplus for attire, gucci for leather and mcdonalds for dinner ..... think capitalism is creating the communist utopia.

a friend form uttranchal was telling me a while back that Women sing the latest Hindi tunes in the sangeet ceremony that they have at night while till a year back it used to be traditional songs.. a generation later those songs would never be there ..power of the Bollywood brand ???? killing all our indigenous music... I wouldn't be surprised if our kids consider putto and kadala as an exotic dish while they would be feed on cereals, bacon and chips..

there are examples of active intervention too where consumers are taught. how did Kerala come to have a better film culture than the rest of India except Bengal.. the film clubs, chitralekha studio and a host of filmmakers painstakingly exposed us to and idiom different than the mainstream. why even our commercial cinema is refreshingly different in plot and execution than the rest - reason why priyadarshan keep remaking them in other languages.

Masses can be taught

Mahua Memoirs

2007-08-02T21:48:00.000+05:30

The reality of everyday life is so consuming that we fail to see anything beyond our immediate travails. The corporatized media is not interested in anything other than the daily dose of ticklish gossip that goes on as news. It is here that Mahau Memoirs a film by Vinod Raja arouses us from the apathy and opens to a struggle that we are comfortably oblivious of and in which we have high-stakes.

The documentary opens with a solemn scene of an Adivasi lighting a fire. The act of churning twigs stuffed in cut bamboo shoot and blowing it as it smokes in both hands is so magical and gracious that lighting a fire becomes a prayer. In fact it is. The stark contrast is so evident, that I was trying to recollect when I lit a matchbox in the most crass way. The film is replete with such imagery and messages that it prompted a gentleman in the audience to wonder whether we really deserve to be called civilized in comparison to the Tribals depicted in the film. It took five hundred years of industrial activity, research and colossal damage to the environment for us to realize how entwined we are with this planet and now we really do not have a clue as to how to untangle this mess.

Mahua Memoirs portrays the struggle of indigenous people against big money and the powers that be who destroy their natural habitat and way of life for centuries by granting mining leases. The region around Orissa, Chattisgarh, Andhra Pradesh and Jharkhand
is rich in bauxite, iron ore, chromite and other mineral deposits that national and international corporations are scrambling to secure mining leases and create plants to process them into aluminum, iron or other metals. At a cost benefit ratio of 1:100 odd this is big money for the global conglomerates with the Indian government getting only a miniscule portion of the proceeds. The original dwellers of the land are hustled out of their natural habitats and shoved into settlements and an existence that they are absolutely not tuned to.

The divergent approach to land use by the Tribals and the mining companies paints a picture of contrast and proves how uncivilized the civilized really can be. While the Advasi’s have a rotation based agricultural pattern where they farm the land for three years and then leave it untouched for a couple of years to rejuvenate, the company digs the land from its heart making it infecund for generations to come.

Such naked plundering and huge factories, which process this ore into metal, affects the immediate and long-term well being of India's environment and leads to mass dispossession. Jhorias, Konds, Dongria Konds and many such tribes lived at peace with the nature for centuries and have evolved a system that sustains and nurtured the terrain. The theoretical framework of anthropology was always evolutionist, promoting the idea that tribal society represents a primitive stage of development. Modern anthropology however rejects this view, and looks on tribal societies as no less sophisticated than mainstream society: more developed than us in many areas, less developed in others. The areas where tribal societies are more highly developed than us include a huge sensitivity and knowledge relating to nature - in effect, the art of living sustainably. Despite this the greed and voracity that dominate life in the modern society, inflicts the most naked and starkest form of brutality on the tribal people in the name of development.

It is very difficult to qualify such a work as just a good film. The emotions it evoked was all but good:- helplessness at being so impotent, rage at living in society where such injustice go without a whimper, absolute hatred at the mainstream media for not bringing out such stories. And that is where Mahua Memoirs succeeds as a film. It evokes extreme emotions with what eminent cinematographer Bhaskarji remarked as a subdued tone for a documentary. Never preachy, goading to think and slowly shaking from the comfort zone. Vinod’s succeeds as an artist in prodding us into a trajectory, which we fail to see or choose to not see. In this age of instants success and page 3 chatter it is rare to see a filmmaker who remains true to the medium and constantly strives to make an impact on our collective conscience. His earlier film The Bee, The Bear, And The Kuruba which I haven’t seen captures how eco-tourism projects and the forest department are stifling the native Kuraba community out of their habitats. It is high time that we start celebrating filmmakers like Vinod Raja who tread the road less traveled.

It is impossible to remain aloof from all that is happening in the heartland. The wisdom of ages, a balanced worldview that Guru Nitya calls Samyukaaya oru jeevitha veekshanam gets trampled by cars and supermarket chains - the most obvious symbols of over-development in the urban landscape The choice of models and brands, tell a story which links our material prosperity to the poverty and exploitation of the indigenous tribes. Our own lifestyle here is not separate from the resistance of tribal people against the imposed industrialization of their own land. The sooner we wake up to it, the better.

References: Anthropology Of A Genocide: Tribal Movements In Central India Against Over-Industrialisation By Felix Padel And Samarendra Das

Life In Sine

2007-04-22T19:19:00.000+05:30

First cut of a short movie script. Story credited to Sachin who blogs at Meri Kahani

Cancer hospital board

An old hospital room….. Large windows … slightly faded white paint .. clean…

A 70’s fan with a large protruding center whirrs.

Large metal bed in the center with a similar bed table on which there is newspaper-wrapped partially opened pack of oranges.

Karthik : Late 20’s , 2 day stub

Tina: Late 20’s, Hospital councilor

Karthik is leaning on the wall with his face towards the wall and hands folded above ….

Walks towards the bed ..crashes with a thud …spreads out his hand and leg in an X position and casts a forlorn look to the fan

Cuts to the fan and close-up of Karthik’s face few times

Tina’s energetic footsteps

Tina knocks and enters the room . Karthik has a pillow over his eyes

TINA
Good morning Karthik .. did you sleep well . I hope you had the medicines given by Annie sister yesterday night

No Response

TINA
Are you awake Karthik

KARTHIK
Growls

TINA
ohfoooo. Karthik you are in one of those bad trips gain…

Tina is active during the conversation

KARTHIK
Tell me Councilor how long do I have

TINA
Karthik don’t be such a kid ….. Being a medical professional you should know that cancer is not an incurable disease these days. There is so much of technology available. I am sure Dr. Gowda would have explained you all the possibilities

KARTHIK
Why me of all the people..I am not even thirty…

TINA
It is important though to not to loose your heart.. Show me a good face and I will get you out of this ….

TINA
Would you have these medicines

Tina slowly helps him sit on the bed , gives the pills and a glass of water….

Tina caringly rubs Karthik’s face and exits

Evening. Tina knocks and enters in denims and sweatshirt with a white collar

TINA
Hi Karthik Just thought I will say bye. How was the biriyani ???

She goes and opens a round steel lunch box

Makes out that it hasn’t been touched

TINA
Not even a spoon. Could have given it to somebody else if you were not having. You told you liked malabari biriyani. Had to wake-up at 4 today to cook it.

KARTHIK
Why are you doing this Councilor ?

TINA
I got a name

KARTHIK
I even don’t have a life ahead of me

TINA
Not everything has to be done with express intentions

KARTHIK
I didn’t mean it. I am sorry. My state doesn’t leave me with many options.

TINA
That is because you choose not to.

KARTHIK
You know this is not the real me

TINA
I too was wondering whatever happened to that glamorous, firebrand communist at college. Seriously you were the hero of all of us first years and had quite a fan following in the ladies hostel.

KARTHIK
Those were the best years

TINA
Hey look… I got to go. Take care and have your medicines on-time. I can ask Annie to give a sedative if you are not getting sleep

KARTHIK
Looks at Tina’s eyes and says in a soft moist voice

I just can’t thank you enough

TINA
Don’t bother. I will see you tomorrow

Tina Exits

3

Bright day

Karthik is by the window ardently looking outside …..

Cuts to a close-up of a small plant on the window ledge. Morning dew on the leaves, a little bud or flower, swaying against the wind.

Karthik paces up and down the room . humming a tune from a recent movie ( allah ke bande) … . exited .

Tina knocks and walks towards Karthik

KARTHIK
Good Morning Tina.

TINA
Good Morning. What in the world has happened. Was that you humming the tune

KARTHIK
Why not …….. I got a beauty as a neighbor

TINA
Surprised. I thought you room was cut away from the other rooms

KARTHIK
Senorita won't you come to the window and greet my dear friend

Tina walks to the window, stand close to Karthik and looks out through the window

TINA
Smiles. She looks kind of cute. Not a classical beauty but definitely has some mystery

Karthik comes and sits on the hospital bed

TINA
So there goes the inspiration. You already had the medicines. Looks like your muse is working wonders on you. Making you disciplined so quick ??

Karthik smiles and looks( sparks) at Tina

4

Another Day

KARTHIK
What about my babe’s food

TINA
What ??

KARTHIK
Tina don’t tell me you forgot it. I had asked you get organic manure from the supermarket near your home

TINA
Sorry Karthik. Totally slipped me. But anyways as a saying goes “ what is born in fire doesn’t wither in the heat” your muse is too wild to shrink so easily

Both laugh

Tina and Karthik comes to the window and looks at the plant.

Cuts to plant

KARTHIK
No Tina seriously please get it tomorrow

TINA
hmm didn’t know you could be so caring

KARTHIK
If I choose to

TINA
And how does my lord make such choices

Both laugh

5

Close-up shot of the plant mutilated and broken down. . The frame moves in a sort of drunken, surreal way

Cuts to Karthik’s face from outside. The window railings form the foreground.

Karthik leans against the window and look lost. Signs of unhappiness and being lost. Droopy eyes are a little moist

Tina walks waving a hospital file.

Karthik shows an eye movement to look through the window

Tina looks out and shows an expression of surprise

TINA
But you have to see this ..

She waves the file in her hand

TINA
The second biopsy report. Your tumor is localized and can be easily cured with radiation or worst case a surgery

Karthik shows an expression of disbelief

KARTHIK
Are you serious ??

KARTHIK
Do things change with such rapidity always

Turns slowly and looks at the plant

The plant

Karthik’s face . Tears trickle down

Karthik walks to Tina and holds her hand. Eyes locked.

Known Stranger

2007-04-12T21:42:00.001+05:30

a known stranger
a tilana of words
in this faceless ether
creating a space
across the globe
things ring
of seth
of music
of a lost world
known stranger
don't stop the flow

Outsourced - Must Watch

2007-03-14T21:17:00.000+05:30

Have heard so much about how India becomes an experience for Westerners. The movie Outsourced screened at Mumbai film festival captures it all without taking sides. Directed by John Jeffcoat, it is a refreshing change from the ABCD movies and captures India from an outside eye. Have a feeling that this could be a hit with outsourcing being a raging debate. Will try to do a detailed review later. The film hits screens by April or May as per the Director. Don’t miss this movie. And oh Ayesha Dharker looks cute.Amazing talent too

Website
Movie Blog
Movie Trailer
Movie Clip "Rubber"
IMDB Reviews

The New Untouchables

2007-02-27T22:32:00.000+05:30

I did not wash dishes and toil my whole life for this" Lisie shouted furiously "I can’t let thirty years of my struggle go like that. How could you forget all our dreams and bring a buyer for our home"

Biju stood there dumb as ever. He had gulped two pegs of "tusker rum" from the local wine shop, on the way back for some courage. Not that those two would suddenly induce that in him. Even with a bottle of rum inside during his heydays he could never face Lisie. There was always this feeling that he failed her.

Think over it. This is the best price that we could get and Govindankutty chettan will pay immediately on registration. His son Madhav is coming next week from Dubai and we could get all of seven lakhs in no time"

"As if he is doing a favor" retorted Lisie as she walked into the kitchen. "With Varkey's fifty cents with him everybody knows that Madhav is eyeing our three cents that covers his plot to build the shopping complex for that aatakari menothi.” Somehow she couldn't accept Madhav Menon's acclaimed dancer wife who reminded her of the bitchy Shobha in shreejanmam her dose of daily soap.

Lisie heated the fish curry and took some pappad to fry. "Did you have something from the brandy shop " she shouted.

"I will have some kanji" he replied while changing into a kalliMundu.

Lisie cooked kanji and left in the dining room of their modest dwelling with the curry. To think that the place for which she had strived all her life would be someone else's - how fatuously erroneous were her father’s maxims. “Good things always comes to good people” he always used to say. Andrew her father was a man to reckon with in the fishing hamlet Chellanam where she grew up. His knowledge of the sea and passion for work were unparalleled. Andrew had an uncanny sense of the weather and sea and it was rare that his fishing group came with an empty boat. Shranks – the middlemen and boat owners would wrestle for Andrew’s skills. Not for him the drunken singing and brawls at the local toddy shop or gambling under coconut palms that had destroyed many fishermen families. His life revolved around Lisie, her mother and the local drama troupe. But when Lisie was fifteen her dad’s life ended in a freak accident in the sea. There were quite a few rumors about the actual cause of the accident but her father’s bosom pal and partner married her mom six months later. It was difficult for her to stay in the island after that and she moved to the city.

“It is not an easy choice, nevertheless you have to do something” ThankamaChechi replied on hearing Lisie’s woes. A decision had to be made on the marriage proposal for Beatrice, Lisie’s daughter. The prospective bridegroom had a decent job in a private company and Beatrice liked him. His parents had subtly suggested that their second daughter is of marriageable age and required money.

“You cant dilly-dally on Beatrice’s marriage now. She is past her prime and it will be difficult to get such a good alliance for her.” something Lisie never wanted to acknowledge, though she knew it was late. All of Beatrice’s friends were wedded with kids. She thought things would fall into place, though the dynamics of the matrimony with its nerve-racking requirements would put the Pollachi cattle market to shame.

“Chechi but you know how I had wanted this house and how much I slogged for it. Did I go to gulf, accrue rupee by rupee and construct the home to finally sell ? I too finally wanted to die in a place of my own. I deserve atleast that amidst all dicey games that life has played on me. Why is God so bent on shredding things into pieces every time I put it back”. she broke down.

When she came to city she did not have anything except a strong will to survive. She found employment as a cook in a government officer’s house. Her excellent culinary skills with a unique blend of coastal flavors made her popular and soon she was sought after by working families in the area. She would take one or two-hour assignments at each of the homes while they went to offices and rented a small home. It was a beautiful period. There were colors that exploded in multiple dimensions and alluring sounds, but Lisie had her feet on the ground. Amidst the swirls and the storm she created a borough of her own. A cute, exquisite one, where she wanted to invite someone special.

That is when Biju came into her life. He was an electrician and they met at a place where Lisie worked. He came from a town down south and earned pretty well as construction activity was booming in the city. It was that tinge of rebelliousness and defiance to order that fascinated her, besides he was the first man who looked into her eyes and asked her hand. The rest were all lecherous, prying eyes that wandered all over except her face. After a whirlwind romance Lisie married Biju.

“If only he Biju had taken a little of my responsibility, we wouldn’t have come to this”

Lisie was referring to her husbands compulsive alcoholism. After the unruffled days of their matrimony when Beatrice was born, the villain showed up as hootch. The monotony that sets in after a turbulent romance coupled with a ridiculous mainstream stereotype that men ought to drink and beat up their wives to retain their machismo made an addict of him though he never physically harmed Lisie. By the time Beatrice was five he had wrecked their future. He quit work and would chase out anybody who offered anything remotely of a job, forcibly empty Lisie of all her money without indignity and borrow from all and sundry. It came to a point where strangers would walk into their home in the middle of the night carrying Biju, pickled in Rum and demand money and at times even more.

“With all that money he guzzled away we could have bought a mansion at Panampallinagar” – a swanky neighborhood in the city

“What is the point of cribbing about the past Lisie. Let bygones be bygones” Thankamachcehi replied.

Chechi was her alter ego whom she would embrace at times of crisis. Their bonds went back to a time when Lisie came to the city and was more equal than the normal employee-employer relationship. She helped her get a Visa for the job as a maid in Oman and would be local guardian to Beatrice while Lisie was away.

While at the Middle East Lisie’s life slowly started to get back on track. Mortal fear after being diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver, along with divine intervention at Potta prayer center finally cornered Biju. He reduced to a peg or two as if he were doing a favor. Lisie being away also didn’t help much in bullying her for money. She worked for five years and saved enough money to buy a home at a city suburb. It was not easy, but her indomitable spirit, helped to carry through the pain inside and heat outside.

“With one-third of the money from Madhav why don’t you buy five cents at Kizhakekara? That way you can easily marry off Beatrice and probably have a little bank balance after building a house”

Stagnant earnings and frequent requirements in the form of children’s education, marriage, hospital expenses, had made the poor and lower middleclass cash-in their meager land holdings in the real-estate boom. They were moving to places like Kizhakekara about hundred kilometers from the city were prices were low. It was almost a reverse of the urban migration phenomenon that economists were trying to fight elsewhere.

“ Would we need special passes to enter the city after few years” Lisie was sarcastic

“Like the lowborn’s shunted into small ghettos outside the town not so long ago, are we the new untouchables?

Thankama looked the other way. She couldn’t think of a better way.

Football Shootball Hai Rabba

2007-02-07T23:08:00.001+05:30

This was the earliest that I had reached home in quite a while. 5:15 PM to be exact. The Cauvery water tribunal's final order was far below Karnataka's expectation and there were rumors of build-up or possible violence. Most organizations of the old and new economies closed pretty early, so that employees could reach home before dark. With Rajakumar riots in the background nobody could afford risks. In the Sadashivnagar area, establishments become resourceful and tied huge fishing nets over the glass facade. At the frequency b'lore is getting volatile and profusion of glass in offices the fishing net manufactures could find a good market here. The case of a product finding a totally orthogonal market.

My best plan for the evening was to catch up on Gunter Grass, finish some pending work and end it with somarasam and a movie. As I turned into the apartment compound the usual pack of boys were on their way to a game of football. There is vast expanse of land, possibly owned by a land shark, right next to the gated community that the children have converted into a football ground. Lest you have any illusions, the goal posts are 2 stones kept a few feet away and an implicit horizontal bar in thin year air based on how much the goalkeeper can jump was the upper limit. But compared to the Deshabhimani road by lane where we kicked of our dream of being Pele and Paulo Rossi this ground was very generous. I used to see the crowd at the game on weekends, but could never join them since weekends are tightly packed. At home, changing into a shorts and T-shirt I was a little edgy as to how the kids would receive me. Would the Reebok football that I recently bid and won for Paru while traveling Air Deccan entice them. However the Reebok football had diminished into a half-moon and there was no way I could impress them with that.

I put on my sneakers and walked quickly to the field. Wearing the intense look of a talent scout on a mission to recruit for the national team I parked outside the field. Didn’t have to wait much long before a call came in to play. Before I could get a hold of my teammates the ball was passed to me. Shouted out and found Vivek who called me in and passed it to him. He passed it back to me in the midfield. Couple of dribbles later I was in the penalty area and kicked it to the young boy who was calling "Uncle Uncle" he was deft with the ball and just connected it. Goal... 30 seconds into the game I had proved. I put on the nonchalant demeanor and congratulated Adhil ( the young boy) and Vivek. That detachment to success and a failure is a relic from the hockey days with Shenoy Sir – our favorite coach. There was strict diktat against expressionism of any form after striking. After all we just doing our karma. Can’t remember a better practitioner of the Gita than him. We would have looked from another planet in these days of somersaults, knee skating, and practiced seagull runs. I had made a mark as a play-maker and the opposing team started to sneer as if Zidane himself had been come in. Score 1-1

Now it was time to know the team. There were no formal introductions. There was Perry the tall slip chap who would have done better in basketball court. Sanjana reminded me of Jess from Gurindher Chada's cult movie Bend It Like Beckham about a traditional Sikh girl in London aspiring to be a professional footballer. Sanjana's smart little sister whose name I forget would tow her sister whenever she went near the ball. Vivek and Adhil were the other two. I realized early on in the game that the way to the kids hearts were to pass the ball as soon as I get it. More so because they were shouting "uncle uncle" every time the ball landed on my foot. Should say it fitted well with my overall grounding in team sports, at times perilously collaborative.

Breezing across the ground we made some excellent moves and passes, which were lauded. Nevertheless couldn’t convert any. Even relinquished the ball once to an unsuspecting Adhil when it was an easy goal for me, just that I don't appear selfish and be on right side of my teammates. But the end was near. I was fizzling out. We were playing without positions unlike the hockey and football I was used to and everybody was running everywhere. Ten minutes into the game panting like a mad dog I moved into the sidelines. The kids with their agile metabolism could take it. But my hulk that hasn’t set foot on a playground since college except for random bouts in the apartment Gym had given up. Years of desk job had taken its toll. If not for the last bit of pride, I would have left the ground.

It was time to hibernate, which meant - waiting for the ball to come to me, passing it as soon as it comes if not to my team atleast to the opponent, cheering the gang with amplified “well played”s even when they struck bad or good etc. Just anything that would let me stand and play the game. Alas this is football and it doesn’t remain frozen like the computer. The opposition struck 5 times in succession. Should say they had an excellent striker in Srikanth who could make into a club team if he pursued Football. Score 6-1

Suffice to say the initial aura had vaporized. They could see through me. Statements about being out of touch to anybody who would listen went unregistered. It came to point when my teammates were ready to trade me for Kaushik - the cool dude who landed up in bike near the playground. Me who captained the school hockey team, me who missed the Calicut university hockey team because my college never had a history of participating in the inter-university matches, me who with Mathai ruled the Deshabhimani bylane football for as long as it has been there. How could they ? I turned dumb and looked the other side as they were riveted in transfer negotiations. Luckily the opposing band didn't have any better appraisal than mine. “At best he could be stone pillar struck diagonally across the goalpost” someone remarked. They let Kaushik play in our team, without trading me. Thank God.

The strategy required a revamp and I fount one in the goalpost. Perry was supposed to be our goalkeeper. Being a Higuta himself, the opposing team's goalpost was where he colonized mostly. He would hire Sanjana's sister on temporary assignments to guard the post while he went on his expeditions far and wide. I smelled the opportunity and immediately opted to be the goalkeeper to Kaushik who had taken in the reins of the team by then. Kaushik showed sparks of brilliance along with Vivek and Adhil make some brilliant maneuvers.

The goalpost was also not cent percent stand zone. On one such occasion while I had gone little forward to kick, the ball came behind me . Srikant just hade to glide it slowly into the post while I watched sheepishly. I shouted excellent to register my infallibility. By then Kaushik developed a sudden sprain or he probably had the same problem as me and took over the goalpost. Back into the trenches after fifteen minutes of bliss. Score 6-1

It was time to play positions. If not the junta, a sensible game with little running, weighing my bodies compulsions was the need of the hour. The right flank was less occupied and I camped there, though the left extreme was were I aced in Hockey. I could take time to look around and get a sense of my buddies before I kick, since the competing boys were reluctant to tackle me due to the larger frame. Size and aggression always helps in amateur game. When I saw the ball flying slowly I almost tried a scissor cut. Some excellent teamwork later we scored the second goal. I scored the third for my team. This time I decided to be less of a socialist and kicked the ball to the post when there wasn’t a soul between the keeper and me. Srikant an co. struck again. But we had found our rhythm. The match ended at 6:30 when it was time for Sanjana and her sister to get back home. Score 8-3

On my way back I made small talk with the group. They were and interesting bunch. Most were between the 5th and 10th standard and went to Delhi Public school or Baldwins. However F*** as an adjective with every phrase was revolting even to my liberal self. At home in the shower, I was reminded of community baths at Rajagiri, conversations with a girlfriend coming back from the library as dusk set into Rajpath, hoping for a good piece of Chicken along with ghee rice at the hostel mess. All after a tiring game. It took only a good game and a little more to be happy those days

How much have we changed, how little is our life changed – Premchand

Cartoon Camp

2007-01-21T21:25:00.002+05:30

Jimmy was wondering why the Manager selected this of all the places for the office get-together. It was pretty far form the city where they worked. Tucked in the deep south of the subcontinent all the employees had to be flown in by a charted flight. Some had already made other plans for the weekend and he had to use all his persuasive power to get them in. Nobody wanted it to miss it really though. They had worked like crazy for last 6 months. But the announcement was so sudden. Anyways except for a few almost everybody made it to the party.

As he tucked into the third glass of champagne he was swept by a sense of loss. The park they were having the getto was opposite to the college that he so loved. It’s imposing medieval structure had corners that would open at every turn with their own little secrets. of love lost and love made, of silly fights for the great ideology, of half done busts that looked full. Jimmy had just spend 2 years in that institution. But this was the place where he belonged. On evenings they would walk to the park and sit by the backwaters. Sun setting in the background with a poet breaking into Neruda.

Meanwhile the group was drinking into the beauty around. Everybody moved towards a corner and were getting boisterous. They had become a little unruly and were close to the ridge . He couldn’t help shouting aloud about a friend who fell into those waters and never returned. A pack of friends were so precariously poised against the stone walls by the backwater and he was jammed inside . A mortal fear gripped Jim as he saw Rekha coming near. She just touched and they fell like a pack of cards into the murky waters below. thud... thud ... thud they splashed rapidly into the sludge below. Plunging deep into the water body below all he could see around was cocktail of crude, hay and water. It was like an endless tunnel to eternity. He flapped like crazy ... he had to. Cannot surrender so fast. Finally a hand came in from nowhere as he broke into air. It was an arduous climb up the slippery moss filed walls back into the park. There were a couple of hands clamoring be rescued from below. He wanted to help them. But someone told they were all taken care of. Rekha was looking back as she walked out of the main gate. Of all the people why she ??

He rushed to the shower nearby and washed all the dirt. Didn’t really care whether somebody was looking. Felt like there was accumulated dirt of centuries. Coming out of the shower the park had transformed. Beastly carton characters with large heads had taken control. They romped freely on the pavements whipping everybody who came near. The park had turned into a cartoon farm while he was reborn. Don’t know how they had taken over. But they were absolutely in command trampling anything that came on their way. They showed no mercy to women or kids. Everybody was bought into meek submission in the labor camp and was never let out. The beastly toons walked, metals whips in their hand swirling it on any being that they took a fancy.

Years passed…. everybody had settled to their fate. The winds of change were blowing slowly. Over the years the cartoon masters were growing week and old. Or probably it was futile for them to keep a talented populace under submission. They allowed small concessions. The new generation were allowed out of the camp. But they there was tough exam to clear. Jimmy sat by the steps of his modest dwelling as he trained his beautiful grand daughter for the exam.

Collective Chaos - Provisional Obituary

2007-01-04T22:11:00.000+05:30

First day of January 2007 came with an email announcing surprise from Collective Chaos*. As I clicked the hyperlink the only thing that wouldn't amaze me was the end. Somehow there was a premonition that CC was nearing it end. There was too much chaos on ethereal that it would have burst if it had not been put to death. So the surprise wasn't a surprise after all. As I sit down to write the obituary, Saddam Hussein hanged the day before was on the airwaves

Collective Chaos was my first foray into a different kind of cinema. Coming from a place with an active film culture, some how I missed the boat during college. Adoor or T.V. Chandran movies that came and went like a whirlwind on the screens, were my only exposure at that time. Maybe the film society movement that was very active in the 70's and 80's went dormant during the early 90's. Maybe I didn't actively seek. From my first Yesterday festival to the last Luis Bunuel movie, the screening were an enriching experience. Dogvillie through Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring, the range of emotion was varied and spiritual in its impact and convinced me why Cinema is the most predominant art form of our times.

The well designed mails announcing the screenings would arrive in advance with reminders as they get close. That helped to plan my travel in advance so that I don't miss the movies I wanted to watch. The website always had a synopsis with details about the director. Screenings were orderly and always started in time. Organizers always remained discreet. There were no animated introductions or analysis in the end. It was just cinema in it elements. The chaos was all inside. The format worked like wine that swirled in your head till it hit you. Like how Saddam of Baathist days created a sense of pride among the Arabs, CC made me gratified of being in Blore

But on the other side the collective was getting into a police state. I used to like the posters they put up snubbing mobile usage during screening, But when it came to actually shoving people of the hall I started to detest. It did irritate terribly when a mobile beeped, but there is always a dignified way of making people understand how obstructive and idiotic they are. And the purveyors always had a sadistic streak in sending them out. In most cases the culprits would have been a new member.

And the tone and tenor of some the emails. Instead of serious debate it became into a mud-slinging session. Some emails looked like they were written to provoke and would pass the moderator. The whole idea of monitoring the emails seems irrelevant. We live a world were we have fast growing encyclopedia maintained by a self-moderated community. Was it a Goebbels watching over our shoulders. Like Saddam the tyrant, CC started to take itself too seriously.

Saddam had to die but Dubaya made him a martyr. Collective Chaos has to be around but the contradictions let it end.

* A Film Society in Blore

Kanua - chateau by the Mediterranean

2006-12-28T00:51:00.000+05:30

There are some places and people that totally surprise you. Places totally unanticipated that really gets one hooked... Or people who catch you by the neck and say "I exist" The Friday dinner at Kanua was one such otherworldy experience. A close friend had come down for a short visit. He was docked at Sarjapur Road which is like a trek to the moon from where I work and live in the notorious Blore traffic. After some time at his Sister's home, we started driving out of the city along Sarjapur road. The serendipity drive I thought would lead to the magical dhaba by the river. Suddenly my friend had a brainwave and thumped the mobile.

A right turn after the Fabmall in Sarjapur Road leads to a dirt track can give any rally freak an adrenalin rush . The road ends at a 3-storied building on the right with a vast expanse of grass in front of it. The dimly lit building has a slight gothic touch and the lovely Blore weather in December makes it chique. A wooden staircase that winds 2 floors leads to the hideaway.

I first had the notion entering into an old Goan home with the muted lighting and portuguese music. Then I imagined sitting in a chateau by the Mediterranean. The decor is definitely period with doors that open into two, large blocks of wood for railing and tiled roofing. The exquisite dining area is without walls and gives a sense of watching a play by nature on all three sides. There is small lounge area to cool off.

I started with an Iced tea. The menu is predominantly fish or atleast that is what my eyes could read. But there are ample doses of chicken and vegetables. If you have to absolutely tie it to a region, the Konkan which includes both the Mangalore and Goan streams suits best. A medium sized white pomphret was the first cold-blooded vertebrate on the table. I had long since stopped ordering food by their names. The fish was either baked or medium-fried with right amount of spice. There might have been a tinge of vinegar thrown in. The masala was not completely dried and tasted great. It sort of melted like chocolate in my mouth.

The main course was seer fish curry with rice. Kanua serves two varieties of rice - the standard Basmati type and boiled ( bee size according to a N Indian friend) predominant along the west coast. The gravy tasted like the coconut grated & fried variety, but it was not exactly the same though. There were some unrecognizable ingredients that made it quite unique with an appetizing aroma. Fish was fresh and the potions were enough for two.

Now for the wallet factor. Compared to other seafood places in B'lore like Harbour Market ( Mohanlal's) & Tiger Bay, the place is light on the pocket. The pricing is as honest as it can get for seafood out here. The chicken and vegetarian dishes were also decently priced. Kanua doesn't serve drinks. This was the only glitch in the otherwise superb experience. But diners can carry bottles which they serve out there. I would recommend this joint just for the ambience. The top-class food is an incentive. If you like the old-world charm like at Koshys, the place is for you. I would have shifted the weekend binge except for the variety and crowd at Koshys. It can also be ideal place for a heavy lunch with a siesta in a hammock.

Check this place. It is worth the trek.. ooops the drive.

Lesser Mortals

2006-12-14T22:39:00.000+05:30

Woke up this morning thinking about conversations with a colleague generally about developmental and economic issues. Was reminded of how 2 neighboring states have a remarkably different way of dealing with certain tragedies that affect the poor. The first thing that hit me on today's newspaper was about the collapse of the scaffolding at a construction site in Infosys campus and resultant death of 5 migrant laborers. This was the exact same thing that I was thinking about 10 mins back. Such tragedies are commonplace as Banglore shapes into a technopolis.

2 weeks ago a storehouse collapsed at Biocon and killed 3. There has been atleast 7 such incidents since I starting counting them form 2005. Anywhere between 3-7 people are killed in each of these incidents. Near the place I used to stay at R.T. Nagar the scaffolding gave in on the day of concreting. 5 dead. At another site in MG road had the land give in when excavating for the basement. 3 dead.

The victims in most cases are migrant laborers from rural Karnataka or the BIMARU states . Political parties ignore them because they don't form a vote bank. The workers are never a part of any union. The media cold-shoulder them since such news don't appeal to their urban target. The TOI for example found it worthy of only a 2 column article in the second page. That is when they can waste reams and reams of paper on Shilpa Shetty's latest beau or on which girl appeared in what skimpy clothes at which all parties. The more socially obliged among them might have one follow-up article. Haven't heard about any NGO's who pursue such cases. And forget about anything coming up in the courts. Nobody seems to be bothered about those 5 hapless, poor souls who pay with their lives to create the pillars of 21st century India.

There are probably no villains in the story. But there is an institutional failure in letting such criminal negligence go unpunished. The building contractors are powerful enough to influence the civic authorities and the police. And even if charge sheeted the case would be so weak. The standard rebuttal by the contractors is that everything mandatory has been done. Don't know if the families of the dead are even compensated properly. In today's case the construction company Sobha Developers which is among the reputed here has announced an ex-gratia payment of Rs. 2,50,000 and that would be last. As an aside the CEO of Soba developers recently did a Thulabaram ( offering to the deity in ones weight) in Gold at Guruvayoor temple worth Rs 7 Crore.

The economic theory doing rounds lately is that India's population is the bouty that will propel it to the superpower league. Does it mean we have more lives to loose than others and we don't care. Does it mean that the rich can subsidize their lifestyles at the cost of the poor. The affluent and middle-class need to really think if violence like one after Rajkumar's death or the most recent Dalit angst in Maharastra are emotional outbursts of the marginilised majority.

I wish Infosys which has set global standards in giving back to the society make an example of this case. The least they could do is to ensure that the families are compensated and children's future protected. The best would be to pursue this case and bring the culprits to book. But that might be too much of a price to pay. The middle-ground could be to create some frameworks so that such accidents don't repeat.

Eulogy to Sari

2006-11-29T21:23:00.000+05:30

I am outraged. I am hurt. I am helpless No it is not the politics, Nor is it the performance of the Indian Cricket team. It is much more existential than that. It is the slow death of that uniquely Indian attire. The six yards of cloth, that adorned Indian women for centuries. Usage of Sari is very much on the decline across India, more so in the cities. Onslaught of salwar-kames, jeans, gagra-cholis and assorted clothing have replaced Sari form its preeminent position till the 80's.

This is not a debate about western cultural influences in the post-liberalized India. Neither is it a middle-aged man's case to ogle over the female anatomy. Before casting any such aspirations, let me tell you. There isn’t anything in this whole wide world that can give women the grace and beauty of that long strip of unstitched cloth. There is something angelic and out-worldly about a lady draped in a Sari. That is probably why Indian iconographers painted our Goddesses in a sari, except in some recent overtures of M. F. Hussein who had to pay with his blood for that. And who can forget Indira Gandhi, the iron lady who ruled India for a long time. A lot of Indira's persona had to do with her saris. The crispy white ones during the election campaigns and colorful organza prints when at the world stage. She could carry immaculately amongst the likes of Khrushchev and Kennedy with that drapery. Apparently Mrs. Gandhi and her friend Pupul Jayakar were patrons of good weavers from the Hindi heart land, just like Jaya Jaitley and Brinda Karat in recent times, who make the normally boring evening news so adorable.

Now for some random statistics. In a poll taken in one of Banglore's upmarket malls ( absolutely abhor them), I could only see 1 out of 50 women in the 20-50 age group who wore a Sari. These numbers might be skewed since age itself is morphable by modern technologies like face lifting and silica. But you get the drift. And now with these other dresses every maiden looks like they are churned out form an assembly line . Each one looking like the other. The same denim/khaki trousers, the same black tops. Even the hairstyles look similar. It is not only Banglore's landscape that has that has changed. The girlscape too has been distorted. A friend who came back to Banglore (B2B) after 10 years got absolutely bored after a roundtrip across Brigade road and some malls. And this is not just B'lore alone. India metros are slowly becoming populated with replicas. That is why occasional trips to Kerala where the grass is green and sareefull is such a relief. Hope it stays that way. Atleast there is a place to retire.

There are can be lot of arguments against a Sari. The most common being that it cant be a daily wear. Ladies ...............My Grandmother who retired as a Headmistress wore sari to work for all of her, 30 year career. You could try it once a week to bring some fresh air to that clustered rate maze at office. If you can wiggle into that choking lycra top every other day, sari is a cakewalk. And for the revealing bit less said the better. I mean.. look at any PYT on the road and you can see the subtle placement to hide less and show more. And since when did Indian Women hide into a cocoon. We are the land of Kamasutra and Natya Shastra where the navel of the Supreme Being is considered to be the source of life and creativity. The sari atleast can give you flexibility based on your mood. Drape around when you want to appear demure. Casually throw it when you want are on assault mode and project oomph. I am sure it can leave your prey speechless.

I am not positive... But I have made my noise. If you want to give the Sari an unceremonious death let it be. But generations to come would curse you for destroying a piece of art that could make a beauty of every lass.

Belle de Jour

2006-11-27T21:03:00.000+05:30

Crevises that cry out loud
Cannot hear
Nor fathom
Restless as in a mouse trap
Double lives threaten to meet
To create a cloud
For the soul to find its space
Picture perfect postcards
Shread into a thousand pieces
Reality is a myth
Created by our fantacy
Belle de Jour
The spirits mystery

Inspired by the movie Belle de Jour ( beautiful by day ) by Luis Bunuel

Opera Mini - Mobile Browser

2006-11-23T19:37:00.000+05:30

For those who think the Internet started and ended with Internet Explorer, the Opera Mini will be a revelation. This mobile browser could be the next killer application that let us see and touch the world from an appliance that has become our alter ego. Why would one carry a laptop when you can browse and email in sheersana from a mobile phone.

Skeptics might ask why reduce the form factor and strain the eyes. Opera Mini doesn't take much to get used to . Most of the browser functionalities like history, bookmarks etc remain the same. And when your mobile device is becoming the camera, radio, media player and anything that you could imagine why use a bulky device to check and reply to that important business email. This is miniaturization at its best.

Opera's Small-Screen Rendering™ technology uses a 'proxy' web server that takes requests and optimizes the results for a specific mobile device. Most of the processing is done by these proxy servers who get the web page that is requested and pygmies it into size that renders on your device quickly. Connection can be through a WAP access point or GPRS depending on your service provider.

To install Mini go to mini.opera.com The server detects the make of the device and downloads the appropriate version. At 110 KB it makes only a small footprint on the memory and installs quickly. Opera Mini is written in Java and works in most mobile phones. So you really don't need a smart phone to access the world wide web.

The user interface is pretty intuitive and simple. The menu button on the left opens common functions like address, bookmarks and tools. Bookmarks itself can be accessed by shortcut keys that can be set by the user. That makes checking your email just 2 clicks away. The font size can be adjusted based on your eye sight. Home page can be customized to get quickly into the most visited sites. One could google in from the home page or know everything about anything on that monster of a Wikipedia. The Opera servers pre-process the content into single column, eliminating the need for horizontal scrolling. Not every web page looks perfect with this verticalisation, but that is a small price to pay. The Opera Mini 3.0 which is in beta now lets photo upload and compatibility with your favorite RSS feeds.

What is in it for you and me other than checking emails and messaging. Every killer software is worth only its applications. In 2 days I found 2 applications for it. One to get a read reviews of the movie that plays at night on the cable. Now I don't sit watching some crapy Ninja Turtles on HBO, hoping that the next scene would turn it around. Another to look at the meanings of bombastic words that a friend uses without context. I have listed dictionary on my home page and I know the meaning before he finishes the next sentence. I have not told him yet about Opera Mini. But then that is another day.

Sethu

2006-11-22T17:31:00.000+05:30

Saw an interview of Sethu ( famous Malayalam literary figure who recently won the Vayalar award) in which he describes the premise of one of his novels that did't get too much attention. Apparently in a Tamil Nadu village there was an unusual number of deaths among people working in a particular company when they turn 59. The company itself heralded modernity in a once idyllic village with all the assorted cacophony it brings. It seems the sons kill their father when he turns 59 so that he gets the father's job. The mother and other female members remain passive if not active accomplices in the crime. It has become a sort de rigueur in the village that nobody in the community or the police raises an eyebrow against it. And the twist of it is that fathers start to suicide when they near 59 so that they can save their son's of the horrendous crime. In Indian tradition Father is equivalent to God and he doesn't want his son to be stained by such a big crime. Sethu's story goes on to describe how an idealistic personnel officer fights against it but the crux of the novel is not fictional.

Was really disturbed by this. It portrays the depths to which we can go. Even some animal species who eat their offspring's pale before such barbarity. In some senses it is an indicator of the despair in our villages and rural hinterland. It is hard to imagine the mental landscape of the father and son as they near the d-day. Don't know if we can ever rationalize this.

Pulee and the art of motorcar driving

2006-11-20T18:12:00.000+05:30

A piece written before the blog. Thought of publishing since there hasn't been any momentum for some time

Of late I had the pleasure of being on the roads with Pulee. For the uninitiated Pulee( tiger ) is the recent avatar of a close buddy, and henceforth will be referred so. One moment he can be a Pulee giving funda on the intricacies of air flow in the carburetor and the next he would go ga-ga over the correlation between the mood of the artist and predominance of blue color in the frame. The long and short of it is that he can be a Pulee- in engines, mobiles, photography and all assorted techie stuff. He says that his biwi is also a Pulee and that they going to name their home "Pulee bhavanam" . But the biwi has not claimed to be a pulee and does not show any traces of puleness except when putting down the pulitharam of Mr. Puli.

This note is warranted in the context of the mail on driving experience forwarded by Pulee. Pulee feels that the entire road is his playground. The hapless drivers and who ply the highways are the villains. Pulee has many times expressed his intention to shoot the drivers point blank for such grave omissions as not giving him way when he honks repeatedly, not to mention the swearing at every lorry that he overtakes. Pulee would then give lectures of his psycho-game while overtaking where he would drive into the opposite vehicle and get the hapless oldie into submission while I would almost pee in my pants. ah before I forget another of his antics is to corner a truck out of the road if it fails to give way after repeated honking - begging, threatening and swearing. Pulee is conceptualizing a new protocol where one could express 4 letter words through the horn. 2 small for F***.1 long 1 short for AH etc.

Agreed that the Indian roads are in perpetual chaos and mayhem and the drivers need to be whipped on their butts. But where else could one enjoy such unobstructed freedom. One could shout, drive on either side of the road and do whatever nonsense that one could think of. Pulee himself narrated how a friend of his was screwed by the truck drivers when he tried to be smart in a US highway. They radioed all the nearby trucks and gave this fellow a run through the maze they set. Thank God our drivers are not that tech savy. otherwise pulee and me would never have made it home.

The final straw was when after the nth tuning of his work horse ( Maruthi 1000) pulee took to testing the performance. 3 guys on a motorcycle(as they often do , I have tried 4 once) decided to try their luck when they saw our man powering to 100. There was a nano second of braking, turning and shouting. The car stopped with a slight scratch on the front bumper and the alloy wheels. It was so fast that I didn't even get to feel the goose bumps that one normally gets in such situations. Thanks to our parents prayer's we escaped the ordeal at the police station and courts for killing 3 people.

Cricket's Dharma

2006-10-10T19:28:00.001+05:30

It is midnight, as I crash into bed
Awash with a day that started in a fright
And ended with a verse so bright
Slowly slipping into a trance

A screeching noise by my window
Switched off the fan to see if it mellows
Closed the pane and locked the doors
But that cry is far from gone.

It was a cricket on its mating call
Shouting out load in that elaborate ritual
It has only nights in fall
To procreate in a symphony of life

Inviting the beauty with a trill
Moving briskly in its courtship drill
But that is all it takes for a fly
To spank its eggs and let him die

In that climax full of glory
Lay the seeds of misery
One man's primordial ecstasy
Is another's license to nullify

The croon with gay abandon
Like Dylan to his mate
Sounded very much like a bait
For the fly to shove him out of sight

Everything has its cosmic karma
In those moments before yama *
Splashed with a lot of kama
The cricket did his dharma
Attaining nirvana

* Yama: God of death
Animal Comminication Project

I am what I am not

2006-10-09T20:36:00.000+05:30

The clouds reek with a reckless frenzy
This is but a life that shows no mercy
We are just pawns in this endless game
Crawling and dribbling without shame

Wouldn't it be nice to have a script
So that we all know the drift
Vagaries of existence makes one ponder
The one beyond just knows to murder

There is a moment, that breaks the pace
Of all that is built in a couple of years
Frozen like statue, numb ears
I am what I am not in that time and space

Moving in anachronous mode
Unwinding all that came about
There is nothing to stop the tide
Destruction is all that is there behind the hide

Pain remains memories linger
Getting hit many times over
Move on you might learn to cope
Why me why we