All is well?

I think the movie “3 Idiots” deserves an Adults certification from the Censor Board that states it is unsuitable for children under eighteen. There is a growing movement that supports my belief and we are all planning to have a press conference with our views. It is very well for the three protagonists in Imperial engineering college to be screaming and singing “All is Well” and but the problem is that all kids in schools are beginning to chant the song and it is severely affecting the concentration levels of students appearing the class ten and twelve board exams in March.

The anti 3 Idiots movement started in the gymnasium of a certain school where parents had gathered with their children to collect the pre board mark sheets. One had never seen such a festive lot of children being accompanied by such a glum and dismal bunch of adults. For a change several fathers had appeared during a day of work and were mopping their brows despite the low Delhi temperature. As we stood in a serpentine line waiting to collect the report card for hopefully the last time, we began to trade in our woes. I complimented a mother for the largesse of her heart since she was permitting her daughter to take a break year from her studies after her twelfth. From the stricken look on her face and the long silence that ensued I realised that this was the first time she was hearing about it. Another mother lamented that since the National Law school exams needed only a 59 per cent for admission,the board exams had lost their relevance for her child. A parent guffawed and said that foreign universities had already given provisional admission and the board exam was being treated as a necessary evil at home. I asked a boy what he intended to study and he told me what he was clear that he did not want to study mathematics or anything quantitative. He was considering philosophy or history while his industrialist dad standing next to him was trying not to cry.

All is definitely well after one crosses the hurdle of the class twelve boards and lands in some spot in the sun. But as most of us recall, we spent the prime of our adolescence worrying about what was to happen to us and it may be a while before this legacy will disappear. If one lives in the Rajdhani, one just wishes for a college where “Tezaab” is not thrown at young girls instead of “Abeer” during Holi.

Old faithful

My friend has a Sony Television which is celebrating its twentieth birthday. He recollects the day the TV entered the household to be very joyous, it was his most extravagant acquisition bought with a bank loan at the cost of one hundred thousand rupees. It has stood by his family through Doordarshan, the initial days of cable television and just as he thought the channels were inadequate, destiny closed in with satellite transmission and removed all inadequacies. The old faithful could then show him as many channels in prime condition. Even the furniture that houses his prized possession has been ordered to specific dimensions and rests in the middle of the room, surrounded by couches for mindless viewing. Everyone tells him to acquire one of those flat, sleek snazzy versions which can be slapped onto the wall but he says that would leave a large hollow empty space both in his heart and in the furniture.

He understandably gets rather upset when he calls the Sony Service Manager when a tiny fuse in the TV blows due to voltage fluctuations and the guy roars with laughter when he hears the date of birth of the gadget. My friend is not a person who people should laugh at because the next thing the engineer has to do is fly in components from across South-east Asia for repairs. The peeved service manager now looks forward to his call and says he shows all his trainees the television like children are taken to the dinosaur museum.

This behaviour does not amuse my friend. He says that people pay more for antique silk carpets which most probably have dog poo and soup spilt on it. Others pay a premium for old jewellery just because a sagacious snooty gentleman assures them that it was once worn by royalty. How could one possibly know that since there is no way to scientifically measure aging of a piece of jewellery unlike a fossil? For all one knows a courtesan at Sonar Gachi could have fallen into bad times.

I try to pacify him by saying old is gold and just hope that I age like the carpet rather than the doomed television.

Mom's cooking

Finally a cola major has created an advertisement that tugs at the heart strings of the matriarch of the household who usually decides the expense allocation of the grocery budget. I was pursuing my favourite late evening occupation of channel surfing when the daughter asked me to stop at a particular channel to watch an advertisement. The models appeared to be rotund folks gorging on food and I told her we could well be looking into a mirror when the catch line about no food being as good as one’s mothers grub appeared. She looked at me like a cat that has licked cream and said that was precisely the purpose of the advertisement - most people felt the same way as she did, there was nothing like her mamma’s cooking. I couldn’t believe a company whose products I think are unhealthy actually got the two of us mushy as we gave each other a big sloppy hug.

The not so hidden obvious ingredient in a mother’s cooking; clichéd as it may sound is unmitigated love. Also a lot of greed for mothers live to see their kids faces light up with joy, look at one with a content smile, burp and give one a big thank you hug. It’s what makes every labour pain, growling teacher, errant tutors and endless shopping expeditions worth its while. A mom does not cook a dish; she creates one tailor made for her offspring. She makes it as spicy, sweet, salty as one desires it. She manipulates recipes to add and subtract condiments to the child’s likes and dislikes. She adds visual colour to the creation by scouring the market for ingredients that juxtapose well with each other. She reduces the fat component if weight is an issue and increases fibre magically when one needs it for she is as concerned about your pimples as you are. All this is done in a subtle magical manner while she is pretending to cook only for husband or mother-in-law. It’s a silent pact that neither one talks about. Mothers also like have energy to make food at odd times when one is hungry. When a child studies snacks appear at odd hours to keep one awake, return from college or school and a hot dish appears, even if one brings a load of friends home there is enough to go around.

Why does mommy not feel the same way when she cooks for daddy or other adults? Beta, once upon a time mommy did feel that way and daddy felt like Shahajahan in front of what he thought was an endless bounty of love. Then he started to show his gussa on the food that she laboured on and refused to eat when he was angry. Then mommy slowly got fed up and daddy started eating left over’s from the kid’s party or ordered in from chick fish or pappu da dhaba. The moral of the story is, never do gussa on mom’s khana, the natija is not very good.

Personal religion

“Have you heard the song Aj Din Chadheya in the movie Love Aaj Kal?” my friend animatedly asked me. “The lyrics of the song capture my relationship with god.” I quickly downloaded the lyrics that go like this:

Maanga jo mera hai Jaata kya tera hai
Maine kaun si tujhse jannat maang li
Kaisa khuda hai tu Bas naam ka hai tu
Rabba jo teri itni si bhi na chali

My friend views God as a parent and being the precocious kid she has always been, she apparently throws tantrums in her prayers when she wants something. Most faiths propose god as the parent figure but also teach us to be obedient, obsequious children who are grateful and not demanding. However in daily life we watch offsprings who grab and take from the paws of their parents with no remorse. Is it unlikely that it their prayers they will not reflect the same attitude with God?

This got me thinking about whether people ever define their relationship with God. In Hinduism we seem to call every Goddess mother in prayer but we never address the male Gods as father. We referred to the male Gods with reverence and added a “ji” at the end of the name but not "pita" which is the word for father. There must be some deep rooted sociological reason for this.

God as a lover is a very unique interpretation and one has seen it prominently in MeeraBai’s (Rajasthan 1498 – 1547) works. She interpreted her soul as the eternal bride to Lord Krishna being the eternal bridegroom. Other saints who have followed Bridal mysticism are Akka Mahadevi,a saint in Karnataka in the twelfth century who took Shiva to be her mystical husband and Andal from Tamil Nadu, who in her first work, Tiruppavai, imagines herself as a cowherd serving Krishna and in her second work, Naciyar Tirumoli, yearns for Vishnu. Each of these ladies has written vast volumes of work and has devout followings. There seems to be no parallel with any man having perceived God as being a woman in a similar manner which seems rather strange. I suspect that there must have been censorship prevalent from ancient times.

What seems to work in today’s society is perceiving God as a genderless friend who can understand one’s despair, feelings and emotions. Giving a profound belief, a name of a relationship, which is a function of society is limiting. Even if society has religious fractions that disseminate it, the manner in which each one of us perceive our faith is a truly personal matter and cannot be defined. Once in a while a song, poem, a monument or inspiration will just remind us of it but not limit us in our vision.

Sabbaticals

The original meaning of the word sabbatical has its roots in Judaism and Christianity and it means the once in seven years period when the lands were kept fallow to give it rest, to introspect, forgive debts and grant freedom to slaves. In modern times the word conjures the image of a “break year” from one’s given line of activity.

A sabbatical year is considered quite acceptable in certain professions like education, sports, religion, computer programming and the creative arts. The origin of the concept lay in education where educators were sponsored by the university to upgrade their skills and take new courses. Creative people are also encouraged to take a break so that they do not get “stuck in a rut”. Sportspersons sometimes physically need to recover and as we can see from Justine Henin’s current performance at the Australian open it may just be what is needed to get the edge to excel. Well known individuals who are currently on self imposed sabbaticals include Beyonce, Kimi Raikkonen- the Ferrari formula one champion and Tiger Woods. Others who have just returned from sabbaticals include Sean Penn and Nelly Furtado.

Performance in all the disciplines cited above are driven by individual talent and do not require team work. Is it then possible to take a sabbatical in the corporate world without jeopardizing one’s career? Europeans have traditionally been more tolerant towards the notion of a sabbatical but it appears to be viewed as a suicidal act in most other parts of the world where a person not taking leave and working over the weekend is venerated and treated like a saint Lots of individuals who took a sabbatical before the economic crisis found their jobs restructured out when they returned. Organisations view granting a sabbatical more as a desperate concession for retaining individuals who would otherwise resign. However it is likely that personnel will always view it as a lack of commitment to one’s career.

Amazingly I know a few people who have taken a year off and it does not appear to have had any negative impact on their career. I admit most of them have been women working in multinationals which have gender diversity targets and only two of the ladies do not have children. In a country like India, parents admit children to school as early as possible so that they can acquire early combative skills for the rat race. Children here never seem to take time off to travel, learn a new skill or contemplate their future. It’s a mad rush to get somewhere….or just any place where the money bags glitter and makes the parents happy.

One often hears senior managers groan and moan about the drudgery in their life and how they look forward to an early retirement. It is incredible to see how options in new age companies and risky ventures are perceived favourably, as if the unknown will bring back the zing into one’s life. It is not easy to retire early for one realizes the tickets to the concerts, the invitations to the parties and your golf buddies are most often a function of the seat of power and not the niceness of one’s soul. Wouldn’t a sabbatical do wonders for such an individual and the corporation? Instead of a peeved, grouchy boss who hates the smiles on the faces of his young subordinates we may actually see more positivity at the work force. Of course there remains the issue of what the dude who does not have any friends, interests or family will do with a year off but what the heck, it’s a beginning.

Saraswati Puja

Tomorrow is Saraswati Puja or Basant Panchami which is as important to my intellectual Bengali brethren as Laxmi Puja is to the Gujjubhais and Baniyas. In Kolkata and other places where there exists a critical mass of Bengalis this will be a community affair in which the dhoti clad bhadrolok and their wives clad in yellow saris will be supervising the pundits and celebrating the advent of spring.

I grew up in a colony of a Box-wallah company where Bengali engineers dominated senior management. Saraswati Puja was celebrated on the stage of the club and the badminton court was the venue for bhog which consisted of Khichdi, Labda (mushy mixed vegetable) and the piece de résistance which was “kuler” chutney which is sweet and sour accompaniment made of the wild bor (a desi cherry). Since we now live in nuclear families and sadly neither the Bengali or box-wallahs have a major say, I had to make my way to Chittaranjan Park to prepare myself for a home puja for one does not mess around with the goddess of education when the kid is trying to get admission in Delhi University.

There were multiple statues of the deity in the market, all made of clay with a gauzy sari, a shiny tiara and long black wavy hair which looked straight out of a Bengal Chemicals Jabakusum hair oil advertisement. I strolled across to the Puja shop and asked the man for the essentials for the ceremony. He handed me a photocopied check list of the items required written in beautiful Bengali calligraphy. The only glitch was that I can’t read Bengali to which he gave me a look that suggested I should scoot from the market. I am a weathered veteran of such conduct and I explained that I wanted a simple puja and he had to ensure Ma did not give me the third degree when I returned home. I went home with a ink pot made of clay, a pen made of bamboo which Valmiki must have used to write the Ramayan, various tiny pouches of items the names of which I do not know, mud from the Ganges in a sealed packet (!!), a tiny sari, gamcha (checked red piece of cloth eastern Indians use after a bath), Joynagarer moa (a sweet), some unique fruits that Saraswati likes, five piece of supari, betel leaf, two triphala and so on. It was very organized and painless. The market association must have been inspired by Rocket Singh for such innovation.

The deity will be placed on the floor amidst alpana made of ground rice. We will surround her with books, musical instruments and the natya shastra for blessings. A brief Puja will be done in the morning and the daughter will dash off to write her Chemistry pre-boards exam paper while her grand mom will grumble about how children in Kolkata are never permitted to study on such an auspicious day.

Basant Panchami welcomes spring in our country although this year Delhi is still shivering in foggy cold climate sans central heating. Enthusiasts could join a group which will be meeting at Lodhi Garden for a walk to the Nizamuddin dargah at 1 pm. They will all be wearing yellow garments, carrying lots of genda phool (marigold) and giving each other small gifts. One could also sing or listen to the notes of Raag Basant to get into the spirit of spring.

Confidence

It’s amazing how confidence in a man and woman are so disparate. I have tried to apply all my knowledge of economics, life experiences and business and not come to a definite conclusion on the parameters that make a woman confident. If one were to plot confidence on the y axis and age on the x axis, the curve for a man would be a steadily increasing one, its slope being a function of his delusions of grandeur or ego. In the case of a woman it would be like the share price of mid-cap script in the stock market or the heart beat of a dying hero in a Hindi film on the hospital monitor.

A man is a simple being and his confidence takes a hammering at only certain times in his life. These situations may encompass rejection by girls at adolescence, teachers driving home a certain lack of intellectual capability, examination marks, failure to get a job or admission into an institution. Other low points may be the moment the man’s voice breaks, realisation that one’s height, chest size, stamina and strength are actually finite numbers and not a function of one’s fantasy. However men circumvent these obstacles and their confidence increases as they get on in life, get their first girl, marry, procreate, and earn higher salaries, good bonuses and stock options. Further confidence boosters are pretty secretaries and personal trainers, club memberships, portfolio of assets and so on.

Women on the other hand are more complex. A citadel in industry may turn into a nervous bundle at the Parents Teachers meeting, at her in-laws house or when she goes shopping. I am amazed at how easily a sales person in an apparel shop can crumble a woman when she goes to buy clothes- especially jeans. Even if one earns in millions one grovels before the kids, mom in law, husband, maid, nanny, teachers and tutors. Pampering and caring for oneself is a crime to be hidden. There is always scope for improvement and there is always room for doubt. If one were to ask women to name the point of time that they have been the most confident they will probably state the age between forty five and fifty and then comes the great Menopause with its hormonal malfunctions which sends their confidence plummeting down to the eye of a tornado. If an economist were to measure the parameters for happiness in a woman it would be found that many of the parameters contradict each other.

Social psychologists and marketers have seen this as an immense opportunity for successfully milking millions. If one recalls rudimentary marketing class one looked at a tube of lipstick and the professor smugly asked “Are we selling colour or aspiration?” The French conglomerate Loreal has become the world leader in cosmetics using the same catch line since 1973 to sell its products to women “Because I’m worth it”. The line works well because it appeals to women’s low self esteem. Try dear sisters to find a parallel campaign for men!

A fresh perspective

When Europeans discuss food one must listen to the subject carefully since they do not joke about what they partake. A French chief executive once told me that he thought the farm and vegetable produce of India was par excellence. He said the pork, mutton and chicken tasted better than what he bought back home. His logic was that rudimentary unorganised animal husbandry ensured that most animals in India generally spent their life feeling happy, feeding on grass, garbage residues and whatever, meandered around in the sun until one day.....the guillotine. He said the poor counterparts of these animals in developed countries were force fed, lived in claustrophobic environments and were always sad since they knew their fate. This is the reason the French preferred wild game produce because in their flesh was the taste of freedom. Trust a Frenchman to come up with such a unique point of view!

A lady who is a fashion designer in UK told my friend who is a garment exporter that while the vegetables in India did not look pretty, they tasted far better than the ones back home. She said perhaps it was because there was little genetic engineering and most things were organic due to the financial situation of the farmers. I suspect Hannibal Hector would say the same of the people of India if he ever visited our country.

I knew a British Human Resources Manager who was temporarily based in India. When I visited her in drizzling, cold London she kept talking about the “smells of India”. She said she had never felt so alive in her life as when she was living here. She said her sensory organs were always on an overdose. There was so much noise, colour, the smell of people and food with different palates to savour that she was planning a long vacation with her boyfriend all over India.

I recently accompanied a bunch of my French friends to the spice and vegetable market at INA after a lecture at IIT Delhi. A group of four geoscientists were rubbing spices, masalas, curry patta in their palms and deciding if they liked the aroma. They took home tarkas (seasoning) and discussed the merits of saffron. They tasted the dry fruits, the gajak and rewri. They said the Kashmir pine nuts were tastier than those from Canada and USA.

It’s fascinating to watch and hear people from other countries discuss their experiences when they encounter our food. Nothing can bring people closer to each other than sharing a meal and appreciating each other’s palate. It also gives us a fresh perspective on what we take for granted on our plates every day.

Roxxxy the Robot

The picture and news on Roxxxy, the first sex robot, which was unveiled yesterday in the Las Vegas convention, sent Ma into hysterics. My daughter gulped and had a million questions on its operating procedure which have been left unanswered. Apparently Roxxxy has siblings named Frigid Farah (why buy one?) and mature Martha (Oedipus complex?), Wild Wendy and an S & M Susan (the pervs need practice?). The robot will cost seven to nine thousand dollars and can be totally customised for individual tastes and needs. True Companion which is the German manufacturer says it is a “life partner” and not a sex toy.

Simson Garfinkel in MIT Technology review May 2004 had predicted that machines need to simulate emotional responses and empathize to appeal and co-exist with humans who are essentially emotionally hard wired beings. David Levy, a British national who is an acclaimed chess player and expert in artificial intelligence had predicted in his book “Love and Sex with the Robots” in 2007 that robots will increasingly become sexual partners for humans.

The scary part is that I actually know some people who I suspect would prefer such a companion over a flesh and blood one but may deny it due to social pressures. A friend of mine is rather perturbed about the kind of person who would risk using a robot since even German high end technology may have mal-functions. However the good news is that the robot can have conversation about topics like sports and news and will be constantly updated in its information bank through wireless technology. That may pose a slight problem since most people like partners who are intellectually dumber and need them.

Douglas Hines who is the creator says he was inspired by a friend that he lost in the 9/11 attacks in New York and that he was the inspiration behind the robot. Hines tried to capture his friend’s personality in his creation. Who would believe that there is a human love story behind this whacky robotics creation!

Plus sizes

For the first time I read a nutritionist in a leading daily state that ayurveda approves of a fried egg and protein (interpreted by me as bacon or sausage) for breakfast to keep us warm instead of melon, sprouts and unsweetened porridge. “V” Magazine, in its latest issue has done a fashion spread with plus size models which would qualify as pornography to traditional Indian tastes of the 1960s. Dr. Vito Franco from Palermo University states in his research that Mona Lisa had high cholesterol since there is undeniable evidence of fatty deposits on her face called xanthelasma. She also had lipoma or a benign fatty tumour over her right eye.

Is this an aberration by divinity to give me a pleasant Sunday or are we maturing from a race which is obsessed in creating new avenues of being unhappy to one that seeks contentment? Tiny sizes in women come with its share of problems. Silicon enhancements, wanting to substitute edible food with inedible satisfiers like biting off everyone’s brain, reduced libido and a propensity towards non calorific mood enhancers that may be addictive. The funny part is that the pressures are created by women on each other and only a small percentage of men like us hyper skinny. Those who do are looking for temporary arm candy since in the long term it can be a strain living with such peacock like perfection. I know certain couples who never eat a meal together since thin people eat only small quantities when the body physically craves for food unlike most people who let their emotions determine eating habits.

I will not question the reason for this aberration by fashionistas and will seize the moment in this cold weather to ignore the treadmill in the morning and snooze for an extra thirty minutes.

Yaaba Daaba – Music n Movies

If you thought only Fred Flintstone thumped his ample hairy torso to utter these words of joy, move over because it’s the latest foot tapping song in India which will have you moving your hips to a hula hoop. It’s a khichdi of Footloose, Twist and Shout and Blue Suede shoes composed by Ken Ghosh, Adnan Sami and Sandeep Shirodkar for their movie Dance pe chance. Kunal Ganjawalla sounds like he is truly inspired by his name and belts out the song with all the passion of an eighteen year old in a college band. Ghosh –dada has not yet released the video on You Tube for us to watch eye candy Shahid jive to the number.

Another Bengali babumoshai who has recreated himself successfully from only romantic melodies is Shantanu Moitra in 3 Idiots. However the songs in this film are endearing because the lyrics are outstanding. For once I do not have to open my Urdu dictionary to understand a film song. Another song that was sponsored by the Beer Bar dancers union and has assisted them majorly in revenue generation is the song “Paisa” from De Dhana Dhan composed by RDB. I fail to understand why Kuly, Manjeet and Surjeet Singh would call themselves RDB instead of KMS. A jewel in the midst of average music in the same movie is “Rishtey Naatey” sung by Raahat Fateh Ali Khan with lovely lyrics

It’s very difficult for a woman to sing songs from contemporary movies since today’s music depicts the way our leading heroines are projected. All the female songs are item numbers which have come-hither lewd lyrics with hip thrusting beats and lots of intermittent nonsensical rap which one cannot possibly sing in front of mashimas and peeshimas. All soulful songs with great words are bagged by the heroes. This is good news for Anoushka Manchanda, Suzanne Demello, Sunidhi Chauhan, Richa Sharma and all the “gala phad ke gaanewali” singers. I usually do a search on movies which have Konkana Sen, Shabana Azmi and Nandita Sen to find good female playback songs. I just hope these arty movies have a few moments where the heroine is happy and not all the songs are plaintive heart wrenching numbers.

Tughlaqabad Fort – a hidden jewel in Delhi

Everyone morning and evening I looked forward to my first glimpse of the impressive view of the Fort on one side of the road and the tomb on the other side as the road to my office cut between the two structures. It seemed so large and yet so desolate, uncared for and imposing. I wanted to stop the car and enter the fort but I wasn’t sure how safe it would be. There seemed to be a village inside a certain part of the fort and monkeys swinging on trees and yet there was a small boxlike structure that proclaimed it was a protected monument of the Archaeological Society of India.

I took advantage of the cold wave that had paralysed Delhi and the New Year festivities to convince my colleague to visit the fort with me. The entrance fee for Indians was rupees five. We asked for a guide since the fort seemed enormous. The guy at the counter smiled and climbed up to the fort with us to hand us over to Gian Chand who was part cleaner and part guide of the monument. Gian Chand spoke well with a fine crisp dialect and guided us into the fort which was built by Ghias-uddin-Tughlaq of the Delhi Sultanate in 1321 and abandoned in 1327. A six and half square kilometre fort, the largest in Delhi, was occupied for only six years by a temperamental Sultan who apparently was so passionate about the construction of his fort that he stopped work at the well of Saint Nizamuddin Auliya who cursed him and said that his fort would either be “Banjar” – barren or be occupied by “Gujjars” – a local tribe or “Bandars”- monkeys. One third of the fort today houses the Tughlaqabad village in which the Gujjar tribes live, there are approximately 5000 monkeys who peacefully reside in the area and one third of the fort is available for public view. The interiors of the fort are surprisingly clean and one feels transported to a place far away from the metropolis. We saw the treasury, a mosque for the Sultan’s wives, an underground shopping centre, ruins of the palace, rooms for the soldiers, stables and a place where mortar was ground with the use of animal power. We also saw an underground tunnel which was one kilometre long and led to the nearby Adilabad fort. This tunnel is still open but the road is dark and infested with snakes. The fort is on top of a hill and gives one a magnificent view of Delhi. One can see the village, a school, boys playing cricket within the fort premises and of course the tomb of Ghias-uddin Tughlaq, his begum and his elder son. The fort was surrounded by a large lake and the tomb was built on water. There was a tunnel with archways which connected the fort to the tomb. This is however closed and one walks across the road to the bridge that runs on top of the tunnel. The fort is a beautiful place for photography and sketching with the few cleaning women meandering around who were very friendly and were quite amused that they has mistaken us for “cross border” people instead of locals.

The tomb structure is octagonal and is surrounded by a beautiful, clean, manicured lawn. This tomb was strangely built by Ghias-uddin for himself while he was alive. It is the first monument that uses the white Makrana marble of Jaipur which has been made famous by its use in the Taj Mahal. There also exists a tomb of a dog which is unusual since the Muslim faith does not permit it, however our guide in the tomb - Mr. Chunnilal told us that the dog had saved the Sultan’s life during a hunt and was thus honoured. There remains an incomplete unused structure which was the provisional tomb of Ghias-uddin’s second son.

The Delhi government is attempting to renovate, restore and recreate the grandeur of the fort before the Commonwealth games. The work is moving at an abysmally slow pace. The fort does not form part of the regular tour operator itineraries as the route is through traffic prone office areas and there are no shopping arcades and eateries in the vicinity. However there is a beautiful charm in visiting such a grand monument when it is undiscovered and empty. One begins to play make believe games in one’s head as one stands on top of the fort, the gentle cold breeze ruffling one’s hair and gazes down at the grand Rajdhani of India.

Children need help

Yesterday a eleven year old girl committed suicide at Mumbai and the common belief appears to be that it is a result of her parents asking her to stop attending dance class, participating in reality television shows and to concentrate on her studies at school. Another twelve year old in Mumbai hung himself in his school premises after failing his mid-term test, apparently being inspired by the movie “3 Idiots”, which he watched two times. The parents of both the kids were caring and involved with the children and did not put undue pressure on them. The boy’s parents were aware that he was poor in his studies and that the boy had tried to commit suicide a few days ago by slitting his wrists at home.

We are aware that in our country the elementary education system is still in its infancy stage with inadequate facilities. However instances such as these bring to light the need for trained psychologists being a necessity for schools catering to the new generation. Parents very often struggle to make ends meet and in cities like Mumbai scarcely get to spend quality time with their children. Who does the child turn to for a conversation when in need for guidance? All of us have also encountered extremely talented children being subject to unrealistic pressures of performance by their parents.

I once had the opportunity to watch a children’s reality television show very closely and the experience was distasteful for both my daughter and me. She was thirteen years old when a particular channel, it’s well known sponsors and organizers managed to convince prestigious schools across the country to send students who were all-rounder’s to participate in an inter-school competition which was to be aired on TV. The school gave us a detailed form to be filled which had to be submitted with mark-sheets and certificates. The regional try outs were fun as the students had to say something for a minute in Hindi in front of an audience of two thousand booing and cheering kids. A bunch of kids made it to the regional knockout round which was recorded at Mumbai.

As the parents and kids resided in the same hotel for two nights we were witness at close quarters to the dynamics involved in creating “star kids”. The children were between eleven and fourteen years of age and while a few played games at an international level and others painted or wrote creatively, the ones who stood out in their confidence, maturity and aggression were those who were child models and actors. The parents of the stage performers were very pushy and competitive and two fathers actually targeted and played mind games with children who were potential competition. The parents were not allowed to accompany the kids to the studio but one father smuggled into the bus and threw a tantrum until he was permitted into the recording room. The children who did not qualify kept crying for hours and to add to their woes their parents kept berating them. My daughter did not qualify to the next round and we were very happy to step out of this environment.

Reality television does give opportunities for people from far flung places with undiscovered talent but it creates pressures which need professional assistance. The schools and sponsors should have asked the participating children for their feedback after the show to conduct a quality check. I feel that such anonymous feedback should be mandatory by the government and should be reviewed by professional agencies. Policing is necessary to prevent exploitation of children for monetary gains and children harming themselves.

First monday of 2010

It’s the first Monday of the New Year and everyone’s had two three day weekends. It’s the time of the year that everyone is painfully reminding each other of concepts like New Year’s resolutions and amazingly all the edible hedonism one has indulged in has settled on parts of one’s anatomy which are button and zip unfriendly. The low outdoor temperature, the fog and drizzle makes one want to hibernate like a Raccoon.

Rains, a cold breeze, temperatures near zero degrees are least of my favourite things when combined with bunking maids and a diet plan. One inevitably tears up the New Year’s resolution of eating healthy food since fruit salads just do not have the same warming effect as a pizza in bed or “moong dal halwa” drooling in ghee. However layered clothing only looks good on stick insects while most “healthy” folks look like stuffed teddy bears walking like penguins in their multitude of thermal innerwear. One leaves the house snug and warm and then god forbid one enters those centrally heated buildings that provokes the mind to engage in behaviour that one could get arrested for in India. One has to tolerate the excess heat, turn red in the face and pray that one does not faint due to excess body temperature.

Waking up in the morning is a nightmare and no amount of fluffy shoes near the bed or flannel dressing gowns can motivate one to leave the quilt. It is only the prospect of a cold shower if one does not switch on the geyser that drags one out. Thankfully we now have the new high technology cars but remember the good old days when the engine wouldn’t start in the cold and one had to pull the choke? Pull the choke a few times and the engine flooded with petrol and then one had to push the car until it decided to wake up from it's slumber and start.

Well it’s only two weeks of this chilly cold in Delhi after which the temperatures start to zoom up like the energy levels of men when they see Angelina Jolie on screen. Delhi is very beautiful from mid January till April with flowers blooming at every junction, roses in the gardens and peacocks dancing in the multitude of beautiful parks. Go and take a stroll in the garden while it’s still possible to do it in this weather!

New Year Celebrations

Page 3 carried news reports about SRK earning five crores for a ten minute performance at a new year’s party at Gurgaon – yeah, the suburbia that I reside in. The photographs of the party looked more like a Filmfare award ceremony with the number of Bollywood celebrities performing at the function.

The papers also gave us reports on how thousands of people watched firework displays on the beaches of Brazil, at Times Square New York, Japan, Sydney harbor, Los Angeles and so on. Why are our celebrations so private and exclusive in India and why is it a matter of public celebration in other countries? Apparently people have always braved the freezing Delhi cold and gathered at Connaught Place at the stroke of midnight but this year MCD decided to dig up the pavements of Connaught Place to make the celebrations for the revelers more exciting as they danced and tripped over the many potholes. I went to Barcelona as a tourist and watched the most amazing musical display of fireworks at a location near my hotel since my trip had coincided with one of Spain’s innumerable festivals, at Dubai I could watch the display of fireworks from my hotel room every evening during the shopping festival.

Why can’t advertisers and event managers ride on the festive spirit and get some goodwill at New Year? Telecom companies, mobile phone manufacturers, FMCG giants, satellite television companies spend so much time trying to reach the “aam junta”. Try distributing red heart shaped balloons to every kid on the road with your company logo and Happy New Year printed on it, display fireworks near the waterfront in a country with the largest peninsula, at Connaught Place, India Gate and other places with open promenades. Alcohol manufacturers who do roaring business at this time of the year and keep telling us not to drink and drive could perhaps sponsor public buses to transport people home after their celebrations.

Let us join the developed world in the ways we celebrate since folks in India are quite tired of watching television to herald in the New Year!

Too much of a good thing

The tricky part of being on a winning spree is to know when the trajectory of success is going to turn to a downwards slope and time your departure from the spotlight. Many a person who is not used to the limelight tends to drag their moment of glory until journalists and public tire of them. Public waves of gratitude, sympathy and adulation turn into apathy.

Two glaring examples of this are hitting us today. Firstly, the Ruchika Girohtra case is being milked by the media into a circus. It’s time for the Anands and Girohtras to step back before things turns sour. The media is now beginning to report news about Mrs. Anand’s views on Ruchika’s stepmom and her relationship with her and before one knows it Ruchika will be forgotten and a soap opera based at Chandigarh will be at the forefront.

The second case is that of the squabble between the author of a book, producer, director and actor of the major hit film “3 Idiots”. Initially the drama seemed so implausible that one thought it was a ploy for publicity designed by the movie makers and now it has turned into a sad public battle. Chetan has managed to turn his moment of glory into what we as his well wishers pray is not his debacle for we know how unforgiving the film fraternity is from the way Vivek Oberoi was ostracized after his press conference in which he berated Salman Khan.

In my first job everyone had an adage that “When shit hits the ceiling, it hits everyone”. This something all of us management trainees learnt the hard and painful way.