It's refreshing to see a Bollywood film that breaks the stereotype and goes for something new. And if that something is not a love story but instead a slice and dice of real life, what more can you expect? Enter Rocket Singh, my second most favourite movie of 2009 after the eternal masterpiece Dev.D. (I haven't yet seen 3 Idiots yet....)
This is a simple story about a young graduate who enters the cutthroat sales and marketing industry of personal computers. He soon finds out that it's not a perfect life out there where you go in the morning, do your job honestly, get your paycheck, come home, watch TV, have dinner and go to sleep. Clearly, honesty has little prominence here where sales means more about pushing the product and less about service. Forget after-sales service. A chance encounter with a corrupt customer who insists on a cut for procuring a large computer order for his company forces our young Rocket (Ranbir Kapoor) to look inwards and embark on a tough, yet spirited journey to lay his ground rules and play the game his way. Go and watch if he succeeds in his mission.
Rocket Singh is a terrific film that tells us a practical story. In a country like India, where the sales person- and never the customer- is the King, you'll identify with Rocket if you're a customer, you'll also identify with him if you're into marketing or sales of a corporate. Extra smart (and mighty arrogant SOBs) bosses that shower their staff with the choicest of abuses- not just in private but shamelessly in front of the entire department- and push them to the wall, unachievable sales targets, crook managers that demand a cut of the cheque of which he is responsible to procure the best quality products for the firm that pays him salary (legally) to struggles and sometimes humiliation that honest people have to face in a competitive dog-eat-dog world, Rocket Singh has it all.
The film is not preachy. It's fast paced and crisp and there are no songs to interrupt the narrative. The background score is ideal and the story unfolds in a way its believable. I didn't quite like the climax; I kinda felt it was stretched and a little too idealistic, but it never ceases to be an inspiration, so these are minor quirks in an otherwise good script. Supporting performances, especially from D. Santosh- the porn-surfing, computer maintenance guy- to Gauhar Khan- the fiery receptionist- are great. Ranbir Kapoor has clearly emerged as one of Indian commercial cinema's finest actors. He plays his part sincerely and turns in one of 2009's finest, yet subdued, performance. From showing his angst to his grandfather who breaks his own provident fund to buy him a scooter he detests, to being shocked and awed when his boss turns the tables on him despite having done nothing wrong, to going about his own business, Kapoor brings dollops of dignity and lends a soul to make Harpreet Singh Bedi (the character he portrays) a likable sardar and never ones makes it a caricature like some of his industry counterparts have done over the years. You could say this performance is a slap on the face of all those sardar jokes that have been internet favourites.
You should go and watch Rocket Singh.
K-Rate: * * * * *
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Jingle Bells at NCPA
It's supposed to be an annual event, but somehow I was blissfully unaware. I will now mark my calender every December for this Christmas carol singing extravaganza that I went to yesterday. The venue was NCPA, Nariman Point, Mumbai. Some five-odd choirs sang beautiful Christmas carols over two hours and enthralled the audience. There are few sounds in the world that are more soothing than carols. The music comes from the heart, has a lot of faith and touches your chords. And when professionally trained carol singers take the stage, expect magic, expect entertainment and expect a lot of happiness.
The carols were sung mostly in English but had an occasional Hindi and Malayalam carol in it. Some choirs even had tablas also in them, especially the Hindi and Malayalam. I do not understand head or tail of Malayalam; it's Greek and Latin for me. But I have always believed; it doesn't matter which language the song is sung, if you can touch you, if you feel music in your heart, the job's done.
One of the best places to listen to carols is in a church early morning when it's almost empty and this choir group is practicing near the alter. The church is empty with an occasional soul moving here or there, it's serene and peaceful and you take your place quietly, close your eyes and listen to kids, boys and girls humming beautiful somethings that may not make much sense if you aren't musically- or rather carol musically- inclined, but they sound soulful. You sit, spend time, don't talk, be quiet, say your prayers and then leave.
But a church is far off for me; NCPA is fine if i get to hear something like yesterday's.
The carols were sung mostly in English but had an occasional Hindi and Malayalam carol in it. Some choirs even had tablas also in them, especially the Hindi and Malayalam. I do not understand head or tail of Malayalam; it's Greek and Latin for me. But I have always believed; it doesn't matter which language the song is sung, if you can touch you, if you feel music in your heart, the job's done.
One of the best places to listen to carols is in a church early morning when it's almost empty and this choir group is practicing near the alter. The church is empty with an occasional soul moving here or there, it's serene and peaceful and you take your place quietly, close your eyes and listen to kids, boys and girls humming beautiful somethings that may not make much sense if you aren't musically- or rather carol musically- inclined, but they sound soulful. You sit, spend time, don't talk, be quiet, say your prayers and then leave.
But a church is far off for me; NCPA is fine if i get to hear something like yesterday's.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Going to a Sarkaari PC
As a journalist, I get to go to many press conferences (PC). But I find the sarkari ones the most amusing. I went to one such PC the past week. Here's what happened.
As against in a typical 5-star hotel banquet room, this one was held in an auditorium. There were many visitors, but hardly any journalists. Or so it seemed. So many guests There was a large stage where the dais was there and as typical as a government way of working, the dais was quite large; around 6 odd people were slated to address the PC. In a private-company organised PC- much like their lean style of working- you'd find only about 2-3 people on the dais.
The guests arrive, most do with their entourage. But they don't go to the dais straightaway. The emcee takes the stage, welcomes the guests and then one by one starts calling out the names of the people who are slated to sit on the dais. People applaud as if catching a glimpse of Sachin Tendulkar. The room is full with people; sarkaari PCs seldom run empty. I am told that's probably because most of the seats are occupied by company employees. Ah well, that could explain why so many people were in suits and boots.
The game starts. The emcee begins by thanking (so profusely you'd think the world goes around thanks only to the people on the dais) one and all that 'matters'. No sooner that the people get settled on the dais than they are unsettled once again. The lighting of the lamp. Very Indian governorship. A big stand with many lamps is placed either at the edge of the dais or just below it. The chief guest lights the lamp amidst traditional Indian classical music being played in the background. Massive photo opportunity. I remember my childhood days when newspapers used to carry pictures of such lamp lighting moments of many events, every second day. The chief guest takes time to smile at the camera at the same time he lights all the lamps; and there are plenty lamps to be lighted, so more photo opportunities. Cameramen scramble to get a glimpse of this historic event.
The game continues. 'Respected and honourable members of the dais' are back in their seats, adjusting their suits, buttoning or unbuttoning (as the case may be) in a very dignified way after an accomplished task, as they settle down. Now, comes the token of appreciation. Flower bouquets are presented. One by one, pretty ladies come and present the bouquets to the 'respected and honourable members of the dais'. Mind you, this is a sarkaari PC- grounded with traditions- so the ladies are clad in sarees. This is not a Kingfisher Airlines PC or anything! More applause. As each 'respected and honourable member of the dais' gets presented with a flower bouquet, there's a huge round of applause.
The PC now starts and one by one, each member gets to come on the podium and gets about 5 minutes to speak. They speak, thank people before they begin their speech, thank people after ending their speech, talk to journalists, answer their queries, give one-on-one interviews to TV channels and then they go away. We return back to our offices with quotes and start writing our stories for next day's edition.
As against in a typical 5-star hotel banquet room, this one was held in an auditorium. There were many visitors, but hardly any journalists. Or so it seemed. So many guests There was a large stage where the dais was there and as typical as a government way of working, the dais was quite large; around 6 odd people were slated to address the PC. In a private-company organised PC- much like their lean style of working- you'd find only about 2-3 people on the dais.
The guests arrive, most do with their entourage. But they don't go to the dais straightaway. The emcee takes the stage, welcomes the guests and then one by one starts calling out the names of the people who are slated to sit on the dais. People applaud as if catching a glimpse of Sachin Tendulkar. The room is full with people; sarkaari PCs seldom run empty. I am told that's probably because most of the seats are occupied by company employees. Ah well, that could explain why so many people were in suits and boots.
The game starts. The emcee begins by thanking (so profusely you'd think the world goes around thanks only to the people on the dais) one and all that 'matters'. No sooner that the people get settled on the dais than they are unsettled once again. The lighting of the lamp. Very Indian governorship. A big stand with many lamps is placed either at the edge of the dais or just below it. The chief guest lights the lamp amidst traditional Indian classical music being played in the background. Massive photo opportunity. I remember my childhood days when newspapers used to carry pictures of such lamp lighting moments of many events, every second day. The chief guest takes time to smile at the camera at the same time he lights all the lamps; and there are plenty lamps to be lighted, so more photo opportunities. Cameramen scramble to get a glimpse of this historic event.
The game continues. 'Respected and honourable members of the dais' are back in their seats, adjusting their suits, buttoning or unbuttoning (as the case may be) in a very dignified way after an accomplished task, as they settle down. Now, comes the token of appreciation. Flower bouquets are presented. One by one, pretty ladies come and present the bouquets to the 'respected and honourable members of the dais'. Mind you, this is a sarkaari PC- grounded with traditions- so the ladies are clad in sarees. This is not a Kingfisher Airlines PC or anything! More applause. As each 'respected and honourable member of the dais' gets presented with a flower bouquet, there's a huge round of applause.
The PC now starts and one by one, each member gets to come on the podium and gets about 5 minutes to speak. They speak, thank people before they begin their speech, thank people after ending their speech, talk to journalists, answer their queries, give one-on-one interviews to TV channels and then they go away. We return back to our offices with quotes and start writing our stories for next day's edition.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Save Britannia
Mamu was saying earlier today he wished to go to Britannia- the single-most famous Irani / Parsi restaurant in Mumbai that serves the world-famous Berry Pulav- with me sometime soon. I couldn't agree more. As it is, there are many murmous going around that the place might serve it's last meal soon.
Of course, Berry Pulav or for that matter even Dhansakh, is not something you can eat amost everyday, you know. These are heavy delicacies and I don't know about others, but I can't work much after devouring a plate of either of those. I need my afternoon siesta after that. But the place is worth visiting I tell you.
I prefer to sit on the upper deck. This used to be a special thing with almost all Irani restaurants. There is a ground level seating as you enter and then there is the upper deck. This is either for large groups of for love birds who want to enjoy their meals in privacy. But I feel it's a great place to get a bird's eye view of the whole restaurant, watch who's coming in, who's going out, who's eating what and so on. Ofcourse if the food is great- which in most of these place it is- then you'd soon turn your focus on your plate, but oh well what's the use of being a Parsi if you don't do a little pozuli?
Britannia has an upper deck too. I usually prefer sitting up there, though the last time I went, the area was fully occupied. Notice, when you sit on Britannia's upper deck, you could actually feel the ceiling fan under you revolving. It gives you that funny tingy feeling. That's the thing at Britannia. For whatever reason, the place needs some serious sprucing up. Don't expect any fancy interiors in here; you'll see the paints peeling off the walls. None of which matters much though, because once the food is on the table, you forget everything else. Though how you secretly wish the place is better maintained. But the food's quite exquisite. Everybody knows that their Berry Pulav is awesome and so is their Dhansakh and Sali Boti and Sali Chicken. The red-coloured berrys that are generously sprinkled all over the berry pulav are specially imported from Iran. Try their boi fish and round up the meal with the world's best caramel custard. I am a sucker for desserts, so I almost always bring back home an extra caramel custard.
Do remember, if you are going in large numbers or you feel you might land up there a little after, say, 2 then make sure you call them up (2261 5264) and book your Berry Pulav in advance. The food here tends to get over fast and they don't make many extra servings.
Of course, Berry Pulav or for that matter even Dhansakh, is not something you can eat amost everyday, you know. These are heavy delicacies and I don't know about others, but I can't work much after devouring a plate of either of those. I need my afternoon siesta after that. But the place is worth visiting I tell you.
I prefer to sit on the upper deck. This used to be a special thing with almost all Irani restaurants. There is a ground level seating as you enter and then there is the upper deck. This is either for large groups of for love birds who want to enjoy their meals in privacy. But I feel it's a great place to get a bird's eye view of the whole restaurant, watch who's coming in, who's going out, who's eating what and so on. Ofcourse if the food is great- which in most of these place it is- then you'd soon turn your focus on your plate, but oh well what's the use of being a Parsi if you don't do a little pozuli?
Britannia has an upper deck too. I usually prefer sitting up there, though the last time I went, the area was fully occupied. Notice, when you sit on Britannia's upper deck, you could actually feel the ceiling fan under you revolving. It gives you that funny tingy feeling. That's the thing at Britannia. For whatever reason, the place needs some serious sprucing up. Don't expect any fancy interiors in here; you'll see the paints peeling off the walls. None of which matters much though, because once the food is on the table, you forget everything else. Though how you secretly wish the place is better maintained. But the food's quite exquisite. Everybody knows that their Berry Pulav is awesome and so is their Dhansakh and Sali Boti and Sali Chicken. The red-coloured berrys that are generously sprinkled all over the berry pulav are specially imported from Iran. Try their boi fish and round up the meal with the world's best caramel custard. I am a sucker for desserts, so I almost always bring back home an extra caramel custard.
Do remember, if you are going in large numbers or you feel you might land up there a little after, say, 2 then make sure you call them up (2261 5264) and book your Berry Pulav in advance. The food here tends to get over fast and they don't make many extra servings.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Babu Narude
Today is a very special day for Babu Narude (Sir). He is my Yoga teacher at the institute where I go to learn and practice yoga. Babu Narude's elder daughter got married today. I am sure he must be a very relieved man; he was planning for it since time immemorial. I just came back from the wedding and the reception, the venue was in the Ram temple at Matunga, very near to the legendary Mysore Cafe where I just recently had the world's best dosas. And I am not even a southie food fan, but still if I really loved the dosas, that must be something.
Anyways, the wedding and the reception was quite good. And very well-attended. Practically every face that i can recognise at my Yoga institute was there. To be honest, I did not expect many of my colleagues to be there. After all, people have jobs on weekdays, you'd think they might want to spend the Sunday with their families. It took me just seconds after I entered to be proved absolutely wrong. I saw many familiar faces; Pravinbhai- our institutes resident stock broker who seems to eat, breathe, drink, live and sleep stock markets (or bajaar as he says) was there since the morning. And Patilsaheb was also there, on the stage manning the presents and gifts, Sir and his daughter got. They were looking like extended family.
I think somewhere today I saw the love and respect that we all have for Sir. I joined Yoga in February 2003 amidst a lot of skepticism. But I was quickly hooked onto it. I think- in a way- yoga grew in me. Thanks to Sir- who took me into his fold (I must have been extremely blessed to be assigned to his tutelage)- I soon took to Yoga as a habit. One without which I felt my day was incomplete if I couldn't go to my classes. The good part of the place where I go to is that there aren't any fixed classes or fixed times. Men are supposed to go anytime between 4 and 8.30 pm. Instructors lurk around, take rounds, keep tabs on students and supervise all of us. Sir is the most senior of all. I find him to be very dedicated. And he is the best part. I have always felt that no matter what the subject is, it can always be made the most interesting if the instructor is good.
At 56, his memory can put any of ours to shame. He must be having atleast 30 people- at any given point in time apart from the occassional dropouts here and there- but he would remember all of us by our first and last names. Since there are no fixed classes, each of us has our own cusotmised itenery. One that escalates with every passing month as we graduate to the next level. Sir would know each of our iteneries at the back of his palm. This, despite staring his day at 4.00 early morning when he wakes up, does his morning ablutions and catches the 6.15 am morning local to Churchgate. He stays at Virar, Mumbai's farthest suburban station the western railway. It's not easy to travel by second class from Churchgate to Virar, at this age. But he's got such will power and stamina thanks to his many years of disciplined living and yogic lifestyle, that at this age he sleeps for only about 5 hours every day and still is fresh at all times.
Today, on this happy occasion, his loved ones and students- such as I- were there to bless him. In a way, to thank him too for the all his wonderful teachings, to wish him luck and join in his happiness. People who bring happiness in other people's lives get happiness in return. Babu Narude is an exemplary instance of this thought.
Anyways, the wedding and the reception was quite good. And very well-attended. Practically every face that i can recognise at my Yoga institute was there. To be honest, I did not expect many of my colleagues to be there. After all, people have jobs on weekdays, you'd think they might want to spend the Sunday with their families. It took me just seconds after I entered to be proved absolutely wrong. I saw many familiar faces; Pravinbhai- our institutes resident stock broker who seems to eat, breathe, drink, live and sleep stock markets (or bajaar as he says) was there since the morning. And Patilsaheb was also there, on the stage manning the presents and gifts, Sir and his daughter got. They were looking like extended family.
I think somewhere today I saw the love and respect that we all have for Sir. I joined Yoga in February 2003 amidst a lot of skepticism. But I was quickly hooked onto it. I think- in a way- yoga grew in me. Thanks to Sir- who took me into his fold (I must have been extremely blessed to be assigned to his tutelage)- I soon took to Yoga as a habit. One without which I felt my day was incomplete if I couldn't go to my classes. The good part of the place where I go to is that there aren't any fixed classes or fixed times. Men are supposed to go anytime between 4 and 8.30 pm. Instructors lurk around, take rounds, keep tabs on students and supervise all of us. Sir is the most senior of all. I find him to be very dedicated. And he is the best part. I have always felt that no matter what the subject is, it can always be made the most interesting if the instructor is good.
At 56, his memory can put any of ours to shame. He must be having atleast 30 people- at any given point in time apart from the occassional dropouts here and there- but he would remember all of us by our first and last names. Since there are no fixed classes, each of us has our own cusotmised itenery. One that escalates with every passing month as we graduate to the next level. Sir would know each of our iteneries at the back of his palm. This, despite staring his day at 4.00 early morning when he wakes up, does his morning ablutions and catches the 6.15 am morning local to Churchgate. He stays at Virar, Mumbai's farthest suburban station the western railway. It's not easy to travel by second class from Churchgate to Virar, at this age. But he's got such will power and stamina thanks to his many years of disciplined living and yogic lifestyle, that at this age he sleeps for only about 5 hours every day and still is fresh at all times.
Today, on this happy occasion, his loved ones and students- such as I- were there to bless him. In a way, to thank him too for the all his wonderful teachings, to wish him luck and join in his happiness. People who bring happiness in other people's lives get happiness in return. Babu Narude is an exemplary instance of this thought.
Kurbaan
I don't remember when I watched a movie the last time around, but thanks to my cousin who got us complimentary passes to the premier show, I caught up with Kurbaan. A decent effort from producer Karan Johar who is always known to make candy floss movies, but I found it to be a very simplistic take on America v/s Islam terror war. A young Delhi college professor Kareena Kapoor meets co-professor suave and charming Saif Ali Khan and falls in love after being briefly pursued. They fall in love and migrate to the US as Kapoor gets a job opening there. Saif Ali Khan too gets a job there and they move into a new house in an Indian neighborhood and life seems to go on Happily every after. Till the time that Kareena Kapoor accidentally stumbles upon a terror plot unraveling- and also a dead woman's body- in a neighbour's house. The story kickstarts from there as she unwillingly falls into a well of deceit and terror.
The movie, though a taut thriller compared to Bollywood standards- takes a very potboiler, cliche Bollywood route to reach its goals. For instance, I cannot fanthom that a girl who has lived in the US (only to briefly migrate to India to look after her ailing father) does not dial the US emergency number 911 when she stumbles upon the terror plot. Saif Ali Khan gets a job at the university so easily. He also passes through the airport security checks so easily despite being on the US watchlist. Anyone who has been to the US post 9-11 would know that US is a totally different country and how seriously it takes its own security. Vivek Oberoi plays the supporting cast as the boyfriend who loses his girlfriend to terrorism. He decides to not to inform the police even after he gets a credible lead, but instead- and this sounds very Bollywoodish- decides to join the gang to get to the crooks himself. You'd probably expect a home grown character to behave like this, but this sort of approach is a little hard to digest for someone who is shown to have lived in the US and worked within the parameters of the US machinery. He also gets admission in the terror cell without so much as a background check done on him by the members. Also, the plot line of Kareena Kapoor seducing her husband in bed to get hold of the terror plot details sounds- if not exactly far-fetched- very amateurish. And do we really need such close-ups of how a person removes a bullet and also stitches up the skin?
Despite being in the same genre of New York (also produced by Karan Johar) and his upcoming My Name is Khan, Kurbaan is an edge-of-the-seat thriller and keeps you hooked on. The movie scores on good cinematography and screenplay. Unfortunately, there is no chemistry between the lead pair despite good performances.
The movie, though a taut thriller compared to Bollywood standards- takes a very potboiler, cliche Bollywood route to reach its goals. For instance, I cannot fanthom that a girl who has lived in the US (only to briefly migrate to India to look after her ailing father) does not dial the US emergency number 911 when she stumbles upon the terror plot. Saif Ali Khan gets a job at the university so easily. He also passes through the airport security checks so easily despite being on the US watchlist. Anyone who has been to the US post 9-11 would know that US is a totally different country and how seriously it takes its own security. Vivek Oberoi plays the supporting cast as the boyfriend who loses his girlfriend to terrorism. He decides to not to inform the police even after he gets a credible lead, but instead- and this sounds very Bollywoodish- decides to join the gang to get to the crooks himself. You'd probably expect a home grown character to behave like this, but this sort of approach is a little hard to digest for someone who is shown to have lived in the US and worked within the parameters of the US machinery. He also gets admission in the terror cell without so much as a background check done on him by the members. Also, the plot line of Kareena Kapoor seducing her husband in bed to get hold of the terror plot details sounds- if not exactly far-fetched- very amateurish. And do we really need such close-ups of how a person removes a bullet and also stitches up the skin?
Despite being in the same genre of New York (also produced by Karan Johar) and his upcoming My Name is Khan, Kurbaan is an edge-of-the-seat thriller and keeps you hooked on. The movie scores on good cinematography and screenplay. Unfortunately, there is no chemistry between the lead pair despite good performances.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Black Day for Indian Democracy
It was a black day for Indian democracy, yet once again. Armed with sticks, lathis, and such weapons, the goons of Shiv Sena- one of Maharashtra's political parties- barged into the offices of TV channel IBN Lokmat and not only destroyed office property but also physically and brutally assaulted journalists. Read the reports here and here and see the pictures here. My sympathies to the IBN team and Nikhil Wagle, IBN Lokmat's editor-in-chief and kudos to the staff for nabbing some of the goons and handing them over to the police. This is not the first time that Shiv Sena goons have targeted journalists or innocent civilians. One wonders whether it'll be the last time especially considering the fact that the State Government has so far been unable to tame them and bring them to book. Though I have hope from the present chief minister. I could be wrong but I saw sincerity in his eyes yesterday when the editor-in-chief of IBN Rajdeep Sardesai interviewed him on national TV and the minister reassured that the culprits- not just the foot soldiers, but also the ringleaders- would be brought to book. Let's hope that the Chief Minister stands by his promise.
For a moment though I would like to ponder on the irony as to why such trouble-makers have always thought that such violence would get them to the top. The worst part is that they have been right and proved right time and again. Massive communal riots in1992-93 in Bombay and later in Gujarat in 2002 (both targeted Muslims) catapulted right-wing leaders to the pinnacle of the state machineries. The Gujarat riots were documented as probably one of the worst genocide the history of Indian democracy. Lives were uprooted, innocent civilians lost their lives, and the fabric of society changed forever. Still, people who openly and brazenly encouraged such violence, got voted and came to power.
Which begs the question: Why does the electorate vote for such people who encourage violence? Why does anyone think that these very people who perpetuate violence, are the ones who can offer a better life, a bettre government? Isn't violence the opposite of governance? Hatred is the core of any riot; it smacks of violence and complete break-down of law and order. Aren't there enough members of the civilised or the thinking society to get up and vote to keep the thugs and goons out of the Parliament? Or it's just that there are enough voters who have the power in the fingers but that they just do not care.
Why is it that in developed countries, any political party that perpetuates violence to gain publicity and power, gets shooed away, does not get elected at all, and infact goes behind bars? Why does it happen in India that the notorious political parties think that such massive tod-phod and strong-arm street tactics would get the voters to vote for them? Why is there such a belief? Is there something wrong with them or with us who vote for them? Perhaps the low voter turnout could throw some light. The anger and agitation that came out in Mumbai post 26-11- largely seen amongst the thinking citizens- fizzled out soon; poor turnouts during the Assembly elections and central government elections.
I wish I could say the cliche: the time has come to stop them and bring the culprits to book, time has come to disown them and time has come to act. Unfortunately, that time came and went away long ago. What do we do now?
For a moment though I would like to ponder on the irony as to why such trouble-makers have always thought that such violence would get them to the top. The worst part is that they have been right and proved right time and again. Massive communal riots in1992-93 in Bombay and later in Gujarat in 2002 (both targeted Muslims) catapulted right-wing leaders to the pinnacle of the state machineries. The Gujarat riots were documented as probably one of the worst genocide the history of Indian democracy. Lives were uprooted, innocent civilians lost their lives, and the fabric of society changed forever. Still, people who openly and brazenly encouraged such violence, got voted and came to power.
Which begs the question: Why does the electorate vote for such people who encourage violence? Why does anyone think that these very people who perpetuate violence, are the ones who can offer a better life, a bettre government? Isn't violence the opposite of governance? Hatred is the core of any riot; it smacks of violence and complete break-down of law and order. Aren't there enough members of the civilised or the thinking society to get up and vote to keep the thugs and goons out of the Parliament? Or it's just that there are enough voters who have the power in the fingers but that they just do not care.
Why is it that in developed countries, any political party that perpetuates violence to gain publicity and power, gets shooed away, does not get elected at all, and infact goes behind bars? Why does it happen in India that the notorious political parties think that such massive tod-phod and strong-arm street tactics would get the voters to vote for them? Why is there such a belief? Is there something wrong with them or with us who vote for them? Perhaps the low voter turnout could throw some light. The anger and agitation that came out in Mumbai post 26-11- largely seen amongst the thinking citizens- fizzled out soon; poor turnouts during the Assembly elections and central government elections.
I wish I could say the cliche: the time has come to stop them and bring the culprits to book, time has come to disown them and time has come to act. Unfortunately, that time came and went away long ago. What do we do now?
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Pune: Thirty Years, One Goodbye
Letting go of loved ones and friends is painful. But letting go of a house, filled with memories, is just as painful. I realised this recent...
