Mallu Maniac at work!

The Mallu Maniac was at the top of his bowling run up. He looked at the ground. All around. His eyes in permanent disarray. Then he did the boom barrier opening gesture with both his forearms raising to his head and down, in a focus gesture. He stood erect and focused on the batsman who was now as antsy as the wicket keeper behind. The mid off, Zakkan, had already started waddling ahead in the hope of stopping that single that might be routed his way. The gully, Najafgarh Nero, in his crouch slumped as he was prone to routine disinterest if he saw too much of too little happening. The Very Special Man bent down to prise out an offending twig from the grass and mutter under his breath. God, at midwicket, was immobile, but smiling.

The Mallu Maniac started running. The umpire straightened. He was happy, a ball was being bowled. He heard the furiously pedaling steps coming towards him as he started to focus on the running crease. Suddenly the steps slowed down. The umpire looked back in dismay along with the more dismayed non-striker ABCD, who really wanted to bat and was stranded for hours at the non striker's end as the striker Amladas was equally exacting a batsman as the Maniac, now going towards his bowling mark.

What had caused this abrupt return to the bowling mark. A man in a black shirt sitting at the far end had moved a quarter of an inch in his seat. The Maniac did not like black moving. So, he did not play in one dayers where they moved the black screens. He had voiced this in a team meeting and Kaku, the coach had thrown him out of that team. So, now he was on his way back. Zakkan decided to take things into his hands as the skipper behind the wickets was pretty much cut up with what the maniac was upto. He came across, and simply said. Mallu, bowl man, the way you are bowling there shall be girls in your room tonight waiting for you to finish your pooja, just go on and give that Amlaman the best outside off and one that can come into him at a rapid pace. Nothing will happen, no one shall throw you out of the team.

Mallu kept nodding while Goatie in covers looked on murderously. Mallu ignored him, no one, and to repeat that, no one was going to take away his chances of bowling a wicket taking ball. He again did his gestures, prodded himself adequately, while God kept smiling. Then, the run up started. The umpire heaved a sigh of relief. The clouds parted as the Maniac came running in and bowled. The batsman in half sleep, put out his bat, and realized that he had committed the error of the morning as the skipper behind went up in a frenzy. The Maniac came rushing towards with ferocious faces rapidly changing colour and mouthing unintelligible phrases that sounded like "f%%& addi" or something.

Amlaman departed. The fielding team heaved a sigh of relief, not because Amlaman was out but because the maniac had bowled something, they rejoiced. The Nero from gully mentioned, "Chalo, ek ghantey ab chutti ho gayi, Sardar tu aglaa jhaapad isko kab dega??"

We saw Sreesanth taking a wicket, as bland as that!

Of Chicken, Oranges, Smartphones, Chefs from 1988 and acute trauma!

Oranges?! She exclaimed.

I nodded. She had a gaping look on her face. "You're sure, right?" I nodded again. She did her most meaningful sway towards the kitchen. The sway that told me "you are as crazy as a Shreesanth on the dance floor without the stabilizing slap from Harbhajan". But I was stuck. The words were out of my mouth. Now I had to do the dish – Chicken with Oranges! That too, on my daughter's birthday. It was not "Izzat ka sawaal" as frankly in all these years the "Izzat" has gone for a royale toss, without the help of Saif's colours! It was more a sense of belonging to a very illustrious batch of chefs that had streamed out of a dilapidated campus in Hyderabad back in 1988. Not many know that I, the Omelette peddler, had Sandeep Kachroo, Rakesh Upadhyay, Srinath Sambandhan, Padmanabhan, Shantanu Mukherjee and the likes as classmates, chefs who have been featured in mags, channels and posts for their expertise with knives and pans. So, it was their arses on the line, not mine.

That was that and I had to ungainly move on. A couple of days passed by. The thought planted at the edge of my pituitary, I do not think through my thyroids, but probably that is where the recipe nested and grew as I plodded through my motions at Badminton, morning papers, office and the pyrotechnics at Durban. It gained hydra kinds of abilities while I conversed with smartphone pals over Facebook and twitter. It stayed right through my entreaties to my new chauffeur to go straight on Palm Beach Road! Readers should know that it is not humanly possible to make an error in going straight on Palm Beach Road in Navi Mumbai. Only my chauffeur can do it consistently. He deserves applause right now. Oh yes, the recipe. Yeah, it stayed right through all these minor quibbles of life, as it were.

On the Saturday evening, the Christmas evening for more believers and guzzlers, I reached the hallowed halls of Big Bad Bazaar to buy stuff that would make my effort a reality. I entered through with a bus, er..a big neanderthal trolley that could may be hold a full size Shane Warne frolicking with fuller sized Liz Hurley. One second later I found a mound that had sacks of Oranges neatly packed and displayed. I grabbed at the nearest sack. Finito! I had the ingredients for the recipe that had built up in my mind. So what was I doing there with that blasted bus in front of me! I had no clue. What had the denizens at home sent me in for? No idea! This was very embarrassing. I had smart women all around me shopping as if Big Bad Bazaar was about to close down to make way for a synagogue. I had to think of some more ingredients fast enough. Nothing came to mind. So, as they say in every boardroom, when in trouble, fish out your Blackberry. I did just that. Also, they say, when in more trouble, call up the grand lady at home. So did just that. The daughter was on line. I asked her to politely ask if her mom needed anything at home as I was in Big Bad Bazaar. She conferred and conveyed that I was to buy some veggies and nothing else. There, I was stuck. I did not know if the right worthy ingredients were at home, ingredients that were presently lost in the arid Saharan landscapes of the thalamus. And I was not to buy anything other than veggies. So, I had to browse. I cannot browse anything other than books and DVDs. So, I was in very unfamiliar surroundings. I started loading the bus with biscuits, noodles, pasta, Haldiram tidbits and other assorted munchies, in the hope that the recipe shall come back to me in full blown Fujicolor! It did not. So, ultimately after a lot of soul and shop searching, I landed up at the Veggies archive where I decided to buy up all the museum pieces from that morning's mandi heist. The bus was rapidly full. I fished out my small black card that magically wrote up Rs. 1475 against my name and I was through. The boys there wanted to give me a "High Five" for my assorted foolishness at shopping but they desisted and calmly left me with five bags at their doorstep. I made my way back home. I had one ingredient for my recipe. Oranges!!

The Birthday arrived. The Grand Lady had made a cake for a minor morning celebration and that was cut, some photographs taken of absurdly grinning individuals for immediate dispatch to Facebook. The lady had asked me the previous night as to how I wanted my chicken to be marinated. I rapidly said Lime, salt and pepper and quietly waited for the dam to burst. It would if the lime was missing in action. It didn't and I figured the lime was in place. So, I ate cake and left for office. Quietly.

Late afternoon at office. I was trying to multiply 8 * 21 by hand, by pencil and then by the calculator when the phone buzzed. The Grand Lady was on line. The heart started hammering. I knew what would be asked. I still did not have any answer to any of that. The question came over the waves.

"What would be the ingredients that you require for your whatever chicken dish?"

It was like Abhishek Bachchan being asked what kind of preparation he would require to Act. The premise itself was incorrect. The objective itself needed a change. He and Act? Never. He shall swivel, smirk and shuffle, but Act. Nope! Never!!

So I had to improvise. Like I do with many a powerpoint. "Chopped Onions, Ginger Garlic Paste, Soya Sauce, Vinegar, Sugar, Salt, Chilli Powder, Orange juice – about 1.5 glasses". Also, that I would be back home by 8 pm and if possible, could she just do the onions and keep? Polite request, it was. The airwaves became silent. I looked at my smartphone. It looked pretty unsmart and dark. The air smelt of mystery and deceit. Then the crackle, "Yes, OK". Hallelujah! Balle Balle! Sicilia! Shakira!! The second phase of recipe making was achieved. The Mis-en-place achieved over the Blackberry. I joyfully opened the browser to crank up cricinfo.com and seek to understand why Laxman did not take up Tennis when he was as good with the Forehand cross court volley as Federer! The 7 pm coffee tasted good.

Home. 8.15 pm. On the way back as I chatted with an ex-colleague over the smartphone, I realized I have two very senior citizens who also matter in terms of taste and skillets, my mom and my mom-in-law. They were vegetarians and so my work had to be further sub-divided into Chicken and Paneer. So, a pack of Amul Paneer was also pulled out from its forgotten corner in the ramparts of the freezer. And so it started, my "bull in a china mall" effort!

The pan had been helpfully kept out on the gas range for me. I decided to do the sauce first and then divide it for both the dishes. I pulled out my favorite wooden ladle to do the sauce. I felt like Saina Nehwal. I could do two cool sets of Badminton right away with that misshapen ladle. The lady was standing by. She knew I could even pull out the water tap over festering frustration sometimes and she would not have me doing that in her kitchen. But I was taken up. The olive oil was hunted down and some normal simple homely refined oil was added to burn up in the pan. I put in all the asymmetrically chopped onions into the pan. I daren't complain about the sizes of the chopped ones as my recipe had been brought thus far by Blackberry and not my hands. The Ginger Garlic paste pack was jailed between the Jeera powder and the Custard powder on the third rack below the eggs in the refrigerator. It was duly rescued. It breathed, looked up at me in obvious deference to the lord and the mighty and got deflated as I pressed out all the remnants in the pack onto the pan. The sautéing was in full swing. The onions paled and were on their way to browning when I added three pinches of sugar, two pinches of salt and some baleful stares at the slurry. I wanted to anger it. I added some chilli powder that I found at hand, I added lots of it. It was like Jai and Gabbar rivalry between me and the slurry, the more evil it looked, the more I added. Then, I opened up the soya sauce and proceeded to add about three spoons of the dark and quirky sauce to the slurry. It frothed and kicked like those creatures in District 9. I calmed the dark mass with some vinegar. I cannot remember how much I put in but it looked about another three spoonfuls. The slurry had some bite now. It needed respite. I provided. The Orange juice was poured in and the sauce went into a simmer. The flame became drowsy. I took a small teaspoon and tried the slush, it felt nice. The salt, I needed to see if the salt was going to hold up, the sauce simmered. The lady ventured to taste at the second go, and she concurred that it was fine. Never before I looked for so much approval from the lady, not even when I went to show her our apartment in Narendrapur five years go. OK, maybe that was a long shot. The sauce making was done without much ado thereafter. I needed to keep it aside while I did the chicken. I wanted a bowl. I hunted all over the kitchen for one. The cupboards were full of bowls but I wanted a very specific looking one. But I did not know what it would have to look like. Trouble. Fits. Rescued just in time by the lady with a simple bowl and a ladle that simply transfers the sauce into that bowl. Clean. Decorous. Done.

The chicken was airlifted from its terminal decline and the paneer was steamed in the microwave. The chicken was loaded into the pan while the paneer was fished out of the steaming water. The chicken sizzled with some oil in the hot pan for a few minutes from all sides as the sauce was poured onto the paneer and let be for some cooking at a later date. The chicken had started to brown. This time the decision was to have big neat cuts of legs and breasts and not butchered into nothing cuts by the street side butcher. So, the browning was even, nice and serene. It reminded me of "Daffodils" by Wordsworth and "Karma" by Subhash Ghai all at once. So nice it was!

The water was duly poured into the pan for the chicken chunks to simmer into oblivion. I relaxed. The lady had in the meanwhile, started on her flavored rice concept. So, I yielded some space to her. It was Ying and Yang. Only the Yang was not yanked into danger zone. All of a sudden, pandemonium.

The flames drowsed and blew out. I stared at it, non comprehension writ large on my face. The lady acted with more alacrity. She trotted off to where we keep a spare cylinder and brought it over. I pulled out the older cylinder and grimly kept pulling at the regulator. Miraculously, it came off. She commanded me to get the regulator onto the new cylinder while she moved the older one out of the way. I did. I did. The knobs turned. The flames came on. Peace was restored. The Al Qaeda moved back into the hills, the North Koreans put back their missiles and Ponting's frown was back in place.

The chicken simmered. The clock turned and after twenty minutes of me walking in and out of the kitchen the chicken appeared ready to go. I poured the sauce with deliberation. The dark orange hue spread out. My ego inflated. This was coming out just as I had visioned. It was just like that vision of 72 cabaret dancers that Kasab had before he set out on his journey to Mumbai with only a few AK 47s. Only the Cabaret dancers wanted me to stick around on earth for some more time before allocating space in their women's hostel up there.

The paneer dish was to be finished. So, the bowl with the paneer and the sauce went into the microwave with a 5 minute time set. It came out bawling. So, had to feed it with some crushed almonds to bring it back to sanity. The Almonds lent it some grit and fibre. It tasted, well, orangey!

Dinnertime. The items were served. The denizens poked at the dishes tentatively. The morsels went into the mouths. The check lists were ticked off just fine. The hunger took over. The chomp chomp and the mastication were the only sounds, would have fitted well with the Sound Design of "Bhoot". The dining table in the end was just left with some empty pans, bones and bay leaves from the flavored rice.

Braised Chicken in Orange Sauce & Nutty Orange Paneer.

Mission accomplished! Pigs can fly!!

A slice of life - Band Bajaa Baaraat

I am probably late with this longish note on a fabulous film “Band Bajaa Baaraat”. Or am I?
I have read some of the noted critiques and some other sundry articles that have been generally complimentary about this dazzler of a film. Gosh, I have already stated my increasing affection for this YRF sleeper hit that has struck a chord amongst all that I know.
Is it the honesty of the creative people, Maneesh and Habib, director and writer respectively? Or is it the astounding other Delhi milieu that does away with all flash and cranks out all the oddities of a fellow hard working Delhite we all know? Or is it the slice of life moments that make it for us in the dark Cineplex harking back to our more innocent “just out of college” days of struggle?
Let me recreate some very emphatic moments from the film:
“Plate rakh!” yells Shruti and Bittoo retorts “Nahin rakkhunga ji, kya kar lengi!”. He then goes and brings the poor Videographer whom he knows to vouch for his employment to the uncleji who is the host. The uncleji who has a tough day does not want to create a fuss over anyone that day and allows Bittoo a dinner while Shruti grimly looks on, Bittoo is explaining why he needs to have the dinner then. Superb. Respects.
The flower supplier turns around and says “phool toh yehi lagengey bibi, jo marzi kar lo, issi ke daam diye hain tumharey Chandra madam ne” and we see the innocent bravado of Shruti collapsing under the reality of Chandra Narang’s underhand deals. The collapse leads logically to the next scene where she and Bittoo stand up to the double dealing by Chandra. They take off in their business. Intelligent. Respects.
Silently, the buffoon Bittoo makes the first tea in their office of ‘Shaadi Mubarak’ and it is cool gently reversing gender roles at work. Simple but astounding statement. Respects.
The kissing scene. The BG score peters away. Two tired souls are holding onto each other and their new found success at work. Then, the emotions kick in. They are looking at each other. The silence starts to speak. We, the viewers start to live the moment with them. Then, the kiss, the exploratory kiss that leads to bed. More silence as they ruminate on the road travelled that day. More introspection. A treat. Respects.
Bittoo goes to leave Shruti after their shared night. She is happy, blissful and already dreaming of a future with Bittoo. Bittoo is perturbed as he does not want to disturb a good working equation. He wants to get away fast from her door with the bike. Her father is just leaving for work. Bittoo spots a way out, he rushes on with the bike and offers a lift to Mr. Kakkar who is grossly overweight and cannot sit on the bike with his legs around the bike. So, in a ungainly decision, as Shruti blissfully looks on, he sits “ladies style” and murmurs away through the whole silence between Shruti and Bittoo, completely unaware of their circumstances. Just the next scene, Shruti turns towards her mom and asks about Bittoo and her mom knows in a flash. This combo scene about the whole dynamic in the family is possibly the best scene in the film. Many Respects!!
The wall painter needs to write the name of Bittoo’s fledgling enterprise. Surprise, even Bittoo has not thought of it. His anger has not permitted him to even think logically about his business, an anger born out of love and longing, a feeling that he has ignored just to go by Shruti’s book, Shruti, the mentor, his guide. So, he anchors himself in her company’s name leading to some hilarity and settles happily for the translation of Shaadi Mubarak – Happy Weddings. Admirable scene. Respects.
The confession scene. Bittoo has his simplicity, she admires that. She realizes that it is necessary for her to give in. She speaks of her decision to her suitor over the phone while he is trying to prompt her through some frantic hand waving. She is calm, controlled and keeps looking at him. Then, the shock and awe for Bittoo. He is rooted to the spot. She has to lead him into the embrace. We wait expectantly as he finally does so. It brings a smile to our lips as they kiss.
All is well with this topsy turvy world!
The leads, Anoushka and Ranveer just immerse themselves in what many senior actors may fail at and come out trumps. Ranveer has the impishness of the earlier Salman. But it is the other actors that carry the film on their shoulders to make it a sleeper hit! Mr Kakkar, the Flower supplier, the caterer, the DJ, Bittoo’s friends, Shruti’s mom. All of them are truly classic. They breathe the Delhi that is notably absent in many other Delhi films.
Of course, I remember another forgotten film “Ahista Ahista”!!

The two Kinds of Cinema I see!

Two Days ago, after a long time, I used Facebook to have a strong discussion on the state of Indian films. KK, a good friend, completely rejected the latest film to have hit the theatres, Guzaarish. Fatema, another friend, and I had a different take altogether. We were of the opinion that this was a good film in spite of all its imperfections. The question is 'who's right'. There was no answer. The reader may say 'to each his own'! But really, truly, is that all that can be spoken about the state of Indian cinema and the concept of universal likes or dislikes.

Let me go little retro here. I remember when Natwarlal, Naseeb, Karz, Jyoti bane Jwaala came out in India. They all were big Silver Jubilee hits. Try and sit through those films in front of the telly. Go ahead, just try. Forget that they starred some of the biggest names in Hindi cinema for 2 hours and just try to gaze at the telly patiently. You may even hum the songs, but the films, you will not be able to sit through. But you will sit through a Silsila or an Anand or even Ghar as they would have a story, some takeaway that you would enjoy.

Now, in those days of 'Silver Jubilee' hits, we were not exposed to world cinema like we are now. TV channels, multiplexes releases, simultaneous world releases, et al. Our understanding of good cinema has been unknowingly redefined. So, a half baked 'Jhoota hi Sahi' shall not be palatable anymore, neither will a metaphoric, difficult to grasp Raavan too! There are no second chances beyond the weekend, as we would know how many Holly films this Hindi film has been adapted from and thus belittle the film totally. We would like to see how many stars the reviewer has given the film before we venture to the plex. So, the idea of a story rich, entertaining film shall take on another hue due to commercial constraints. Therefore, a Dabangg (Jyoti bane Jwala of 2010) shall be more tolerable than LSD! True then, true today too. So, why crib about this at all. There shall be those kind of films that shall be made catering to that kind of crowd those who are looking for over the top simple commercial films and they shall do well if properly made.

Then, there shall be films like Chameli ki Shaadi, Jalwa, Aakrosh, Satya, Udaan amd Ankush that shall be made with small budgets and score big because of the content only. Both of these kinds of films shall coexist happily, if they are not edged out by newer mediums that can deliver better stories to people.

Power to these different kinds of cinema!

Udaan and Inception - Human spirit that triumphs!

Rahul and Cobb. One dreading his father and not wanting to return home but has to as he is expelled from a boarding school and the private hell he goes through thereafter, and the other is already in a similar private hell as he is in a profession that essentially steals the dreams of people and yet he yearns for a family that cannot be his as he is too far out!

Udaan and Inception.

Two films, two languages, cinematic and cultural differences, and yet the message seemed the same. Break free!

I identify with the Rahul of Udaan for what aspires to and cannot become at home, with his family. Why, it is probably a secret dream of many a young man to do something different. The poems, his notebook where he writes very good stuff, the lonesome evenings beside the rail tracks, hill sides, mofussil roads all point to his inner calm and serenity whereas his outer world is an edgy battle against presiding terror.

But Cobb in Inception is also the same and a conversed manner. He has aspired and become what he wanted to, the seeker of dreams and its architecture, but gone farther in loaning out his expertise for bucks. His turmoil and terror then is within his head whereas he is calm, calculating and a leader outwardly.

But does that help in getting a life a for either of them at the end of the stories. We don't know. They have broken free. Through the tyranny and terror. But are they really free. Both the writers/Directors, Motwane and Nolan, have left it to us to understand and figure out.

Sizzling stuff. Both. Dramatic confrontations. The world coming apart for the protagonists in both but uncannily both the films show the triumph of the human spirit.

Go see both of them!

The feeling was priceless!

I received a call sometime in the afternoon day before yesterday. An old colleague of mine was on the line. I could not take her call then as I was in the midst of something.
I spoke to her finally late evening the same day. I try and return all calls the same day. She had simply called up to say a Hello! The conversation moved to how the other mates were doing and I suddenly proposed that we get together the next day. She was taken aback but enthusiastically agreed to put together the group.
I landed in Pune the next day. Work was on hand. So, the day passed by in a rush. I landed up in my hotel room, had a quick change and then proceeded towards Post 91 where we were to meet.
The small group of five enthusiastically met each other. Four guys and a lady. Two of the guys with their new wives too. I was the veteran when this group had come out of college and joined work. They acquired their skills under my mentorship. They spread their wings and one day floated away. I kept hearing of their exploits, mishaps, determination and growth, smiling inwardly at my little accomplishment.
Yesterday, I saw them again, in full bloom, confidence personified, the strut of defiance, for success and against suggested failure.
I soaked it all in. The feeling was...priceless!

I have been transferred back to Operations and now shall be heading the Mall Operations of Phoenix Market City Pune. Is it exciting? Yes!

Now, as I meet retailers and am abl to suss out their true leanings in terms of their spread in Pune Retail, their understanding of the city sociography, the catchments that they would like to deal with, their mindsets and their store physicalities, I find disorder.

The challenge is to convert this disorder into order. We need to capture their mindspace, get them to make great stores, perform out of their skins in the oncoming months for attaining great sales during operations.

Does this remind me of Hotel Operations? Yes and No. Yes, because Malls do need the order that Hotel Operations have to attain the Facility upkeep, Financial and Community building goals. No, because it is a lot more inclusive with B2B and B2C affairs taking place simultaneously. Sometimes, we may have to overlook the partners for the end consumers or the vice versa.

But, interesting times ahead!

Why does the modern Indian suffer from morality coughs only when public figures are dragged down from the high pulpits?

I would like to compare Modern India to the Roman era, only substitute one Rome with a few more. The senate had the most immoral and debauched group of leaders that the world was to ever see. But, they frowned on the outsiders and threw them to the gallows with regularity. Democracy while it was flaunted for namesake, actually stood for blatant state repression most conveniently. The civil society was thrown a few choice messages and they saw all good coming out of the senate and so the society thrived and the world saw the happening of a great civilization. Perception Management at its best?!

Most governments still apply the same rules generally. Send out the right messages. Work quietly on the unpopular ones. Leave the tenuous ones to conjecture and rumour. If it starts to get uncomfortable, just leave those messages and decisions alone. They die a quiet death. Communication people in the government work this perfectly.

Companies and Organizations picked this art up in the last 400 years quite effectively. Remember East India Company and their idea that they were here in India just to trade! And we know what happened. In the last millenium, there have been various instances where rules were broken but the right messages allowed us to be lulled to sleep again. Monsanto, GM, Union Carbide, Toyota, Vedanta, Mittal Resources, Many Pharma companies have repeatedly flouted all kinds of rules and put a positive spin to their deeds and got away with it.

Now, over the last few years, we see the immorality strike sports and entertainment too. Lip synched songs, stolen writing to create movies, the IPL fiascos and match fixing, all show us that morality is really at a premium and the green buck governs almost all things. Funny thing is, if we still look at the society at large, greed does not govern all our actions. The old and the very young are still being looked after. People generally pay after availing services of other people. The family is still governed by a few values. But the cracks have started to appear. Are we prepared to govern ourselves just that little more to enable a better tomorrow?

Small town boom town...

Have you seen a tournament called T10 Cricket Tournament being telecast on DD Sports?

I saw a match, being played in Sirsa, amidst a bad winter, with players from all around the country and names like Daman Gullies, Latur Gullies, Ludhiana Gullies, etc.

I was tickled. There is hardly any viewership but the teams have sponsors - GO Airlines and some others like SAIL. The teams are nicely attired, have coaches, physios and managers to boot!

The tournament even has experts like Charu Sharma doing some commentary. LOL!

But, I am trying to tell you something else. Is this the dawn of the hinterland in our consumer psyche. Early last year, we saw the invasion of small town India on the telly. By this year, practically all channels have shifted to small town stories.

Now, Cricket has taken that road. Give it a year or two and then watch it blossom and garner ratings similar to some bigger tournaments just like Aajtak and IndiaTV!!

I am looking forward to the same thing to happen to Indian Retail. It has happened in a very small but forthright manner already but there is more to come. I look forward to more of the Lilliputs, Sreeleathers, Liverpools and Ritu Wears to be developed right in our backyards as they move on from just being manufacturers to full blown fashion retailers from small and significant geographies pushing the boundaries of retail beyond what we know as the 5 city bang!