Thursday, September 22, 2005

Conquering Laziness

Is laziness a state of mind?? I don't have an answer to this question. But, I have been trying to tell my mind that being lazy is something that bloody brain tells me to be, otherwise I am perfectly able to complete mundane tasks such as getting up at 5.30 AM in the morning, doing my exercises, doing up the house, take my daughter to the school bus stop, doing the washing, getting to office in time, finishing my In tray, getting all those Communications done, making my action plans for the teams to follow up on, getting meeting over with and follow up...... phew!!

I do not manage to do even half of these successfully. Pretty much to do with my limbs and their inertia?! Did Dale Carnegie ever write something on How to influence your mind and limbs....or Darwin do something on Surviving being lazy!!!

Just this morning the missus told me to do the dishes as she was running late and I had to grope through the dense fog in my brain, at last managed to keep the newspaper down to get up and do the dishes. Just a question here;why is it so difficult to keep the newspaper down?

Why am I not able to move myself away from even a India - Zimbabwe cricket match, where only I seem to be bothered about the outcome other than those sundry bookies in Mumbai and Delhi? It is appalling the way I sit in front of the living room TV with the smelly feet, dishevelled hair, grimy shirt(blame it on Kolkata's smog) and my shoes beside me like a long lost pet. But I cannot take myself away from the TV for a minute. I don't enjoy soaps, so my missus saves a potentially crazed situation by wrenching the Remote out of my hands for her favorite 9 PM show. I immediately conquer all my laziness to go and change. I fear her more than God. God is not around, she is!!

Laziness in all encompassing, it is aawesome, has great strength as I am 73 kgs in all and I never seem to get up in time to do things or do that much needed exercise!! Keeps me down, you see...

I have entered that phase in life where I have to choose between a dynamic, organised and healthy/wealthy life with doting wife and a beautiful daughter or my slovenly, pessimistic, bone creaker, short tempered, droopy eyed life. I am trying to be the former but the latter is playing kabbadi with me!!

Sunday, September 18, 2005

'chocolate' Huh!!

I saw a movie named 'Chocolate' yesterday. It had a curious blend of Hitchcockian suspense (highly inspired), John Woo action and typical Hindi filmi dialogues. Already, guys must be thinking as to what this pot pourri could mean!!
That is the whole problem....the movie was all up in knots till the intermission. It did itself a lot of justice by the end. The concept was fine but the scrpting was loose. So, the movie dragged a bit and I, for one, was tired of all the boobs and legs by the end of the movie.
Performances were uniform and no surprises here. I thought Anil Kapoor and Irrfan did a competent job.
But the girls continue to disappoint. I am yet to see a breakthrough performance this year, except Shweta Prasad's performance in Iqbal.
But 'wow' the 'sex' word was quite ....EXPLICIT.

umm....Indian movies coming of age (18)!!??

Saturday, September 17, 2005

Did not know the truth!!

Today is another special day. I have achieved a lot at office today. Actually Saturdays are good for achievements. The office tends to be laidback and so I have time to sit back and think as to what can be done and actually plan this day effectively.

Usually it does not happen and we are frantically running from appointment to the other. Endless cups of coffee and zit zero achievements.

Met a guy today who happens to lead a corporation. Actually, I was introduced to him before too. He did not give his background then and I neglected to ask. The mutual introducer had mumbled something that had not been very captivating. Came to know the specifics today and am very impressed with his achievements.

Indians are suddenly achieving a lot at very young ages. My brother, Sheel, is now a Training Head of DELL INDIA at 31. A few years ago this was unthinkable. I am getting to know more youngsters who have done brilliantly for themselves at similar ages. Again, this goes on to prove that India is a young nation and has done immensely well.

Wish Nation builders keep a track of this greatest resource on earth - Man...Uranium, Oil etc.. can come much later.

Friday, September 16, 2005

Dear Departed !

My bro in law's father passed away today. He was a strong willed man who lost his will to live and enjoy after he took VRS from his government job.

I feel some people live for their career and when they are compelled to give that up retreat into a shell that consumes their positive energy for life. PEOPLE ALL AROUND US WHO ARE SO VERY MUCH INTO THEIR CAREERs, CAN DO WELL TO STOP FOR A MINUTE, THINK ABOUT THIS INEVITABLE!!

This is not to say that we should not chase our success in careers. In fact, that should still be the drive in life but there is life after that too!!

I am moving residence today and may have to shuttle between the old house, the new one and the cremation ground.

Life starts, stops, ebbs, tides over......

uh...huh...let's get positive!!

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Movies - 2005

I saw ‘Iqbal’ the movie a few days back. The movie is quite laudable. It had a decent crowd too. By now, avid movie goers would know that this movie has been one of the best to come out this year – I also liked what was done on disability in ‘Black’ too. That too came this year.

So, are we amidst a reorientation of audience tastes or just that film makers are getting bolder?

There are a lot of instances that has kept ‘Iqbal’ fresh in my mind. The scene where ‘Iqbal’ – Shreyas Talpade gives permission to his sister, Shweta Prasad, to take a present from his Aunt. Then, the scene where Naseer apologizes to Shweta after having a little of the booze in the toilet. The scene where Naseer has a go at Girish Karnad’s Guruji character. Truly priceless!

I was enamored by Nagesh Kukunoor’s work before too. ‘Teen Deewarien’ was just fabulous. Unseen by many but unforgettable to people like me who had seen it.

I have had the pleasure of seeing some good scenes in a few movies this year. I shall put them here. I don’t know if they shall match other minds.
1. Pankaj Kapoor’s last scene in Sehar, very real and restrained, he played that single scene masterly and brought a taut movie to a dignified end.
2. Abhishek Bacchan’s Bunty having a meek argument with Rani’s Babli in the train after they are caught. Very endearing!!
3. Amitabh’s first scene with the little Ayesha in ‘Black’. Truly a work of art and restraint!!
4. Amitabh in that ‘Monkey cap’ scene with Sharmila Tagore in ‘Viruddh’. Actually, this movie was well directed in patches. This was one of those patches.
5. Kay Kay Menon in the ‘lusty eyed’ scene in Sarkar. He is a wonderful actor. The industry is slowly but surely realizing it.
6. Shiney Ahuja in many scenes of ‘Hazaron Khwaieshein aisi’. He is sure to go places.
7. Boman Irani in the restaurant scene eating Biryani and fudging a discussion about the Biryani and a murder that happens in ‘My Wife’s Murder’. Here is another hugely gifted actor getting roles that make a grand reputation.
8. Anil Kapoor in the same movie as the silent but intelligent film editor. Here, the dialogues were less but subtle body language helped giving credence to his character’s desperation. I do think Anil pulled it off.
9. Shernaz Patel in the passing out ceremony in ‘Black’. Not many ladies do make the grade in my list this year (not even Rani in this movie). But Shernaz did communicate the pride effortlessly. This was an amazing piece of casting more than anything else.

Aww….I cannot think of other memorable moments.

Monday, August 22, 2005

MATTER OVER MIND!!

Hassan Iqbal would never qualify as a good-looking young man. Also, there is this fact that he is no longer young. He was, in 1971 when the Indian armed forces trained him somewhere in Siliguri with small arms and very basic jungle tactics.

Not that he used those trainings to any great effect. By the time his training was complete, this callow youth all of 22 years, his country, now christened Bangladesh, was liberated. He came back to Khulna, his hometown, joyous because he did not have a stomach to be a revolutionary. He had got into the act only because his brothers and other mates were in it. There were no heroics, in fact he did not know of any friend or relative who had actually lain down his life for the cause. Frankly, as he was unemployed and had nothing else to do and the current fashion was to go over the border and live a little rough, he had got into the act.

Hasibur and Jewel were his good friends. They were also the products of the local university, Khulna University. The University had a good reputation from the British times and had generally retained its capabilities as an institution. Hasibur had been to his house the other day and had announced that he was off to London through an uncle of his who was starting this restaurant somewhere near Charring Cross. He needed some help and all the relatives were now pestering him to go off there and do himself some good. His father had also commented that there was no point in sitting in this newborn Bangladesh and waiting for things to happen. As it is, there was news that looting had started in Dhaka and Chittagong among the unruly citizens themselves.

Hassan was a bit dumbfounded. Here was Hasibur who had wanted to take an active part in the country’s liberation and who now wanted to run away. He wondered whether achieving Liberation was the only objective and not getting this newborn country on its feet. Anyway, all around him the elders were also talking in likewise terms. Some wanted to go to India, the Hindu neighbors had gone already and there were some Muslim friends who wanted to get away from all this. Some others were actively planning to go off to Europe, UK or the USA. All of this depended on the money that they could come up with to move bag and baggage. Hassan’s house in Khulna was abuzz with these topics days on end.

Hassan went away to Jewel’s house for better company. Here he could smoke some cigarettes and chat with Jewel about local politics, women, jatras in the neighborhood and have endless cups of tea prepared by Lily, Jewel’s sister. Lily was good looking and Hassan had been bedding her for the last four years. Jewel did not know or did not care. Jewel’s father had passed away five years back leaving a lot of property. Most of these properties were just taken from Hindus fleeing Khulna in 1947 – 48. He had an army of people working for him in the fields and was known in Khulna as a usurping landlord. Jewel’s mother spent her time bathing, eating and sleeping. So, Jewel and Lily had a free run of the house and the town. Jewel wanted to follow his father’s footsteps but did not know how to go about this. In these five years that he had been looking after the land and holdings, he had grown dependent on a young uncle of his named Ashraful. He was fondly called Ripon. This Ripon uncle used to run the estate and business. Jewel’s mother had total faith in him and was loath to hear anything against him. Jewel, therefore had very less to do through the day. So, he had gone on this liberation bit. Now, that too was over and he needed something to do. Another friend of his had come up with this news that the government had to give out a lot of tenders for building the country’s infrastructure and businessmen were queuing up to get onto this big gravy train. Jewel’s current interests were these tenders. He used to speak about all day long. Sometimes some other friends used to come over and add some spice to the latest Tender happenings. Hassan was also sucked into this slowly. Jewel had decided to go over to Dhaka and meet certain officials regarding these tenders. Hassan was to be going with him. Both of them actually did not know how to go about things but Hassan did one bright thing. He carried a lot of money and he knew that money would open a lot of closed doors in the capital. The night before they departed for Dhaka, Hassan had a quick tryst with Lily in her room. Jewel was busy having an argument about something with Ripon uncle.


Dhaka, 1971 - 72.

The city was unkempt. The government, even if was there was not very apparent. Hassan had heard Mujibur Rahman on some radio broadcasts. He sounded sincere but Dhaka, the capital appeared otherwise. It spoke of a government that was indecisive, laidback and incompetent. Winter had set in and the New Year was not very far away. But in these months the government had done very little to assure the Bangladeshi citizens that they had nothing to fear. Jewel had taken up living space in a house in Gulshan that belonged to another uncle who was a contractor with the Railways. He was away and there was a caretaker couple that looked after the house and was from Khulna. This uncle, Rafiq, had a wife too but she was nowhere to be seen.

They settled down on the first day in Dhaka. The next day, Jewel found out about the Road and Culvert Tender office. They went there. There were officials milling about. No one took notice of them. Jewel spotted a very short person giving a whole lot of commands over a phone. He approached him and told him the reason they were there. The official, Mamunbhai, looked at them and smiled. Then he gestured them to get into another office adjoining this room. Two officials, very important looking, were seated there. Jewel repeated their business. The officials were unmoved and Hassan was aghast to see that Jewel calmly removed a wad of notes from his shoulder bag and put them on the table. The officials then moved. In fact, they started talking. The rest of the day went by in a blur. By the evening, they were in the Awami League office in Central Dhaka where an important looking Minister took another wad of notes from Jewel and signed some documents pertaining to the Tenders.

Hassan had thought that they should actually have an official Tender process where the lowest bidder will get the work. Here, it was given away just like that. Mamunbhai only said that nobody had come from Khulna to bid and so all works had been given to Jewel. For the next few days, there were a whole lot of papers to sign and in a few days after spending 60,000 Taka, Jewel had got most of the Khulna town PWD work in his bag. As town and district administrations had not been set up, there were no other people to bribe to get these contracts underway.
Jewel and Hassan came back to Khulna. They got started on the jobs. Then it struck Hassan as to what his role was in all of this. He looked up Jewel the very next day with this thorny question. Jewel was a canny one. He said that if wanted to play an active role in this business, he had to look after the Operations end of the Contracts. He would then get 10% of the contracts. But if he was not interested in roughing it, he could be in Dhaka and angle for more contracts through other chains that could be built up and he would get a 4 % of the contracts. Hassan did not want to work hard and so he opted for the Dhaka work.

So, Hassan was back in Dhaka within a few days of leaving it. This time he was on his own. He had received a small sum from Jewel to start life in Dhaka. His parents chipped in with the rent of a place to stay in Shantinagar. They also dispatched a widowed aunt to stay with him and cook for him. Hassan loved to eat. Hassan understood that he was not on a salary. His job was more like a Commission Agent. So, he had to run around trying to get more contracts. For Hassan this was not easy, as he was not used to wheeling and dealing with people. In fact, he was not comfortable in public.

Lily arrived in Dhaka on some errand. Jewel had sent a long letter. Hassan read it and grew morose. Jewel had basically told him to gear up. Hassan had not succeeded with a single contract acquisition. Lily sensed his discomfort. She stayed back with him to comfort him. Hassan stopped sulking and had a great and languid time in bed with her. Lily spoke of marriage. She was only 20 years old but four years of active sex with Hassan had taught her a lot of things. Hassan did not want marriage but he could not tell this to Lily. He did what he could do; get her back into bed and clinging to him for life.

Hassan met Shafi one morning in Dhaka. This Shafi was a very colorful character. He knew whoever there was to know in Dhaka. He knew good places to eat. He knew all the better clubs that one could go to. He even knew of those places where some beautiful Lahori whores were available. Hassan stuck to him like glue. He even convinced Jewel of Shafi’s use in the present scheme of things. Jewel sent over some cash to spend on this Shafi. Shafi took over Hassan’s life.

Everyday Shafi would be at Hassan’s door at ten in the morning and take him to various government hotspots where Shafi would know everyone and ask Hassan to spend on these officials citing future usefulness. Hassan would gladly take out cash from his pockets and call for Tea and snacks to humor the humorless civil servants. Hassan came to know many civil servants, bank officials, PWD Engineers, Police officials and petty politicians during these sessions. In the evenings, Shafi would take Hassan to many shady places where Shafi would inevitably come up with a known person and gain access to these gatherings. Hassan got acquainted with the underbelly of Dhaka too.

Hassan, through Shafi, came to know that the rest of Bangladesh was very different from Dhaka. This was a cosmopolitan city with global traits. It had a very liberal outlook and the prime force moving this city was money and the things that money could buy. Islam was a religion that had to be maintained, not that it governed life totally as it did in the rest of the country. Money talked in the power circles. No politician, no bureaucrat or public figure was above taking a little on the side. The Army had still then managed to keep away from this all encompassing corruption. There were people who for want of good things in life were buying properties all over Dhaka. There were others who were busy sending all this ill-gotten money abroad and following this up by sending their families to stay in these countries.

Hassan knew of a Customs Officer who amassed so much money that the countries where he was sending his wealth had started asking questions. He ultimately settled most of his wealth in Sweden where he was not asked questions. Within the year, by the end of 1972, Hassan saw a lot of changes among this elite group of countrymen. Among these were people who had lived in ditches during the Liberation, or were they?

Hassan was also not far behind. He was now approaching 24 and in that single year he managed to land Jewel with 4 contracts of PWD work on the Dhaka Khulna road and the Khulna Jetty. Jewel was happy and gave Hassan his commissions. Hassan became busy with social climbing in Dhaka. Shafi was there to help him with this. Hassan acquired his first suit and befriended a lady who had been to London and back. Tahmina was very pretty and thoroughly spoilt. Shafi had done the introductions. She was from a family of singers. But she could not sing much. Her mother appeared on Bangladesh Betar very frequently. She could dance, flirt, argue, smoke and drink, not necessarily in the same order. Bur Hassan was enamored. He jumped into a very physical affair with Tahmina. Shafi was very supportive and tag along everywhere. They were a threesome. Life was great!!

Era of Pregnancies

It all started with his widowed aunt. Hassan was very happy eating whatever this aunt cooked and barged out of the house as soon as Shafi arrived. He did not have an inkling as to what was happening. This aunt was in her mid thirties. One day, Hassan arrived home to find her bent over the kitchen drain. He received no answer when he asked what had happened. Next morning he woke up to find that she was wailing in her room. He was perplexed. Then it came out. She was alone all day in the house. So, when this next-door neighbor got friendly, she gave in to his advances. He was a married man with three children but that evidently had not stopped him from getting her into the sack. She was into her fourth month of pregnancy and was beginning to show. Hassan was surprised that he had not seen the signs till then. Hassan went the neighbor’s house. The man, Fakhrul, was in and received him at the door. Hassan gathered some courage and told him about his aunt’s plight. Fakhrul looked at him, snorted and asked him if he really believed what his aunt said. He also told him that the entire neighborhood had bedded his aunt and that she was freely available. There was no way of knowing whose child it was. Fakhrul practically spat the last few words. Hassan was ashamed. He abruptly got up from his seat and came back home. His aunt, on seeing him let out a cry. He started to shiver in anger. He started shouting the choicest of abuses. She shut herself in her room.

Next morning, he found her letter. She had left home. He was suddenly remorseful. He knew she did not have any place to go. Shafi came by. He told him the whole story. Shafi told him that he needed to go to Khulna and tell his parents everything. Otherwise, they might look at this issue differently. Hassan found this a good suggestion.

Hassan landed in Khulna the next day. The journey had been difficult. He slept in the afternoon and late in the evening mustered up the courage to tell his mother about what had happened. She burst into tears and blamed it on the almighty. Then, his father took over and went off to call someone in Dhaka. They wanted her to be back in Khulna now. Hassan did not want to be questioned anymore. He scampered off to Jewel’s place. Jewel was not around. He had gone for some survey. His mother was in bed unwell. Ripon uncle was in his room. Hassan silently made his way to Lily’s room. She was knitting. She kept the knitting aside and opened her arms to hug him. Hassan rushed into her familiar embrace. She was getting fat. But it was fine with him as Tahmina was too bony because of all that dancing.

Hassan left Lily at dawn. She was amazing through the night. Then and there Hassan made up his mind to stick around till Jewel came back to Khulna. His father maintained a very austere household. So, not too many creature comforts found its way to the Iqbal household. Hassan set about putting things right in his house. He found a willing partner in his mother and her sister. Actually, they wanted him to stay back in Khulna and do something. So, they were glad that he was not rushing away to Dhaka. Hassan also did not want to rock the boat now, as he wanted to stay in Khulna for a while and be lazy and virile.

A few weeks later Jewel returned and he and Hassan got into some serious business thinking. Jewel wanted to expand beyond Khulna. Hassan had never thought about this and so had no comments at all. Jewel told him that he needed an office in Dhaka to manage his affairs better. Hassan agreed with that. Jewel told him to look for a suitable office. Hassan spoke about keeping Shafi on some kind of a payroll so that he would be more helpful. Jewel said that he would look into that. Then Jewel asked him as to when he would be leaving for Dhaka. Hassan told him that he should require another week to go as he had some domestic work. Jewel looked at him quizzically. Hassan came back home.

Jewel was at his bedside when he opened his eyes the next morning. He lit a cigarette and sat staring at Hassan. Hassan immediately knew something was very wrong. He sat up and asked for a cigarette.
“How long has this been on?” Jewel asked.
“What” Hassan stammered feeling his stomach start paining.
“You and Lily” Jewel was incredibly calm.
“Whaaaat do you mean!!” Hassan had acquired a small voice.
“How long” Jewel had not lost his calmness.
“About a few weeks” Hassan had to turn truthful now.
“How about a few years” Jewel had that quizzical look again.
“Ah… well, yeah…. right, yeah….”Hassan was feeling for the right word.
“Stop, Hassan, you know that I have kept you by my side in business. Tell me why?? It was because I knew you were bedding Lily all the while. You were very irresponsible through your life and I wanted to see if you could do something good. It seems that you are in no hurry to improve. I sent you to Dhaka on my costs. Why?? Only because I wanted a good husband for Lily. But you like a rat have come back and made my sister pregnant while I was away. I had understood your intentions yesterday itself. My mother confirmed my fears today morning. I am sorry that I have to tell you all this but if you do not marry my sister by tomorrow, you are done for as I will not tolerate this at all. Also, forget being my business partner, you may go your own way henceforth.” Jewel stomped out leaving Hassan shell-shocked.

Hassan’s father had come to the door hearing all the commotion. He lost his speech totally due to his anger. Hassan ran out of the house.




Tuesday, March 22, 2005

The mind is free

The mind is free
Cricket in Nilgiris has this quaint flavor of the British Raj. It is all the more in 1977-8. The teams that come to play here are essentially the district teams and the local teams. The best team is of the factory where my father works. I know of a few uncles who have given up promising careers in Cricket and are working at a reasonable paying job with this government owned factory. Of these uncles, I had seen Biswas uncle at play and overnight he had become my idol. He had these four bats of different makes that were always well kept and well cared for. He also had these gloves, for batting and wicket keeping that were just divine. On our social visits to this very eligible bachelor’s domain I only used to keep touching and ogling at these wonderful possessions of his. Biswas uncle, one day, took me aside and gave me my first tips to batting and wicket keeping. I resolved to only do as he told. As time went by I found that his advice coupled with Baba’s ministrations with the Tennis balls on our long verandah had developed me considerably as an opening bat a la Gavaskar, my ultimate hero. As the verandah was flanked on the on side by the living room wall, I had to make every stroke towards the point or the cover or hit in the straights. Baba was very particular about shots at ground level and used to get angry with my airy fairy shots. So, I had to quickly adapt myself to only cuts and drives, no hooks and pulls in my Cricket learning book. Pretty one dimensional, but that was it. I developed my catch practice through Tennis balls rebounds from the wall of the verandah. Yeah, I worked hard at what I did. The local teams had by then come to know of my efficiency at the wicket and I was invited to be a part of many budding clubs like Young mens(sic) Cricket Club, Nilgiris sports society, Aruvankadu Boys club, etc.
The Saturday has arrived and once again I am the most enthusiastic of all about the afternoon’s class match. Mr. D’Souza comes to the class in the first break and announces the teams. I am the captain of the inferior team in the class. I had expected a better team but this is a selection match and it does not bother me if the team does well, I need to do well and produce the goods at the right time. Murli again grins at me from the back bench and whispers, Da Sujit, you’ll lose da and losing captains do not get to be the captain of the class team da. I am immediately worried. Ms. Rajlakshmi steps in for the Science class and I am very oblivious as to what is being taught in the class. I spend my mental energy in trying to figure out how to better Murli during the match. I have in my team Anantha, who is the best athelete in the class but is weak at Cricket, does’nt do much except waving the bat around at head height. I have Venkat who is good but very temperamental and stubborn. Then there is Sharif, Paul, Satheesh, Dasan, Ali, Srinu and some others who are neither good nor bad. Satheesh and Srinu can bowl. Let me remark here that these were the pre One day days when there was no limits on the overs from one bowler and the team batted till they got all out and that was fast. Murli had a better team with Chandran and Venu decidedly better bowlers than anybody in our team. Murli also turned his arm over effectively. There was also a new boy called Atul who had come from Raipur in Central India. He had already told the class that he was good in all departments of the game. I am very skeptical about the outcome!
Murli wins the toss and as usual decides to bat. I lead the team out. The ground is a grassy one and a long rectangular one. Bowling is only from one end. The batsmen changes ends. Ajay is the opening bat with P C. P C is a good student and a stupid cricketer. He goes to the batting end. Srinu takes the ball to bowl first. I stand as a wickie at a respectable distance. We clap for the first ball which is wide. Kantham from the 9th standard is the umpire. He signals duly. Huge cheer for the first run. P C does not take another run through the over. Next over, I rush to Satheesh who has been given the ball and tell him to keep the ball on the stumps. 1st ball and Ajay hops forward and swings the ball for a six! Murli and Co. freak out near the boundary line. I am doing my ‘buck up’ scene at the back. Satheesh comes in again, the ball is outside the off stump and Ajay cuts it, Venkat falls to the ground, I raise my arms thinking he has got hold of the ball, but no!! It is next found at the boundary line. Four runs.
It continues like this for another 20 minutes. I am miserable and constantly swearing at my fielders. Murli, in the meanwhile has come in to bat in place of PC who got bowled out to Satheesh. But the score has reached 69/1 in 11 overs itself. I give Ali the ball. He is not a good bowler but I had not anticipated Satheesh and Srinu to go for so many and did not have any back up plan at all. Ali bowls, Ajay smacks him for four. I groan. At the end of the over another 13 runs to the already huge looking score. I give Venkat the ball. He is not wanting to bowl, the bugger wants to safely get into the class team. I shout at him, he glowers at me, I have switched to swearing in Tamil, which from me is quite funny. Venkat bowls, Ajay continues the mayhem. Last ball, Ajay manages to snick the ball and I dive, eyes closed, ten open the eyes to see that I have clutched the ball somehow. Rejoice!!!
They finally end at 138. All of this in just over an hour. In between Mahalingam lands up hitting another 26 runs full of edges, half catches that are nicely dropped and frantic heaves through the midwicket. Murli scores a sedate and captainly 33. Oh! Ajay scored 61. Somewhere, in between all this, D’Souza sir had landed up and watching everything with keen eyes. He must have heard my Tamil too. I, the very propah guy, grew tense with this thought again.
We are to bat next. I pad up. I am not speaking. I have heard that Gavaskar also does not speak before stepping out. I need to build myself up similarly. I step out with Dasan. I take strike. Chandran is bowling. We call him Chandra after the great Chandrashekhar. First ball is out of the stumps, I let it go with a flourish. All style. Some claps from the boundary. Next ball on the stumps, this is actually a long hop but a la Gavaskar, I shall not try anything silly till I have set myself thoroughly. I am on forward defence. I even say ‘good ball’. Ultimately, I take only 1 run on very average bowling from Chandran. Next is Venu whom the fielding team claps for. He is actually their best bowler. I grind through the over and on the 5th ball take a run. My team is already impatient after seeing such hitting from Ajay, I hear cries of ‘Hit, da’ from the boundary. I am steadfast on creating a settled impression and so I plod through the first six overs with only seven runs to my credit. Dasan also does not lose his wicket, amazingly!
Ajay is brought in for the seventh over and Dasan is to bat. First ball whizzes past Dasan’s ear. Dasan is horrified at the speed, he comes down the wicket and whispers to me, ‘Shit man, I don’t want to die, da.’ I tell him to keep his eyes on the ball and see nothing else. Everything will be fine. Next ball on the stumps, near yorker and Dasan conveniently moves away, watches his stumps shatter, puts his bat under his arm and walks away towards the boundary. I am speechless. Murli is already telling Ajay to give a loose ball to the next guy coming in , allow a run and then attack me straight away. Venkat walks in. I travel down the wicket and give the same advise about seeing the ball, Venkat gives a grim look and tells me that I should have taken more runs when I could. Now, we may suffer with Ajay’s bowling. I glower at him but I know he is saying the right thing. Venkat pushes the first ball to him confidently enough. In answer Ajay places a Forward short leg and a Silly point. Venkat gets through the next ball too. He manages to get through the over without further chaos. I play the next over from Murli now. I take single on the first ball. Venkat looks at me and then proceeds to quietly play out the over from Murli. I am left to face Ajay.
Ajay tells me something in Hindi which I cannot understand. My understanding of Hindi is very bookish and this was definitely out of the books. He comes in with the first ball, I drive, it reaches the boundary, a four! The boundary lines erupt in cheers. I am strutting around in the crease like a peacock. Next ball, I shape for a cut, the ball whizzes past my shoulder. I am beaten. Murli is giggling from the slips. I concentrate again. Next ball, I drive, my eyes close momentarily, I hear the clunk of fallen wood behind me. I don’t have to look. I am out for only 12 runs.
I have no interest in the rest of the match. I sit by the boundary, forlorn and lost. At the end I see Mr. D’Souza dusting his behind, getting up from where he is perched and open his diary. We all get up and crowd around him. I stay by the edge of the crowd. I think I know what is coming. The team is announced. I am a part of the team as a wicket keeper. Ajay is made the Vice-Captain to Murli’s captaincy. I do not perform when it matters and to my horror, D’Souza Sir walks across and tells me to be more sporting and get my team to go along with me rather than command them nonsensically.
I am spared from further humiliation. That evening Baba comes home to announce that we have been transferred to another factory near Nagpur, Maharashtra.

The mind is free

The mind is free
Cricket in Nilgiris has this quaint flavor of the British Raj. It is all the more in 1977-8. The teams that come to play here are essentially the district teams and the local teams. The best team is of the factory where my father works. I know of a few uncles who have given up promising careers in Cricket and are working at a reasonable paying job with this government owned factory. Of these uncles, I had seen Biswas uncle at play and overnight he had become my idol. He had these four bats of different makes that were always well kept and well cared for. He also had these gloves, for batting and wicket keeping that were just divine. On our social visits to this very eligible bachelor’s domain I only used to keep touching and ogling at these wonderful possessions of his. Biswas uncle, one day, took me aside and gave me my first tips to batting and wicket keeping. I resolved to only do as he told. As time went by I found that his advice coupled with Baba’s ministrations with the Tennis balls on our long verandah had developed me considerably as an opening bat a la Gavaskar, my ultimate hero. As the verandah was flanked on the on side by the living room wall, I had to make every stroke towards the point or the cover or hit in the straights. Baba was very particular about shots at ground level and used to get angry with my airy fairy shots. So, I had to quickly adapt myself to only cuts and drives, no hooks and pulls in my Cricket learning book. Pretty one dimensional, but that was it. I developed my catch practice through Tennis balls rebounds from the wall of the verandah. Yeah, I worked hard at what I did. The local teams had by then come to know of my efficiency at the wicket and I was invited to be a part of many budding clubs like Young mens(sic) Cricket Club, Nilgiris sports society, Aruvankadu Boys club, etc.
The Saturday has arrived and once again I am the most enthusiastic of all about the afternoon’s class match. Mr. D’Souza comes to the class in the first break and announces the teams. I am the captain of the inferior team in the class. I had expected a better team but this is a selection match and it does not bother me if the team does well, I need to do well and produce the goods at the right time. Murli again grins at me from the back bench and whispers, Da Sujit, you’ll lose da and losing captains do not get to be the captain of the class team da. I am immediately worried. Ms. Rajlakshmi steps in for the Science class and I am very oblivious as to what is being taught in the class. I spend my mental energy in trying to figure out how to better Murli during the match. I have in my team Anantha, who is the best athelete in the class but is weak at Cricket, does’nt do much except waving the bat around at head height. I have Venkat who is good but very temperamental and stubborn. Then there is Sharif, Paul, Satheesh, Dasan, Ali, Srinu and some others who are neither good nor bad. Satheesh and Srinu can bowl. Let me remark here that these were the pre One day days when there was no limits on the overs from one bowler and the team batted till they got all out and that was fast. Murli had a better team with Chandran and Venu decidedly better bowlers than anybody in our team. Murli also turned his arm over effectively. There was also a new boy called Atul who had come from Raipur in Central India. He had already told the class that he was good in all departments of the game. I am very skeptical about the outcome!
Murli wins the toss and as usual decides to bat. I lead the team out. The ground is a grassy one and a long rectangular one. Bowling is only from one end. The batsmen changes ends. Ajay is the opening bat with P C. P C is a good student and a stupid cricketer. He goes to the batting end. Srinu takes the ball to bowl first. I stand as a wickie at a respectable distance. We clap for the first ball which is wide. Kantham from the 9th standard is the umpire. He signals duly. Huge cheer for the first run. P C does not take another run through the over. Next over, I rush to Satheesh who has been given the ball and tell him to keep the ball on the stumps. 1st ball and Ajay hops forward and swings the ball for a six! Murli and Co. freak out near the boundary line. I am doing my ‘buck up’ scene at the back. Satheesh comes in again, the ball is outside the off stump and Ajay cuts it, Venkat falls to the ground, I raise my arms thinking he has got hold of the ball, but no!! It is next found at the boundary line. Four runs.
It continues like this for another 20 minutes. I am miserable and constantly swearing at my fielders. Murli, in the meanwhile has come in to bat in place of PC who got bowled out to Satheesh. But the score has reached 69/1 in 11 overs itself. I give Ali the ball. He is not a good bowler but I had not anticipated Satheesh and Srinu to go for so many and did not have any back up plan at all. Ali bowls, Ajay smacks him for four. I groan. At the end of the over another 13 runs to the already huge looking score. I give Venkat the ball. He is not wanting to bowl, the bugger wants to safely get into the class team. I shout at him, he glowers at me, I have switched to swearing in Tamil, which from me is quite funny. Venkat bowls, Ajay continues the mayhem. Last ball, Ajay manages to snick the ball and I dive, eyes closed, ten open the eyes to see that I have clutched the ball somehow. Rejoice!!!
They finally end at 138. All of this in just over an hour. In between Mahalingam lands up hitting another 26 runs full of edges, half catches that are nicely dropped and frantic heaves through the midwicket. Murli scores a sedate and captainly 33. Oh! Ajay scored 61. Somewhere, in between all this, D’Souza sir had landed up and watching everything with keen eyes. He must have heard my Tamil too. I, the very propah guy, grew tense with this thought again.
We are to bat next. I pad up. I am not speaking. I have heard that Gavaskar also does not speak before stepping out. I need to build myself up similarly. I step out with Dasan. I take strike. Chandran is bowling. We call him Chandra after the great Chandrashekhar. First ball is out of the stumps, I let it go with a flourish. All style. Some claps from the boundary. Next ball on the stumps, this is actually a long hop but a la Gavaskar, I shall not try anything silly till I have set myself thoroughly. I am on forward defence. I even say ‘good ball’. Ultimately, I take only 1 run on very average bowling from Chandran. Next is Venu whom the fielding team claps for. He is actually their best bowler. I grind through the over and on the 5th ball take a run. My team is already impatient after seeing such hitting from Ajay, I hear cries of ‘Hit, da’ from the boundary. I am steadfast on creating a settled impression and so I plod through the first six overs with only seven runs to my credit. Dasan also does not lose his wicket, amazingly!
Ajay is brought in for the seventh over and Dasan is to bat. First ball whizzes past Dasan’s ear. Dasan is horrified at the speed, he comes down the wicket and whispers to me, ‘Shit man, I don’t want to die, da.’ I tell him to keep his eyes on the ball and see nothing else. Everything will be fine. Next ball on the stumps, near yorker and Dasan conveniently moves away, watches his stumps shatter, puts his bat under his arm and walks away towards the boundary. I am speechless. Murli is already telling Ajay to give a loose ball to the next guy coming in , allow a run and then attack me straight away. Venkat walks in. I travel down the wicket and give the same advise about seeing the ball, Venkat gives a grim look and tells me that I should have taken more runs when I could. Now, we may suffer with Ajay’s bowling. I glower at him but I know he is saying the right thing. Venkat pushes the first ball to him confidently enough. In answer Ajay places a Forward short leg and a Silly point. Venkat gets through the next ball too. He manages to get through the over without further chaos. I play the next over from Murli now. I take single on the first ball. Venkat looks at me and then proceeds to quietly play out the over from Murli. I am left to face Ajay.
Ajay tells me something in Hindi which I cannot understand. My understanding of Hindi is very bookish and this was definitely out of the books. He comes in with the first ball, I drive, it reaches the boundary, a four! The boundary lines erupt in cheers. I am strutting around in the crease like a peacock. Next ball, I shape for a cut, the ball whizzes past my shoulder. I am beaten. Murli is giggling from the slips. I concentrate again. Next ball, I drive, my eyes close momentarily, I hear the clunk of fallen wood behind me. I don’t have to look. I am out for only 12 runs.
I have no interest in the rest of the match. I sit by the boundary, forlorn and lost. At the end I see Mr. D’Souza dusting his behind, getting up from where he is perched and open his diary. We all get up and crowd around him. I stay by the edge of the crowd. I think I know what is coming. The team is announced. I am a part of the team as a wicket keeper. Ajay is made the Vice-Captain to Murli’s captaincy. I do not perform when it matters and to my horror, D’Souza Sir walks across and tells me to be more sporting and get my team to go along with me rather than command them nonsensically.
I am spared from further humiliation. That evening Baba comes home to announce that we have been transferred to another factory near Nagpur, Maharashtra.

Monday, March 21, 2005

Days and Nights in Bangladesh

DAYS AND NIGHTS IN BANGLADESH


It has been about five months that I have been in Bangladesh now. Indians living and working in Bangladesh have mainly restricted themselves to the two cities – Dhaka and Chittagong. I decided to venture into the unknown. The city of Cox’s Bazaar is known to the average Bangladeshi, being the premier seaside town with a heavenly beach stretching for miles. My employers told me only as much when they contacted me in Kolkata. I came down to Cox’s Bazaar for a recce. Yes, the beauty was impressive and the hotel that I was supposed to head was even more so. My risk of relocation was lessening by the day. I started with Seagull Hotel here in August 2004. But did I know the country, the people and their natural suspicion of us Indians?

Here lies another story altogether. Firstly, I saw that Hindus ( Sanatanis, as they are called here) were not very involved in the political landscape of the country. In fact, there are not too many Hindus who matter in this country. Now, the Muslims, through their religious antipathy, have come to view any Indian with suspicion and that is very much understandable. But the Hindus here are of a very mean and cowardly variety. I have tried to understand the reasons and the oppression faced in the past seems to be the only answer that comes to mind. These people have a presence on both sides of the border. They are working and living in Bangladesh and awaiting the day when the powers that be here tell them to go over the border. I have met people who have it all planned and are hoarding their wealth bit by bit across the border. In fact, I met a doctor from Firozepur yesterday who has his brother in law in Kakdwip, West Bengal, India from 1992 onwards, in the aftermath of the Babri Masjid riots. He has very meticulously planned everything including the requisite ration cards in India. He holds a Bangladeshi passport and travels to India every three months to look at his benami holdings in West Bengal. He may be residing in the fringes of the urban world but he is exceedingly wealthy. What does my average countryman say to all these schemes!

On the other hand, the Muslims, with a clear majority in the country have not been able to regroup themselves after the liberation in 1971. The country has not gotten ahead in Education ( the urban population totally depends on other countries for receiving a good education, visit colleges in Pune, Bangalore, Chennai and Trivandrum and you shall know what I am talking about). Because of this subsistence on foreign education, the youth of the country are disconnected from the orthodox elders and have no idea about nation building. The political class consists mainly of businessmen who have their own causes and prerogatives to pursue. The space left in the middle has been taken up illiterate touts and agents of all hues who do not have anything to give back to the country. The rural and urban divide is at an all time high. Migration from agriculture to Manual labour in urban areas and India has been continuous thus fuelling another economic disparity. I find that this disparity is getting to be the real cause for a massive migration towards Indian cities in the last fifteen years and this has been continuous in the face of abhorrent living conditions in some areas in Bangladesh. In many ways, this has not been different from the migrations from Bihar, UP, AP, Jharkhand and Orissa in India.

Manual Labour exists at many levels. But primarily, it exists at the various manufacturing factories. Bangladesh has a very poor manufacturing infrastructure. Here, even plastic goods are imported! There is no white goods, car, electronic goods, leather goods, machine tools, or heavy Engineering items manufactured in the country. The dependence on Chinese, Taiwanese, Malaysian, Thai and Indian good s is so high that they devalue their own goods. It is like what used to occur in India during our fathers’ times. So, smuggling constitutes a hefty part of the country’s economy. Custom Inspectors are millionaires having 3 to 4 houses in best locations of Dhaka and paying hefty sums to be at the check posts for duties. So, the Labourers needing to earn well have been finding the safe refuge of India.

Has India understood the entirety of this problem? - coming up.


Days and Nights in Bangladesh

The mind is free

The mind is free

The mind is free
Nilgiris has this habit of drizzling all day long, like a child pissing! I am walking uphill towards school, my raincoat drawn tight over myself and my backpack schoolbag, looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, wishing for that elusive rubber shoes that my friends seem to have the moment rains are on the horizon. This very exclusive footwear has managed to elude my father’s shopping list till now. I have pestered, begged, even thrown futile tantrums but have had to revert to that dumpy Bata Schoolboy that never seem to tear in spite of me playing football regularly with it on the factory ground after school finished. My father has a static answer to all my wishes, “I don’t earn on the side and I come from a poor farmer family in Midnapore, West Bengal. We do not need two pairs of shoes to run life, one does the job perfectly” As if that answers all my questions satisfactorily!!

On the way Sridhar catches up with me, gives a slap on the back of my neck, that being the latest fad in Sridhar’s class, and announces that Vijay Amritraj has lost to Bjorn Borg in the fifth set after fighting very hard. “Shit! Couldn’t the fellow do a little better” I asked and immediately received another slap. “What da, what are you talking, where Borg and where our man from Madras!, you think he was going to allow our guy to take the match?, you must be crazy!” I think I am crazy. I did not comprehend why no Indian won in sports anywhere. The Hindu kept repeating the phrase “gone down fighting” till I blurred my eyes while reading it. Anyway, important day in school because I had stood in the elections as decided earlier and today was the most important day when the results shall be announced by the Class teacher in our class sharp at 10.30 AM in the class. I reach school, get away from the clutches of “slappy Sridhar” and enter my class. Of course, I first look around to see if Pramila has arrived, the heartbeat naturally increases on spotting her. Anantha punches me on the arm, his latest fad, and remarks, “ Man, where in the name of sweet Jesus are you, man” I am still not comfortable with that kind of language but Anantha has been reading a lot of Archies and that kind of stuff and boasts that he and Joseph are soon going to a place called Dubai outside India that has people talking like that!

I ignore him and dump my bag on my desk. Nandini is weeping and some boys are trying to comfort her. She is forever weeping and there are always boys all around her trying to comfort her. Venkat and Sarita are quietly looking at a glass statuette that Venkat must have conjured out of nowhere to attract the girl’s attention. Venkat is our class trickster. Today it is Sarita who has fallen for his tricks. Poor girl! I am not interested in these very mundane activities of my classmates. I am searching now for Sakthivelu, the guy is not to be seen. He is the guy I feel shall be of some opposition to me. Ah, forgot to tell, he is also in the election that is taking place today. Actually, he does not seem that much excited as I am. Yesterday, we both were sitting in our “bush place” after school and I broached the topic and he told me a very telling observation. He said, “Can we tell anything about these guys, they are going to write the names of their favorite fellow and put it into the box, if we are never going to know what they are going to write in that, why break our heads over who wins,da.” It then looked to me that he had given up on this whole issue and like a true blue Bong I just could not let go of a chance on a public platform. Instead Sakthi asked me if I had the Hindi notes from the Monday class. He had not come to school that day. Sakthi stood first in the class and stood second till class 6. I wanted to do better than him but had no idea how to do it. I barely managed the second rank. My memorizations were giving up on me and Sakthi seemed unbeatable this year. But here he was not being interested in that thoroughly new contest invented by Balan Sir.
Ms. Manimala is reading out the results. Five have stood in the elections. Sharmila has secured 2 votes, Rama 2 votes too, Mahalingam 9 votes, I am perspiring by now, I look across at Sakthivelu and he has slid down in his seat for some reason and so to somehow balance the tension I sit straight only top find my name next – Sujit 13 votes. Whoosh goes my tension and instead a big disappointment sets in immediately. I have lost out to Sakthivelu again. In the meanwhile the class starts clapping on the announcement of Sakthivelu winning the first secret ballot I have witnessed and fought in my 11 year life. I manage a weak smile in the general direction of Sakthivelu. Murli pulls my head from the back and whispers in my ear that he did vote for me and that I should remember that favor when the cricket selections are on. There, now the guys who have voted for me will want to exchange favors with me. I can never understand this ‘give and take’ thing. I invent the reasons of my loss. Must be my colour. I am the only fair guy in the class. Must be because Pramila was the object of desire of most of the boys and I was very much up there in the stakes. Or so I felt!
It does not enter my mind that I must have lost to a better opponent who had better credentials than me. I have already built my defenses in readiness for my impending losses. I have also prepared the lies that I have to tell to save my honour at home or elsewhere if I am called upon to explain my plight. It also does not strike me that apart from me nobody is as much bothered with the outcome. Rama passes me a short while later as chirpy as ever. Sharmila has already resumed her giggly conversation with Fatima beside her. By the way, Fatima runs faster than me. I hate to say that to anyone. When the episode happened, only three fellows were around. I immediately gave a spiel about a cricket injury that cropped up as soon as I started running and limped off the ground. I do not like Fatima when she smiles at me and wags her finger in that know all style. She is reminding me of that episode!! Mahalingam is singing a Rajnikanth song and has clutched his fat pen like Rajani holds his cigarette. He too is oblivious to his defeat. Sakthivelu has left the class along with Ms. Manimala. Baba, what will I tell him! He always has high expectations from me. Also, I am terrified of him generally. I had very gallantly told him that I was in this election and I had a good chance of winning the election as I had put up my credentials very properly with a very ‘high falutin’ speech. I had noticed that Sakthi only said that he had been the Class Monitor in the past and we were a good class. So, he had a good chance of making it again. Baba was mighty pleased and spouted his “ Amra Bangali” bit. Here I am, again finishing second. I take out my compass box, remove my pencil from it and start making emoticons at the back of my English Book, my favorite solo pastime.
That evening clutching my bat and walking towards Ponnappa ground, I decide that I shall try and become the Cricket Captain. Here there was no election. It was all about getting Mr. D’souza to agree that I was the best choice. Now D’Souza Sir used to call me Imran, after the upcoming all rounder of Pakistan, and the reason for such a name I did never figure out. Already, Orange House had named me the 12th man in the House team that had students up to 10th standard. That was an achievement in itself. Here, other than me only Murli was in the fray and while Murli was a good bat, I was a good bat and a good wickie. When called upon to bowl, I also did that job decently enough. Last Sunday, in a match with Rajan uncle’s team, Rajan uncle is a district player, I scored 19 not out for Y.D Ravi’s team. I was a permanent member of Ravi’s team and we have a small club in which I had foolishly donated all my Amar Chitra Kathas. Ma had relished pulling my ears after this episode. Anyway, D’Souza Sir would not be impressed with words, I knew that, I’d have to perform in the next match before team selections of the class. There was not much to figure out in the selections. Most of the guys in the team selected themselves as the others barely managed to put bat to ball but the captaincy was a contest.

The match was on the coming Saturday afternoon. I could barely wait for it. My next chance at salvation!!
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