BREAKING NEWS wrecking havoc!

i am a part of the educated 'intelligensia' of our country's fast exploding upper middle class. in fact i am much smarter than the average joe. a fact which i am sure the people who enjoy the privelege of my company will gladly affirm. just like any other responsible 18 year old i do relish spending my long eventless afternoons catching up on the latest news from across the globe, all thanks to the tv news channel boom in the country. i am spoilt for choice! i have CNN-IBN, Times Now, Headlines Today, NDTV-24/7, something called News X and so on. if desi flavor leaves me too hot in the cheeks, i have the bland BBC and CNN spewing out news from Africa to Azerbaijan. No wonder i am so well informed and such an asset at the dinner table.

anyways, as you, a well informed person yourself, would have realized by now, this blog is NOT about my knowledge of the world and my remarkable ability to keep in touch with every issue that threatens to hamper the bubble of static existence that we desire greatly. this blog on the other hand is about the agents of this information revolution, TV News Channels.

What is their problem in life?!

far from spitting out the news and sitting pretty in their flashy studios, they are now spending all their time and effort on singing their own glory and taking a dig at other channels. the recently concluded General Elections seemed to be a grand stage for these self-aggrandizing TV maniacs, each channel screaming out its supposed 'authority' when it comes to issues such as elections and politics. each of these channels has a nice well educated dude who once upon a time did a half-decent job of reading the news without looking like a pretty stuffed doll with a tape recorder behind the back. nowadays these guys are there doing the same job at the all important 9 o clock news! little do they know that the indian janta is far over these gimmicks and enjoys healthy entertainment such as the baas-bahu serials at 9!!

again i am getting diverted. where was i... ah yes.

these poster boys( or rather poster men, they are not so young) wear nice suits and try to put their guests( usually some b-ring politician badly in need of the public eye) in a spot of bother by asking uncomfortable questions. initially i was awed at the sheer guts of these suited-up agents of enlightenment, not afraid to hiss the un-thinkable and consequently the un-askable, to the Indian Netas. thanks to my ablity to logically break down every piece of information, i understood that these guys are actually chickens.

instead of asking ' dude, whats ur poll agenda?' , they love putting it across as,

'Mr.So and so, your party's past performances have revealed that it has the remarkable ability to stay in touch with the pulse of the Indian public. in this context, how do you plan to continue this association which is so fundamental to your political future in the ever-dynamic sphere of political struggle in the largest democracy in the world?'

now, our netas are not the smartest dudes in the country. but thanks to these suited up agents of free and 'fair' information, they seem to have learnt their words well. a typical answer of an indian neta to the confounding question above would be,

'the party has taken important decisions in the general meeting held recently. under the stewardship of shri.so and so 2, our party will free the country of this govt/party.

now, hani would have a back question to this reply, 'oh you think you can do that huh?'

our suited up dudes cannot afford to play it so simple, when the neta has reached the country part, the anchor will shout above him and say ' but, but mr. so and so ' to which the neta will add 'so and so 3 let me finish, let me finish'. the actual reply would be lost in the resulting pandemonium.

now a last issue which threatens to exponentially increase the cases of heart attacks in the country is the BREAKING NEWS phenomenon.

A particular channel, which goes by the name of ....(T**** N**) seems to find every X,Y,Z news in the country to be of 'breaking importance'.

technically speaking, a news can be called as breaking only when the particular instant of its occurence and its occurence itself will forever change the course of life for millions of people. its impact will be so profound that mankind has the right to know it immediately and it takes precedence over everything else, like bass-bahu serials or reality shows. it is the instant of time when all mankind risks putting on the thinking cap to undergo the ardous task of deciphering what it means to him/her.

now frankly speaking guys, please tell me, how does Dhoni saying that he would like rohit sharma to open given his form, classify as BREAKING NEWS!

a fat lady who takes over during these BREAKING NEWS! session will immediately GO OVER to some extra SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT in some part of the world and this is how they talk. if i were to call it hilarious then i would be demeaning humor.

'Your Channel T**** N** has just received classified information from our most well placed sources in the Team India dressing room in South Africa that the hot water tap in the bathroom HAS malfunctioned. this has caused a great deal of discomfort to the players and many of them are reportedly refusing to bathe.'

'In this regard let us GO OVER to our SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT So and So 4 who has been tracking all the updates in South Africa'

(some girl wearing a sleeve less top will come up in a window. she will be mostly tinkering with a ear phone.)

'So and so 4, we are to understand that the hot water tap in the Team India dressing room bathroom has malfunctioned. can u give us the latest on this?'

So and so 4 will nod her head for two secs after the fat lady has spoken and then will say,,

'yes fat lady, we have found out that the hot water tap in the Team India dressing room bathroom has INDEED malfunctioned. a special enquiry commision is going to set up.'

then the fat lady will say,

'As you can see there our SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT there saying that it is INDEED true that the hot water tap in the Team India dressing room bathroom has INDEED malfunctioned and plumbers are on the job AS WE SPEAK. '

in the next ad break, a nice animation will come up,

'FIND OUT! At 9 30 pm today

how the Hot Water Tap issue is going to affect the performance of Team India in the Test Series with our expert panel of So and so 5,6,7.'

GUYS! GIMME A BREAK! ENOUGH of BREAKING NEWS!

sometimes i have to agree

Ignorance is Bliss!

Nirvanavum naanum

Holidays are dangerous for mankind. everything that mankind stands for or has strove to do so over the million odd years of our existence is put under an incredible test during the 50 odd days of freedom that every school grants to its creatures. 

no wonder we have the popular saying "an idle mind is a devil's workshop"

now, i do not intend to flatter or aggrandize myself by referring to my mind as His workshop, but during the last 10 odd days, i can safely say that i have been up to no good.

my  longtime feeling that life is dumb has been strengthened, re-vitalized, re-energized and re-affirmed by the long hours of during nothing. 

whats the whole point of this?!

07 45 hours  : sis before leaving for office. "Jicks wake up! Jicks wake up!" 

07 45 to 09 00 : exact timing depends upon whether a response is given at 07 45

     my blanket vanishes.

     my fan stops working

     earthquake aka mum trying to budge me awake 

09 00 hours : mama before leaving for office. "Jicks wake up! Jicks wake up!"

10 00 to 10 30 : The waking up rituals begin.

10 45 : Brushing time. Colgate. that white color flavour.

11 00 : the elixir of life - coffee

11 00 to 11 45 : newspaper the Hindu, the times of India, the economic times

12 00 : bath. 

12 30 : lunch

13 00 : movie

15 15: afternoon siesta

16 00 : afternoon cup of coffee.

      contemplation of what to do in the evening

16 30 : Book- fifa 09 

18 00 : Hit the road! sucks

20 00 : back home.

20 30 : dinner

20 30 to 00 00 : TV

00 00 to 01 15 : book

01 30 : shut eye

this has been my average day over the last two weeks. in this period i have considered everything from suicide to mass murder! 

This is MADDENING!

As the wise old man says enlightenment is just a stone's throw from madness.

yesterday while i was enjoying my evening dose of gutter juice also called my grandma's crap coffee, looking at the school next door....it suddenly struck me! a wave of understanding lashed across my parched soul and i achieved nirvana. the concept of the human, the thing people call athma, the reason behind this, that and everything.... i knew it. i knew it all.

the answer was always there in the back of my mind. i was amazed, appalled and intrigued by my failure to read what was right under my nose and tickling it too. 

well all 's well that end 's well. 

now that i have gone to the higher plane, you should try it out too for that is the whole point of peer pressure and this jobless blog.

remember 

3 important conditions for dummers to achieve Nirvana

1. coffee that tastes like gutter juice

2. school next door

3. hot girl in std 11 who sits by the window. 

i am planning to write a book soon, nirvana for dummers. if you are interested please book in advance.

so long earthlings.

ps : after achieving nirvana you will feel ravenous, so please ensure that you have a McRenetts closeby.

Bay of Bong

She was wearing one of those designer sleeve-less blouses, which have become a rage amongst the burgeoning middle-class of kolkata. The woman noticed my eyes on her blouse and glared at me. I hastily looked away at a Bula Di AIDS campaign poster. Bula Di was pompously declaring the wonders a condom does to one’s sex-life. I have seen this woman. Her feline eyes, thick lips and long black hair are very familiar indeed. I look around and realize that that description could describe just about any Bengali 20 year old. She is just a co-passenger in the Metro. The same I have been taking for the last 15 years from Chowringee to RAbindra Sadan. I see these faces every day. I recognize the balding weak dadu and his irritated funky grand son. I instantly notice the clerical babu making his way back home from the crowded dingy offices of Strand road, Park Street or Chowringee. I know them all. They are almost like family.

The thought of having such a large diverse family momentarily uplifts my sagging spirit. My blood family on the other hand is a deprived, depressing entity. I just have my Mrinamayi, my wife. A childhood sweetheart and a distant cousin. There was great rejoicing in the family when our parents came to know of our ‘thing’. A young and upcoming banker with a beautiful and philanthropic angel.

Many years have since passed. The young and upcoming banker is now a good for nothing banker who has been warming the same seat for the last ten years. The beautiful and philanthropic angel is now a dominating leader and aggressive leader of ‘Matitharaya’, an NGO for the rehabilitation of widows and orphaned girl children. Her physique seems to mirror her NGO s presence in Bengal - exploding every year.

Our highly hyped ‘love’ has also long breathed its last, crushed under the untenable weight of a failure of a banker and a husband. We have no children. Mrina’s womb was declared as being too weak to carry a baby. It was early in our marriage. My mother was adamant on my marrying again. I stormed out of our ancestral home in Howrah. Even today I do not venture to that part of the town, mostly due to shame of an inexcusable failure of a life. I am a man who has been caught in the vicious orb of mediocrity. A life of The Telegraph in the morning, 5 sets of shirts and trousers, 2 kurtas, yearly metro pass, savings account in SBI Tollygunge, 800 sq. feet apartment near the slums bordering the Rabindra Sarobar Lake, and now I am suffering from the most dangerous disease for my kind, Monotony.

My metro reaches Rabindra Sarobar metro station. A wave of humanity, my family, rush out of the carriage into the platform and shuffle towards the exit and merge into the sea of people, dogs, cats and the rest that call this southern part of the city of joy, their home. I buy a pack of Jal Murri for Rs.5 and trudge towards my apartment, A3, Prajyothi Apts, once a fashionable building in an upcoming locality. Now, a gloomy three storey building, badly needing a fresh coat of paint. My wife was away on one of her never-ending funding trips. Nothing new.

I make myself three rotis and eat it with acchar. I put on the television and browse through the news channels. Bandhs in Kolkata, strikes in Murshidabad, famines in the plains of Bengal, sun stroke in the coastal villages, CPM winning yet another election. Nothing new. Nothing ever changes in this state. Once a upon a time, it used to appeal as endearing. Now it just proves my conviction that Bengal is a god forsaken state, living in the past. Fighting yesterday’s battles and rejoicing past victories. It disgusts me. I switch of the television, tie the milk bag on the outer door and retire for the night. I sleep in the living room. I have long been banished from the bedroom. ‘Matitharaya’ journals and economic charts occupy my half the bed. As I drift into sleep, the old grand father clock strikes ten times. I hate that sound. I sleep.

A tribute to my schools

I am now in a transition phase, the one in which a 'school student' becomes a 'college goer', from absolute obedience to unobstructed freedom, from long hours of hard work to long hours of fun.
So I am told.
No doubt, college will be a different experience altogether.
At this juncture, I would like to restrospect with regard to my school life. A meagre tribute I can afford for the invaluable contribution they have made to my life.
My first tryst with schooling was in a village near Cheyyar, called Peranamallur. A village infested with monkeys, scorpions and snakes. I still remember crying my head off every morning, till my teacher dragged me inside. Except for the monkeys which we had for company under the tree, I do not remember much about this school.
My next stop, a Pre School inside Kalpakkam Atomic Power Plant Township. It was run by the wives of the scientists working in the plant. I vividly remember my colouring classes. I guess the seeds of my interest in this form of art were sown here.
I moved on to GRT Matriculation School in West Mambalam Chennai. For me used to one room schools in rural India, this was a palace. I was once told that my elder cousin (a year elder to me) studied here. Every day during the break, this UKG kid went searching for him in all classes from Pre KG to class 2, blissfully unaware that he had long left for Scotland.
My sister meanwhile was put up in Kendriya Vidyalaya, Ashok Nagar. My father felt it was necessary for me to study under CBSE.
There began my KV journey.
I can never thank that institution enough.
I went to KV AN as raw clay and left it in mid school as a bright kid. My habits, my diction, my policies, everything were learnt in this institution.
My father passed away when I was 12 years old. My mother took a transfer to FD Kolkata.
Kolkata...
I hated it when my flight landed in NSCB airport, Dum Dum. I hated everything, the incessant rain, the dinghy streets, the bright yellow taxis, our HUGE home, the scary looking Care taker, the bangla maid.
I hated my school, Kendriya Vidyalaya Ballygunge, a mile inside an Army Campus.
That is the beauty of the City of Joy. 3 months later I came to Chennai for my cousin's wedding. The very next day I wanted to go back!! The City changed me. The school changed me.
The crude pot, that I was when I arrived, was masterfully completed. I had the fortune to study under teachers who considered themselves as facilitatiors for education.
Kolkata taught me many things. I was introduced to politics, finance, girls, music, revolution, nature, etc.
My last stop in my school express was P.S.Senior Sec School, Mylapore, Chennai.
I was told it is the best among schools in Chennai. So I was elated to join this prestigious school.
I can never forget the first few days. Everyone looked like a genius, everyone a competitor.
I played low for the first year and finally got into the act in the 2nd, once I had fairly gauged each and every person in the class.
P.S is different. It is one of the most competitive places on Earth. The sheer determination of students is amazing. I have never had, or ever will have such grit and determination.
I met some people who greatly influenced my thinking, Satyaki, Natraj, NB, Sharanya, LJ, K Sriram, Sundi, to name a few. Each one so unique, I could not stop admiring this school which had put such an assortment of talent under one roof.
Like everyone (almost) in this school, I too cherished the IIT Dream. I realized that there were a few in this school whom I could never compete with. My only consolation is the fact that I had qualified and been offered admission in an IIT.
Here ends my School journey, from the banyan tree in Peranamallur to the heart of Chennai. I have many regrets, but as they say Alls well that ends well.
Soon, College Jet will take off. Fasten your seat belt Jicks!

The Colours of Life

I have never been much of a Poet. But a conversation with a friend of mine on colors brought out a poetic splurge, and here is my first poem in years:
(PS: don't expect anything great.)

The Colors of Life

The curtain between the fortunate blind and the cursed rest,
the mist that ceases not to exist,
engulfing, alarming, enchanting and irritating.
Whats in a color? No man can answer,

They are all the same,
each one, an ancient poem,
written in a string of doggerel and rhythm that few fathom,
promising to reveal;
the promise - the ultimate seduction,
but disappointing in the end.
I wonder, was the wait, the charm?
Ha, musings of the mental poet!

I am slapped across my face,
by a sea of fluorescence,
its demeanor meaner than the demons,
I have heard of in Grandma tales;

I seek solace in the open arms of Pink,
so warm, so innocent as the baby's smile,
no wonder it is the poet's love;

I come upon the sea of red,
the symbol of love, lust and desire,
its fragrance so heavy as the sound of the lyre,
its green stalk , the throne of the King;

I wander along;
I am greeted by Yellow;
the color of the one with the name I bear,
I welcome the change,
a color so passionately insipid, yet so charming!

As the poetic mind marches on,
I look up at the Sky,
at the the canvas of Blue, the color of Life,
boundless glory, speechless might,

I wonder, as I look around,
A color for each emotion, 
A color for each day, 
A color for each win and a color for each fall.
Nature is the true dealer.