Aye Ganpat - 'Chal Daaru Laa'

"Bad luck ?
It floats around, has to land on somebody. Say a storm comes through, some folks sit in their living room & enjoy the rains. The house next door gets torn out of the ground & smashes flat. It was my turn, I was in the path of tornado." (Shawshank Redemption)

Okay, It wasn't so dramatic. There was no tornado. No house got uprooted. But yes, there was bad luck, and more importantly, there was me - in close proximity of bad luck.

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There is this cardinal rule about men's dressing - 'black doesn't mixes with white'. Those with religious bent of mind would recollect the un-written 11th commandment:

"Thou shall not wear white shirt on black trousers"

I violated this rule & got promptly punished.

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It's a typical weekday morning, I curse and drag myself out of bed. After a quick shower, with towel wrapped around my waist, I find myself inspecting my wardrobe. It's a not a pretty sight. Crumpled shirts and ill-fitting trousers hanging dejectedly on assorted hangers. I scan through my collection of trousers. To call it a collection would be a joke, coz this collection of mine consists of a sum total of 3 pairs of trousers:

1> Dark chocolate(y) brown

2> Light brown

3> Khaki brown

Minimalistic is the buzz word. All 3 trousers are crumpled and worn beyond redemption. It's been almost 2 months since they saw the innards of a washing machine. In a state of panic, I turn to my collection of jeans, which again is, Minimalistic. Two pairs of blue and one pair of black. I look at the black jeans with hope & trepidation. From a distance it can pass off as a black formal office trouser. I decide to stretch my luck. I settle for black jeans with an off-white (whatever that means) striped long-sleeved shirt.

The thing with long-sleeves shirt and me is that, I always find the sleeves bit too loose around my wrists. I have very slender feminine wrists (to go with my delectably soft hands). My wrists, make it almost impossible for me to wear men's wrist watch (or for that matter even women's wrist watch). Seven years back I stopped wearing wrist watches altogether (much to the disappointment of my mum). She use to look at my bare wrist and feel sorry for me. Which mum doesn't like to see her grown up son sporting a manly wrist watch ? My mum is no exception. Okay, I digressed enough. So you get the picture (slender bare wrists, loose ill-fitting off-white shirt, rolled up sleeves, black jeans).

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It's evening, I am now at Saravana Bhavan (the friendly neighbourhood South-Indian eatery) . Standing at the cashier's table I ponder over my order. (Much earlier) the day in office had gone off uneventfully. As always, nobody had the time or inclination to notice me (or my black jeans). At Sarvana Bhavan, you need to place your order at the cashier & pay-up in advance. They, then give you a plastic token number which you place strategically on your table, and wait. I order one 'appam' and coffee. Just then, my eyes wander to the tantalizing array of sweets on display right next to the cashier. Predictably, I give in to my temptation. To gratify my sweet tooth, I order one Baadushaa. The dessert is handed immediately at the counter on a small steel plate. I pick up tissues, spoon & fork from the self-service cutlery counter and then : Tragedy strikes (Tornado, House, Path, Badluck, Me..... Remember ?).

With tissues, spoon-fork in one hand, a steel plate with the sweet in other hand I start walking precariously, looking for an empty table. As I walk past few tables, I notice a guy with his ear glued to cell phone, looking at me. For few tiny seconds my eyes lock with his and I know from that moment onwards I am doomed. Still talking animatedly on his cell, he raises his free hand and signals me. This isn't any friendly 'hey there buddy' kind of waving of hand. I know for sure, what's on his mind. I ignore his frenetic calls and continue walking past him. He almost grabs hold of my arm and tries to stop me in my tracks. That does it, I can't take this humiliation anymore. I stop, turn back in my stride and shout on top of my voice :

"I am not the friggin' Waaaaiteeeeerrrrrrr"

My words float gently in the air (for what seems like an eternity). The ripples carry across the length and breadth of the restaurant. A hushed silence descends. The tension is palpable. The cell-phone guy lies stunned & frozen. In a reflex action he disconnects the phone and starts apologizing profusely. I don't need an apology (if anything, i should be thanking him for gifting me with a blog-worthy anecdote). I brush him aside and make my way past few more stunned diners and find an empty table. Sometime later, as the 'real' waiter comes with appam and coffee, I realize my folly. The dress code for waiters, in Saravana Bhavan, is same as mine. White shirt & black trousers. It was a classic case of me being at the wrong place, at the wrong time, in wrong attire.

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p.s. : song of the week

Aye Ganpat, Chal Daaru La..

Ice Chala, Soda Kam, Thoda Paani Mila..

Thoda Table Veble Saaf Kar De Na Yaar..

Aye Ganpat, Ganpat..

Life is a bitch, Tag of 8 and everything in-between

Punds tagged me to write 8 random facts about me, and i promptly complied. I was mighty depressed after finishing the tag (woh bhuli daastaan , loh phir yaad aa gayi & all that crap) . Anyways, a man got to do - what a man got to do. So without further ado, here are 8 randomly hand-picked facts about me :


1> I have rolled Tele-Prompter pages for Shekhar Suman.

I had a very brief stint in fillum industry (more precisely TV industry) for about 6 to 8 months. I use to work for Ken Ghosh ( google him, if you must) . This was much before he ventured into films. Back then he was mostly into music videos, TV ads and song-based countdown shows. He had a team comprising of 2 female assistant directors & one in-house editor. Myself & another friend of mine, we were one rung lower to the assistant directors & editor. Boley toh "assistant ka assistant". In plain simple words I was a glorified filmy Peon. Doing everything and anything in the name of "struggle". So one of my task (during shoots) was to sit next to the teleprompter with script pages, put it on the teleprompter and roll it slowly as Shekhar read the dialogues off the screen.

Before you guys dismiss this as a no-brainer kinda job let me tell you: It's not. It's a delicate job. You need to be in sync with the reader. If you pull the page too fast or too slow then it can mess up the dialogue delivery and you will end up will lots of Gaalis from the actor and the director. I must say, I pulled it off quite competently.

2> I have updated bank-passbook for Ken Ghosh's wife.

Refer point 1. One gets to do all kind of stuff under the name of "struggle". Some of my other duties included :

- Paying telephone/electricity bills. Ordering take-outs for the in-house staff.

- Buying Rubber bands. Ken use to sport a small ponytail (back then) which he use to tie together with rubber band. When he ran out of those, me or my other buddy use to scoot to the nearest dukaan to replenish the stock.

- Carrying the Beta Tape (video) Recorder from studio to shooting locations & back

- Writing down the shooting log. You basically note down the start and the end timing between each 'take' and mark each shot as N.G (No Good) or O.K

- Make connections of the beta recorder to the AVID editing system and keep it up & running for the editor to make the final cut.

- Digitize the shooting tape . Which is basically copy the recorded video material from tape onto the hard disk and segregate the shots.

- Stand and watch the edits

- Carry the edited tape for Beta-Mastering

- Carry the beta-mastered tapes to Star Plus / Zee Offices for them to broadcast

- Give creative inputs for the VJ script for the countdown shows.

- Be on stand-by during shoots to do just about anything and everything

3> My name has appeared in Credits on Star Plus and EL TV (circa 1996/97)

Refer point 1. This was for 2 countdown shows. One hosted by Shekhar Suman and another hosted by Rakshanda Khan. My name use to be listed as assistant editor for one of the shows and as assistant director in another show.

4> I have never hit a boundary during my (brief & eminently forgettable ) amateur cricketing life.

This has to be the biggest regret of my life. Not even once, did the ball hit the middle of my bat and raced to boundary. Never ever. But then I had very limited opportunities being the number 11 batsman in my team. (And) I was too lukkha to garner the strength required to hit a tennis ball hard enough to hit the fence. Okay enuff excuses. I confess, I sucked at cricket. Period.

5> I have been licked by Shoba De's dog

I happened to be at her home in Cuffe Parade for some official work. No, Shobha was not there to offer me nimbu-paani. Her maid & a rabid dog entertained me in her absence.

6> I got 49 marks in Hindi in 10th std.

After all these years, I am still so fucking upset about it.

7> I can float on my back without moving hands or legs

I am so good at this that once while floating in a pool, one guy mistook me for being dead and (almost) dived into pool to save me :)

8> I cannot use a soldering iron.

Which is not such a bad thing, but then, my convocation certificate says I am B.E. (Electronics) from Mumbai University. Strange but true.

P.S. : I have burnt the bridges which took me through point 1,2 & 3. When I look back at that phase of my life.. It seems like, it happened in another lifetime and to another person. It was the happiest phase of my life, but it didn't last long. Life is a bitch.

Tranquil

These pics were shot with a no-frills point & shoot digital camera. On this particular day, the late afternoon light was nothing short of 'divine' and it shows. No fancy SLR camera, no fiddling with aperture/shutter speed, no post-production touch-ups, no nothing. Just frame & shoot. Easy.

Guilty without a trial

Friday mornings almost invariably put me in good mood (in contrast to Friday evenings, which invariably put me in somber mood). As I start getting ready for office, a peppy song makes it way to my lips and I find myself singing aloud :

"Aawaaran Bhawnrey.. Jo Holley Holley Gaaye..
Phoolon Ke Rang Se.. Hawaayen Sar Saraayen.."

In my mind, I see a very perky & bubbly Kajol frolicking in sunflower fields with half a dozen busty friends.

"Kyaa Uncle, ekdum light ??"

My roommate interrupts my early morning reverie and I crash land back to earth. From time to time we (as in me & roomies) have this peculiar habit of slipping into 'Satya' lingo. In past 6 years we must have watched this movie atleast a dozen times. For reasons well beyond me, my roommates unanimously labeled me 'Uncle' after the bearded eccentric lawyer (Makarand Deshpande) from Satya. Agreed that, I am ‘now’ old enough to be called an Uncle, but 6 years back when I was christened as 'Uncle' for the first time, I was still a sprightly 27 year young lad. I still had not started dyeing my grey hair bi-monthly (as I do now). No way, I could have been an uncle back then. But somehow the name stuck. Six years down the line, I have grudgingly made peace with the Uncle tag. Anyways, moving on to this Friday morning, I pick my dialogue cue, and reply back,

"Arey Shabbo ko try to kar, keechad mein bhi kamal khiltey hein dost"

Pleasantries exchanged, roommie makes his way to the bathroom while I gather my wallet, room keys, office access card, cell and head out of our apartment. Soon I find myself waiting for the MRT. The song is still with me, but this being a public place, my lips are sealed. It now plays silently in the deep (ok maybe, shallow) recesses of my mind. The train comes. Incredibly, its not crowded as it normally is. Although I don't get a seat, but still there is plenty of legroom to stand comfortably (& ogle). Four stations before my alighting point I get a seat. It’s a corner seat, adjacent to the door.

"Please offer this seat to those who need it more than you do"

Says a sign-board above this corner seat with the customary picture of 'a pregnant lady, a child & a cane totting senior citizen' accompanying the textual message. As if right on cue, a heavily pregnant lady enters at City Hall station. One look at her incredibly fat n rotund belly and I promptly slip into flashback mode.

Flashback to Wednesday :

Same City Hall station. Same heavily pregnant lady. Same me. I am looking at her tummy with a mixture of intrigue and fear. The girth of her belly makes me wonder if the baby would pop-out even before we reach Bugis (the station next to City Hall). A girl sitting on the corner seat, quite graciously offers her seat to the preggy lady. The preggy lady equally graciously declines the offer saying she is getting down at next station. End of conversation. Preggy lady indeed gets down at next station. End of flashback.

Back to Friday Morning :

This time, I am seated in the corner seat, I recollect the scene which happened 2 days back. I can't be wrong, she is the same lady. There is no mistaking that belly. Normally, I would have offered the seat to her but knowing that she gets down at next stop, I just sit there with my eyes focused to infinity. As always, infinity doesn’t keep me interested for too long, my eyes start wandering around the compartment. I notice 2 pairs of eyes (belonging to 2 good looking girls) staring at me with un-disguised contempt and anger. Unlike me, they don't have the benefit of the flashback. They obviously are pissed that I haven't offered the seat to preggy lady. In their eyes, I am an insensitive sonofabitch. An impromptu tribunal is set. I feel like I am standing in a witness box and am being cross-examined by 2 pretty Ally-Mcbealish-lawyers-cum-co-passengers. My offence ?

“Not showing courtesy to a pregnant lady”.

I squirm in my seat. Quite frankly, the lady didn’t need a seat, rather she needed a bed in a maternity ward with a mid-wife, a doctor and some epidural on the stand-by. I keep my opinion to myself. I am caught in two minds, should I offer the seat to the lady ? (knowing fully well that she is going to refuse) or should I remain nonchalant and don't bother being in the good books of two un-known girls. I choose the later. I coolly close my eyes and pretend to sleep cutting the victim (preggy lady) and my two accusers out of my vision.

Next stop BUGIS.. (the PA system in the MRT announces the arrival of next station)

Wearily I open my eyes. For sure, the victim alights. I feel relieved & vindicated. I look again at the two jurors. They are in no mood to forgive me. They have already passed their judgment. GUILTY. I shrug my shoulders and close my eyes, once again becoming oblivious to their accusing stares & crinkling noses. In my mind however, I can no longer hold on to the sunny notes of “Aawaaran Bhawrey”. My mood slowly starts to swing from being upbeat to downright morose.



p.s : There would be some factions who might argue that I should have offered my seat to one of the two jurors. Well being a pro-feminist (whatever that means) I feel that gesture would have been downright derogatory and sexist. So there.