The curious incident of the cat in the night time

Let it be stated for the record that I am not a superstitious guy. I have always insisted on opposing superstition with impunity that often belied my age and position. The oldest memory I have of such an incident is way back when I was all of eight or nine years old. I was with my grand-dad, a man filled with pride, pomp and infinite style. For instance, for his whole life, he had insisted on not riding pillion on a two-wheeler, an insistence born probably out of a bad childhood experience or lack of trust in the abilities of his sons in law (Which of course is in keeping with acceptable girl’s dad behavior). This was back in the days when my family was still trying to make the jump between the lower levels of the middle-class to the current state of reasonable affluence. Which meant that there were no cars for Pappa’s ready access. Despite the infinite inconvenience of walking long distances or worse, using the Madras bus-service to visit his daughters and raucous grand-children, Pappa stood firm on his decision to never venture on a two-wheeler. For me, such style and decisiveness did not go well with an illogical belief in superstitions. So it was only natural that I was taken by surprise when on the night of Ganesh Chaturti (The Elephant God’s birthday), Pappa insisted that I should never look at the night sky on that particular day. So strong was my refusal to be tied down by such rules (after all, I have inherited his genes) that my eyes immediately darted up to the sky. So strong was the smack that he landed on my head – I still remember it like yesterday.

 

I have carried on this rather disdainful stand towards superstition over the years, right up to this day. Well.. Atleast until yesterday. For last night, something strange happened to me which makes me want to rethink my position.

 

It was 9 PM when I decided to finish work for the day and head homewards. Home is a good 25 minute walk from office, a welcome walk at that time of a particularly pleasant Dubai night. I also needed to make an important call on my walk back home, but unfortunately, my Du mobile phone’s connectivity was non-existent once I hit the road.

 

Since I was also expecting my important daily call around this time, I had to reach home quickly - my phone’s connectivity magically improves when I enter my 16^th storey house. All was well until I went past Spinney’s, the only grocery store in a 5 km radius from my house in The Marina (Welcome to Dubai!). I remembered that there was no milk at home, so quickly popped in to pick up a carton of milk. Smooth and slick, I was in and out in no time.

 

I was roughly 100 yards away from home when I suddenly revisited my plan to make do with an apple for dinner. I was walking past this new bagel place called Bagels and More that had opened up near our place and was contemplating whether or not to give it a try.

 

And then, something happened which steeled my resolve to actually venture into the bagel shop and see what was on display.

 

A black cat crossed the entrance to the bagel shop, which meant that I could either:

• Be a good god-fearing Hindu grand-son and quickly walk on straight towards home, avoiding a life destined to be ruined by bad luck
• Or turn left, into the bagel shop, crossing the cat-path and inviting bad luck, a lifetime of hardship, a lot of woman trouble and worst of all, a smack from Pappa’s hand, God bless his soul.

 

As is to be imagined, it was an easy decision for me. I walked into the bagel shop, almost bristling with anticipation, excited to be taunting fate in my own cheeky, childish way.

 

There were a number of bagels on display, different shapes and sizes. But since they were not labeled, they were all the same to me. There were two Filipino women manning the counter at the shop. Or is it womanning the counter? I’m not sexist, please Oh Please!

 

They were Filipino women, I can’t help it! I’m not racist either.

 

So, this is how the conversation proceeded:

 

Me: “Hi! Can I have a chicken bagel please?”

 

Filipino Waitress 1 (FW1): “Good Mawwwning Sirrrrrrr! Welcome to Bagel and Mowrrrrr!!!”

 

Me: : “Err, Good Evening! Can I have a chicken bagel please?”

 

FW1: “Chicken Bayyyygell…. Is mostly not there la!”

 

Me: “Hmm, ok, what bagels do you have?”

 

FW1: “Sorry, I don’t know Sirrrrrrrrr!”

 

Me: “ Err, could you please check and tell me? And also I’m in a bit of a hurry, so it will be great if you can tell me quick.”

 

FW1: “Sure la!”

 

 

FW1: “Sirrrr, we have only cheese bayyyyygell!”

 

Me: “Hmmm, can I have 2 of them.. and do make it fast – you need not heat it.”

 

FW1: “Ok Sirrrrrrr! That will be 16 Dirhams Sirrrrr!”

 

Me: “Here you go.. 16”

 

Filipino Waitress 2 (FW2): “Sir, it is 20 Dirrrrrrrrhams!”

 

Me: “@#@$#$%%$^^^!!!!! Your colleague just said its 16!”

 

FW2: “It is 20 Dirrrrrrrrhams Sir!”

 

Me: “Its probably a good idea for you guys to know what you’re selling and for how much!”

 

 

Me: “I really don’t want them heated, can you please just pack them for me!”

 

FW1: “ “…………….”

 

Meanwhile FW2 who clearly seemed to be the person in charge took over the transaction and put my bagels into a paper bag, so super-efficiently that I almost sighed in relief. She took approximately 2 minutes for the job.

 

A minute later I was back on the road, pacing quickly homewards, cursing my luck. When I got home, I noticed my dear flatmates had already ordered a sumptuous dinner with enough food to serve an army. I smiled wryly to myself at the pointlessness of my whole bagel expedition.

 

I quickly made my office call – I was around 15 minutes late on the deadline but thankfully it was not a very critical task. Soon I was settling in my couch, trying to put the bad times behind me and enjoy my dinner consisting of a lot of pulao, rotis, dal and a couple of bagels in the china shop.

 

When I realized that I had left the milk carton in the bagel shop.

 

Needless to say, in the 5 minutes it took for me to run back down and retrieve the milk, I missed the one call that I wait eagerly for all day.

 

So… The bottomline is that you must in no circumstance cross the path of a black cat. If you do, be prepared to:

 

1. Face a lot of woman trouble: If you are cheeky enough to commit the crime knowingly, like I did, then you will be destined to Filipino waitress trouble, which is the deadliest form of women trouble known.
2. Face a lifetime of hardships: If you realize your crime quickly enough and repent whole-heartedly, then the hardship is restricted to half an hour, as it was in my case.
3. Get smacked by your grand-dad who will never give up trying to teach you values: Pappa came in my dreams last night and sure enough, I woke up feeling a little sore in my temples.

The Tiger

Tiger, tiger, burning bright     

Indian Cricket’s Dark Knight,  

What last-ditch despairing dive,

Could tame thy languid cover drive?

 

On what distant part of the ground,

Could the battered ball finally be found?

At what length dare he aspire?

The left arm spinner who earned your ire?

 

And which captain, however smart,

Could match the passion of your heart?

And when thou cut with timing sweet,

What deft hands and what quick feet?

 

What good tactics up your sleeve?

What other skipper could irk Steve?

What the passion? What the dream?

Dare make us abroad, a winning team?

 

When Greg Chappel threw down his spears,

And plunged your fans in gloom and tears,

Did he smile at his work or cry?

Did he who dropped you eat Humble Pie?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright

Indian Cricket’s Dark Knight,

What last-ditch despairing dive

Dare tame thy languid cover drive?

Dasavatharam - some observations

Like every big ticket Kamal Hassan movie in recent times, D has managed to elicit very extreme views from the public. Most people have been largely disappointed by what they see as an expensive vehicle used by the actor to indulge in self obsession on a grand scale. Yet, quite a few have been left in awe by the sheer range of characterization and authenticity of the roles portrayed by one of the most malleable screen personalities of our times. The bizarreness of a few of his make-ups has not gone unnoticed. So too, the ease with which he shifts effortlessly from one character to another, leading us to believe that ten different men – no sorry, nine men and a woman – have played the lead roles.

A closer look leads me to believe that the movie is eliciting both praise and brickbats for the wrong reasons. The brilliance of D lies in a host of smaller and rather smart tools of inspiration and tribute that run as parallel threads. Tributes and references are not new to Kamal Hassan’s movies – for instance, the unmistakable parallel between Nandakumar’s jailbreak episode in Alavandhan (Abhay) and Hannibal Lecter’s in Silence of the Lambs is a plot device that went largely unnoticed by the average movie goer. The main painting in Anbe Sivam had the obvious influence of Salvador Dali who had clearly left a lasting impact on the actor. D is filled with some astonishing tributes of this kind. Some examples:

1. The opening sequence where Rangaraja Nambi (Kamal Hassan) is tied to the idol of Lord Vishnu and thrown into the sea is a very obvious tribute to Mel Gibson’s Passion of The Christ. KH has often been compared to MG, mostly in the negative sense. This is probably his own tongue in cheek way of saying that he does not mind the comparison =)

2. Fletcher (KH), the ruthless ex-CIA guy is almost single minded and robotic in his quest for the vial. It was a little bizarre to see him sport shades in the night during the first chase. Later in the movie, he straddles a Harley Davidson and chases the scientist on the train. Could not have been more obvious - “Hasthala Vista Baby… I’ll be back!”

3. “He killed Yuka, now he dies for Yuka”, says Yuka’s brother, Kung fu master Narahashi (KH) pointing at Fletcher. Chinese martial arts. Revenge. Redemption. Kill Bill!

The story line touches upon atleast 25 issues, all of which revolve around the central theme which is the God vs. Science debate. Almost all the sequences in the movie depict the hand of God in them, be it the thirunamam-shaped scar formed on Nambi’s head when he’s stoned by Vaishnavites, or the white bandage Govind sports on his forehead after getting hurt which is shaped like the cross. Every single time Fletcher is on the verge of capturing the vial, divine intervention saves the day – for instance, the scene in the hospital where Avtaar Singh intones something sacred and distracts Fletcher from his quarry. The movie goes to great extents to show the effect of strange and seemingly unconnected incidents on the lives of people from all the major relegions in India. The characters of Avtaar Singh and Khalifullah are there just for this purpose, since the movie demanded Muslim and Sikh representation. Armchair critics argue that these characters are there just to make the numbers, but it is tough to talk about the oneness of God without first establishing the presence of all the Gods. Vincent Poovaraghan’s (KH) magnanimous Dalit character hits home if nothing else, just through his tremendous intonation and accent. KH scores a bulls eye here, for the very first time – a far cry from MMKR days where the London returned Madanagopal spoke in a weird American accent! The Dalit character dies in the tsunami even as he tries to save his adversaries’ family from sure death – a sad commentary on how the gods and fate have been unfair to those oppressed by caste. D reiterates the futility of war several times – the scientist is always pointing out the mindless havoc that the bio weapon would cause the world if it reached the wrong hands. He argues that if God existed, then his design which created scientists with such brains is flawed enough to question if it exists.

The Butterfly Effect thread is quite blatant too, with a rather conspicuous butterfly twittering through the tsunami aftermath connecting the lives of all the people affected on the shores. Science says that the Butterfly Effect is the avalanche effect of a small happening on one corner of the world, seen as a tremendous happening in another. D implies that the incident in the 12th century has ramifications that culminate in a tsunami in the 21st century, another reinforcement of the Science vs. God debate – all schools of religion talk about redemption, reincarnation and the concept of the balance between good and evil that is maintained on the long run. It takes KH’s vivid imagination to combine the God argument and the Science argument, beautifully intertwining reincarnation (9 similar people living in the 21st century and their lives culminating at a climactic, earth shattering event), redemption and Chaos Theory that runs across time, rather than distance! It is tough to imagine anyone else in the world imagining and executing a spectacle of this kind. It is tough to classify D as a movie – it is some kind of whirlwind crashcourse that touches upon a lot of issues, leaving us with more food for thought than we can possibly chew in one sitting. Maybe KH thought he’d condense a number of ideas into one script, and see if he could have fun in the process. The fun is clearly evident – we always knew that this man was not driven by commercial considerations. He makes movies for the love of movies and it does look like he enjoyed this one immensely.

Negatives:
1. Asin - . Both her character and its portrayal are nauseating and it’s surprising to see the scientist put up with all her crap through out. Should have pushed her out of the train and into Fletcher’s hands very early.

2. Bad make up – Fletcher looks a little bizarre. Khalifullah is straight out of Marvel comics. The rest are all quite brilliant, but the bad ones stand out. George Bush is astonishingly real, also aided by Kamal Hassan’s breathtaking replication of the man, even taking his case on the side!

3. Horrible visual effects – the much hyped tsunami looks like it’s a bad painting. Khalifullah moves on the screen like he’s painted on to it as well – atrocious editing, and a waste of a lot of money really.

4. Mallika Sherawat’s item number – some lame attempt to ensure cashflows. Should have been avoided at all costs. In fact, her presence in the movie is quite unjustifiable.

The scientific mind questions everything and sees the inherent flaws in the way things function. So much tragedy and destruction in the world cannot ever be justified as the creation of a supreme power. Yet, the religious mind always seeks to justify every single natural and manmade calamity as another small cog in the divine wheel. The tsunami saved the world from the much more dangerous ramifications of bio weapon leakage, thereby sacrificing 1000 lives in order to save 10000. Is the Hand of God powerful, sadistic or simply non-existent? D leaves us with the question and lets us choose our own answers. In many ways, the movie itself is open to the same kind of interpretation. Scratch beneath the surface and it is tough not to be awed by the effort.

The defeat

Three days back, I decided to reopen a part of my past that I had chosen to bury forever. Sometimes, the past is best left alone, the scabs of experience healed by the antiseptic of time. Yet it is always tempting to dig through the sands of time and to revisit those foreboding haunts where the buried ghosts lie. Loyal readers will remember my earlier tryst with that old haunt that ended almost as soon as it began.

And so it was to be - a few years older than the first time, a battle-scarred veteran from some rare fleeting peeks into the horror house – I decided that my overwhelming compulsion to lose the burden of the present far outweighed the fear of failure from past attempts. With a silent prayer and renewed vigour to scale the peak, I decided to have another tilt at the windmills. Yes – I summoned up enough courage to go back to a gym.

After minor issues like registration, it was time for the real showdown. Invoking the blessings of the God of gymming (Arnold Schwarzenegger), and with war cries ringing in my ears thanks to Apple ipod, I resumed battle with the most benign in the enemy’s camp - the treadmill.

Ten minutes in, I knew that this was not going to be as easy as I’d imagined – running at a strolling speed of 7 kmph, I was already gasping for breath and falling all over myself. I could feel the ache in my heart and hear the creaking of my knees. I could sense the fire parching my lungs and the mist on my glasses was partly just the smoke I was breathing out. In the past I have easily done 10-12 kmph for periods of upto 20 minutes – no mean feat, but almost Bradmanesque when compared to my current form. Was this the same me of the WIMWI Frisbee fame? I just laughed the whole thing off as a minor starting problem and kept at it.

Ten more minutes passed – it was clear that my initial stumbles were a foreboding sign of things to come. The second half of my dread mill run, if anything, went even worse. If I was struggling for breath after my first half at 8 kmph, I was definitely choking by the end of the second stint – this despite reducing my speed to a rather lethargic 7 kmph. The mean machine was mocking at my human fallibility with its stentorian steady pace of rotation that could go up or down on a whim, controlled by buttons. With every drop of sweat that dribbled down my nose and onto the rotating belt on its way to nothingness, the nemesis was eating away at my reserves, bit by bit, exercising its stranglehold on me.

I was happy that the session came to an end. Round one to the opponent and I was left licking scars of wounds, both physical and psychological. I always knew that this reunion was going to be a painful one, but little did I imagine that I would come out with my pride taking such a beating. Running at speeds of under 8 and feeling so bloody exhausted was just not me. I knew that something had to give and if there’s one thing that life has taught me, it is to never say die!

I was back at it yesterday – my limbs were aching, my heart was burning, but my spirit was intact. I knew that I would go down fighting if that’s what it took. Back to the treadmill then, I set the speed to an optimistic 8.5 kmph, very confident that I’d exorcise the demons of yesterday in style.

Twenty minutes passed. That was it. I had lost the war. It was not to be the bestial benchpress or the barbaric barbells. Even death at the hands of the deceptively strong dumb bells or a plain slimy medicine ball would have been more respectable. Alas, I had fallen at the first hurdle, decimated by the guiles of a friendly treadmill. My tennis elbows and athlete’s heart had proven to be my Achilles’ Heels (you can see the profound impact that the whole episode had on all aspects of my being, including my writing). The stuffing had been knocked out of me - kayoed in two rounds flat. I could hear the final count ringing in my ears, even as the ghosts from the past jeered me on to the last breath. The irony was not lost on me - I had always considered myself to be in the prime of my youth, a young Turk in the company of a peer group with an average age of approximately 147. And here I was - falling victim to my own impunity.

They say that before you die, your past flashes in front of your eyes. For me, it was the sight of the hot chocolate brownie that I fought for unsuccessfully with Gendy at Upper Crest; the umpteen times D-Balls insisted on warming up before Frisbee; it was the extra dollops of unpalatable panneer that I inexplicably kept forking onto my plate in the mess; and I thought of Freezo…

There I was, a fallen man – unable to resist my temptations, I was ready to pay the price - I was ready to bite the dust. There I was – doubling over the treadmill. And then I saw the instructions on the dial:

“Please use the arrow buttons to alter the speed of the machine in mph”

In mph…

mph… miles per hour……

Ouch!

Danish Kaneria invents new form of leg before appeal

(This post is inspired by the website www.bosey.co.in)

Pakistani leg spinner Danish Kaneria invented a rather bizarre style of appealing for lbw at the Feroze Shah Kotla on the 4th day of the First Test against India.

During an exasperating period of play when Sachin Tendulkar and Sourav Ganguly were batting beautifully, Kaneria pleaded with umpire Simon Taufel to give Tendulkar lbw after his faster one had hit the middle of the bat. When the loud and vociferous appeal did not have the desired effect, Kaneria inexplicably performed a somersault by falling back and landing upside down on the middle of the pitch.

When contacted later about his animated appeal, Kaneria justified his action in great excitement. His words were translated into English by noted commentator Ramiz Raja.

Kaneria: "Irr messu dim diggenda bodi bodi keesh, as porom HOWZZAT da bolug !barto doba."
Ramiz Raja's translation: "Sivaramakrishnan looks like Shah Rukh Khan, but Pakistan will win the next World Cup."

Though Arun Lal was not available to comment, we believe that he would have said "That was a fabulous performance".

Sources close to the bowler reveal that Kaneria actually fell backwards and lifted his legs up in the air to make sure that the umpire understood that he was appealing for an LBW. His cause was supported by experienced umpire Suresh Shastri (no relation to Ravi Shastri) who made waves in the recent games against Australia and Pakistan by getting 48 lbw decisions wrong in 4 games. Shastri chided Simon Taufel for being so strict with lbw decisions. "This is utterly against the spirit of poor umpiring - its a pity that Kaneria did not play the one day games, else I would have made sure he got lbws even without appealing. The human element in cricket is being questioned by good umpires like Taufel", said the umpire who recently gave a few lbw decisions off wide balls and even reported the Indian wicket keeper MS Dhoni for chucking.

Sachin Tendulkar was visibly taken aback by the feat and narrated the incident in his customary kid voice. "There were several guys around me, trying to disturb my concentration and get me out. But eh, Boost is the secret of my energy."

The incident sparked off a wave of unease amidst Pakistani media and public who disowned the leg spinner for his display. Some sections took undue advantage of his first name, claiming that he was actually Danish by birth. Cricket analyst Mandira Bedi even initiated proceedings on Extraa Innings with Charu Sharma and a tarot card reader to rename the bowler Danish van der Somer Saulth. "He is sho shweet!!", she purred when contacted for comment.

Ex-Pakistani captain and fellow faller on the cricket field Inzamam ul Haq was calm and forthright in his observations. "Yaissh,... Danish,... bowling well.... ish win the match," said the burly batsman even as he invoked divine intervention to save Pakistan from certain defeat.

(Click here to see the feat.)

Limerix

The Aussie skipper Ricky -
Dealing with him can be tricky;
Sledging is his birthright,
But if he's losing the fight,
He can get quite finicky.

In the past, he was master blaster,
Now he's a recipe for disaster,
He plays and misses so much,
And looks in woeful touch,
If only Sachin would score faster!

This guy is good at break dance,
He swears at batsmen taking stance,
He then bowls it wide off the mark,
He gets hit all around the park,
If only other sides also had Sreesanths!

Random

I had a friend who was a teacher by day. He decided to work part time as a pizza delivery guy in the evenings to make ends meet. However, he could not handle the varied requirements of the two jobs – apparently they were as different as chalk and cheese.

Another friend of mine is a compulsive marijuana addict. One day he was on a real high when he took to the roads. On a nearby farm he chanced upon a cow that he heaped racist invectives at. It was a classic case of a pot addict calling the cattle black.

The makers of Notting Hill were worried about finances for the movie. All that changed once they got one Hugh Grant.