An India-Pakistan wedding saga, April 2010

The saga of Sania Mirza, India’s top tennis player, and Shoaib Malik, Pakistan’s former cricket captain, has finally been put to rest with the couple married.

In the recent past, the duo has dominated media and mind space in India, and expectedly, in Pakistan as well.

The two subcontinent stars will undoubtedly remain in public consciousness due to their good looking celebrity status and eyeball catching ability that translates into TV ratings.

Here’s one post-mortem, dubbed the Shonia episode, though there surely will be more to follow:

Indo-Pak relations: Observers (read doves, not hawks) have found a quick connection between an India-Pakistan courtship and the diplomatic language that accompanies such occurrences --- confidence building measure (CBMs), people to people contacts and a passionate undercurrent that actually unites the two populations.

Big budget Bollywood movies such as Veer-Zaara have delved into such cross-country relationships, emphasizing the victory of the human spirit over artificially and politically motivated divide between the two countries.

Yet, powerful and deep rooted institutions such as the Pakistan Army or the ISI, with vicious and vested strategic agendas will require much more than such matters of the heart to change their profiles.

So, will relations between the two countries given vexed issues such as terror, Kashmir, water sharing and building hydro dams along each others borders.

In the past debonair cricketers such as Imran Khan and Mohsin Khan have been linked to Indian women, yet the two countries have squabbled and fought.

There was much talk about comfort levels between former Prime Ministers Rajiv Gandhi and Benazir Bhutto, belonging to similar backgrounds and legacies.

Connections are today drawn between Congress Party scion Rahul Gandhi and Bilawal Bhutto Zardari.

Yet, it cannot be forgotten that politically the two countries continue to be on diverse planes, with influence over Afghanistan a new strategic playground, along side America.

The differences cannot be glossed over so quickly.

Important as CBMs are in building a constituency of peace between the two countries, it is unlikely that Shonia gave much thought to such issues when they saw each other.

Traversing the globe due to their sporting commitments, they bumped into each other a few times, got along and kept in touch, courtesy technology, the Internet and cellular phone. Shoaib could very well have been an American star.

The Shonia connection is purely personal, though the consequent talk about building bridges between the two countries would certainly have crossed their minds.

Their matrimony does add a sense of bonhomie and distracts from all the serious Indo-Pak talks that have failed to re-start following the Mumbai terror attacks November 2008.

But, that is about all.

Why did she marry him? Many Indian men have not figured out why she chose him and perhaps never will.

Some consider their egos personally bruised even as the aura of debonair Pakistani men who attract the best women across the border, stands buttressed.

Many here have counted other eligible bachelors with considerable distinctions, even within a sporting sample.

Indian cricketers of course remain the most pampered and highly paid stars in the country, not to speak of Bollywood achievers such as Shahid Kapoor, considered a ``close friend’’ of Sania, whatever than means.

A delectable rich and single cricketer selection for Sania has included Zaheer Khan, Yusuf Pathan, Gautam Gambir, M S Dhoni, Suresh Raina, Irfan Pathan, Rohit Sharma, Harbhajan Singh, Robin Uthappa…the list of such successful men is endless, given the proliferation of various forms of cricket (one day internationals, T20 and Test matches), all money spinners.

Shoaib remains a moderately successful international cricketer no doubt, but grey areas continue to sprout -- match fixing allegations, a supposed previous marriage, though such qualification nowadays seems to only work favorably given the entourage of Indian Bollywood actresses and other beauties settling for men as their wife number two or three.

Sania, her very moderate career plagued by injuries, must have her reasons to pitch for Shoiab. Such is life and the inscrutable mind of a woman in love.

Tailoring Faith: Sania has had a fair share of attention from Indian clerics and ulemas who have protested her short sporting attire in the past, declaring it un-Islamic.

Politically motivated right wing Hindu radicals, who revel in anti-Muslim, anti-Pakistan speak, have again raised their ugly heads, especially in Maharashtra.

They have already labeled Sania a ``traitor’’ due too her decision to marry a Pakistani. Indian society, however, is fairly liberal in large pockets and many more have protested such foolish and silly dictates.

The Shonia events, however, did throw some light on the complicated Hindu and Muslim personal laws.

It seems that Shoaib married his first wife (Indian and residing in Hyderabad, the same city as Sania) over phone from Pakistan, but had to sign divorce papers in India due to the intervention of clerics and also pay a hefty alimony.

All does not seem very transparent here.

Across the border, Sania bhabi (sister-in-law), as she is being referred there, will surely not find the going easy, given the ultra-conservative environment as British heiress Jemima Khan, ex-wife of cricketer-politician Imran Khan found out quite fast.

Sania has grown up in cosmopolitan Hyderabad, a global software hub, attended an expensive private school, surrounded by frills of India’s new consumerist growth --- malls, discos, pubs, movie multiplexes, flashy cars, gadgets and more.

As the wife of a Pakistani player, Sania will certainly be in focus of those who measure faith by clothing or the lack of it. Pakistani sports women are known to cover themselves from head to toe, even during swimming events.

Sania has said that she would continue to represent India, with the Commonwealth Games this year and Olympics later being the big goals. Shoaib has backed her intentions.

Wisely, Shonia have chosen to live in Dubai for now. As has been spoken, Shoaib could shift to India and try his hand at the lucrative T20 private cricket league.

The couple will be watched and followed closely.

In America for the first time, March 2010

A first visit to America will leave impressions. My recent two week’s in New York, Washington and a bit of the middle US states surely had some impact, which is as follows:

Big America: Unlike Europe or even south-east Asia, America is about size. It is all very big, except perhaps the cash-strapped Delta and Continental planes in the domestic circuit, with little leg or head space and hardly any in-flight service worth a mention, except some orange or tomato juice.

Yet, there are no skyscrapers like in Manhattan or Times Square, airports are sprawling whether Detroit or Houston, the museums and memorials are grand in Washington, Texas and Oklahoma are about big cars, roads, stores, schools and homes.

The groceries and Walmart approximate warehouses. The variety is immense, the deals very good and the quality top class, even if a bit of the items are imported from China and some India.

Such a range is not available back home.

The food portions are inexpensive and quite liberal, perhaps in keeping with the general girth of the average American. Maybe, there is a contributory factor of cheap food in making many Americans more than just healthy.

In India, food portions are small, getting smaller and highly priced, even compared to food courts in south east Asian countries such as Malaysia, Singapore, Thailand.

But, all of this is puny compared to an American repast. A six dollar breakfast comprised sausages, toast, pancakes, eggs, juice, coffee with add on butter, honey syrup and jam.

It was perhaps one rare occasion when I couldn’t finish a meal I paid for.

I didn’t ask for the food to be packed as there is an extra charge. This was unusual.

Security: The 9/11 fear factor plays out at the airports almost a decade later, even as the long queues reminds one of some of the chaos of regular Indian life. They strip you to the bare minimum, leaving nothing to chance.

It is just shirt and pants and they won’t let you through if the metal detector beeps, passing under the machine any number of times.

Belts, wallets, shoes have to be taken off, gadgets, laptops and jackets put in separate holds. There are plenty of screaming instructions.

I tried to smuggle in water in the hand bag. They threw it away and put the luggage in line again.

This is a process that has been applied to visiting Indian ministers and dignitaries as well, much to their chagrin.

The only silver lining about all of this is that there is hardly any physical frisking as in India. People have issues with this at times.

In America though, there is an ongoing debate about new X-Ray machines that will run an automatic body search.

There is a lot of chatter about it among travelers. Many, especially the women, say it is invasion of privacy. Maybe it is.

Yet, the Americans are getting it right as there have been no terror attacks in USA since September 11, 2001. In India, the militants strike at will.

Also, there is no doubt that a particular community is in focus, even if it is wrong to brand a population due to the wrong doings of some.

I saw two individuals taken away for ``special screening’’ at different airports. ``Is this because of my name,’’ one retorted. It clearly was.

There are no elaborate processes in trains, though domestic travel is as expensive as traveling by air, unlike India where rail fares are much cheaper.

But, it’s the planes that the Americans seem to guard the most and with good reason.

Indians Will Be Indians: Indians like to quibble, argue and quarrel, which some say is a sign of a healthy functional democracy. This is, however, also because back home nobody follows systems, rules and order.

Every matter can be turned around to an individual’s whim, position, contacts, phone calls and money power.

In America there is homogeneity of usual existence, like not breaking lines, following traffic rules, proper parking and honking only when necessary.

Indians generally try to be in best behavior when abroad. They pee inside loos and don’t litter.

But, sometimes it gets too much. Like when my return flight got delayed due to a blizzard.

We shouted and abused the airline management. Security was called in and they warned ``this is America sir, you could be arrested.’’

The officials were asked to shut up and the shouting continued, even as women with children in arms joined in the ruckus.

Other air carriers faced no such problems. The passengers patiently waited and slept off in corners. The Indians, meanwhile, muttered through the delay and huddled in corners to bitch and plot. They regrouped and fought about inadequate food vouchers.

Land of Opportunity: Despite the recession, America remains a land of dreams and progress.

I witnessed the same during my visa process where I met a gentleman from Punjab, an affluent state, whose application was unfortunately rejected.

He did not mind it too much.

``I will come and try again and again despite the high fees. It is a family tradition and an investment. Many of my folks are in America this way. They went on tourist visa, like I will and live and work there illegally. I am young and can earn lots of money to send back home as the dollar can convert to a lot of rupees.’’

Of course, the American dream can get more desperate, with many reports of human trafficking wherein people are duped of big amounts of money or transported in inhuman conditions packed in ships and boats.

I did sense some of the caution and perhaps hostility, given the economic slow down and general sentiments against outsourcing in USA.

The suspicious immigration officer had a friendly tone as long as I was defined a tourist who would obviously spend some money during my stay.

I was, however, sternly told that any work related pursuit away from the purpose of my visit would result in instant deportation.

Not very friendly, I must say, but I guess that’s the way it has to be in times of terrorism and job losses.

Toilet Training

There is, however, an issue about American toilets that many Indian vehemently complain about.

There is only provision of tissue paper and no water. Many of us find this dirty and also irreligious. Some find this reason enough not to marry an American. I do not differ much with these views.

``Indian public toilets are dirty, but there is water at least,’’ one fellow traveler said ``Otherwise one can just go in the open carrying a bottle of water.’’

Road Sense

There is also an issue about crossing roads. Vehicles move on the right side, while in India on the left.

One is practiced about watching the front right while walking across a street rather than keeping an eye on the left. This can disorient and has resulted in accidents.

Luckily, there is respect for the pedestrian in western countries, who have the right of way. In India, it is the other way round. The drivers don’t care.

Still I almost got knocked down once in Oklahoma and also caused bit of a jam as a lady driver waited for me to cross elsewhere.

I was not aware she was on my left. This can be very dangerous as the big American cars can sure cause some damage to the human body.

Pack of Indian Cards (August 2009)

The other day I did a check on my cards and identities.

I own a voter ID card, the PAN card issued by the income tax department, passport for foreign travel, an old irrelevant ration card, driving license, credit cards, two hotel loyalty cards, individual shopping cards from grocers, lifestyle stores, club membership card, one free parking card from a local mall…Depending on where I am headed, my wallet can get quite thick.

But, this is not the end of it.

In some time I should be the owner of one more card, touted by the government as the most important one that will finally and clearly define who I am and will also definitively pin down each individual in the country for fake or real.

New Delhi has appointed Nandan Nilekani, till recently head of software giant Infosys, as Minister to oversee the issue of this ultimate card that will form the basis of social security and poverty alleviation doles, free insurance and many more services that the government has failed to deliver so far.

Nilekani, who has since base shifted from Bangalore to Delhi and provided perks of power such as red beacon cars, accommodation in South Delhi and personal security guards, is to oversee the massive single identity card program and accompanying unique number that will cover the 1.2 billion Indian population.

As he is a professional, I expect Nilekani to do a good job, though the task is humongous, budget is in billion of rupees, cost estimated over Rs 100 billion and not at all easy to implement.

Take the example of Voter ID card.

One day, without appointment or warning, a government official (probably a school teacher) arrived at my house.

She said she was in a hurry and would not come again, following which she handed blank forms with many pages for me and my family to be filled out instantly, with photographs and other details.

As she waited, she complained incessantly about the delays being caused to her as she had to cover many more houses and seemed unhappy that I had agreed to fill the form.

Probably, it would have been easier to mark off one more household as not available for details sought.

I somehow managed to fill the forms, by ensuring the servant kept her plied with tea and other eatables, expecting nothing to follow, but the Voted ID cards did arrive in some time.

Others have not been so lucky, if they did not happen to be home when the government official arrived or asked for a later date.

Those who have tried to apply on their own have faced severe red tape, shunted around like secret files from one jurisdiction to another, between offices, desks and clerks.

Even worse off are those who have had their details filled in incorrectly.

I know people who have been recorded as male for female and vice versa with no redress despite several appeals.

Once a Voter ID card is made, that is it, whether for the right or wrong.

On the other hand, my experience with the PAN card has been quite good.

As suggested, I applied online and the card was delivered within a fortnight. Incorrect details can also be rectified via the Internet.

I am impressed by such efficiency by a government department.

However, there can be no such online short cuts for Nilekani. There are barely 50 million active Internet users in India.

A huge portion of the population will have to be accounted for offline, manually as the Voter ID process, in a country where long dead government employees continue to be paid salaries and pensions, while others own multiple passports and some more are listed as the wrong sex.

Speaking of passports, the system continues to be awkward, despite several announcements of reforms. There is an online system of filling forms, but the actual application needs to be offline --- through touts or individually.

Although it took me the full day in a queue at the very crowded passport office, the document did get re-issued.

The officer at the desk was clearly harassed by the work load.

Indians can be difficult customers at times --- one argued why the government needed information about neighbors, with whom his family did not enjoy good relations, when the concerned passport was his?

Another gentleman, who too had spent the day in the queue, turned out to be from Agra.

On being told that he was not eligible to apply in Delhi, he retorted that he had come to the Capital city as the passport office in Agra was more chaotic.

Driving licenses and ration cards are an even bigger mess.

No sane or honest person can procure them unless one works through touts (with links with officials whose palms need to be greased) who swarm the offices.

This means that innumerable drivers on Indian roads, with the highest number of accidents in the world, are quite ineligible to handle any vehicle.

Indeed, Nilekani has a big task to avoid pilferage, misuse and a-corrupt machinery spouting around the new card.

I have worked out credit cards though, the ones that are lifetime free and delivered at home.

I have a pack of them --- each offering different utilities --- holiday, hotel, movie, restaurants (could be different for separate cards), air line, golf course discounts or freebies.

The catch here is not to keep any balance pending as the interest is usurious.

I find the loyalty cards also useful if one patronizes a particular place often. The do get you some good deals sometimes and keep you abreast with the latest sales and offers.

But government cards, they need to get it right.

The Indian who stole Tiger Woods thunder (January 2010)

While Tiger Woods has hogged mind and media space in the past few weeks, in India the greatest golfers exploits off the fairway has been upped by an octogenarian Indian politician N D Tiwari, aged 86 years and still going very strong (in bed that is).

Tiwari, a long-standing national Congress party loyalist, was recently caught on camera apparently half naked cavorting with three young girls, in a TV sting operation, which are a common occurrence in India now to trap the usual wrong doers such as corrupt policemen, government officials and politicians, generally accepting cash for favors.

The most famous image of course is of the former President of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) Bangaru Laxman caught on camera accepting money. Until, Tiwari came along, that is.

While questions remain about Tiwari using his superior position as incumbent governor (now sacked) of Andhra Pradesh and former chief minister of Uttarakhand to make the girls do what they did, the ethical and legal doubts have been set aside by his supposed ability at 86.

Indian men, given smaller physiques, genetic structures and generally unfit bodies, are known to lose it in their mid-30s and look for remedies and aphrodisiacs to rid the private dysfunctions and reverse the never discussed in the open male biological clock, so to say.

Fittingly, Tiwari has been labeled the Tiger of India, overtaken Woods as the most searched on Indian Internet portals, with plenty of questions being asked about his successful score, looking very happy than embarrassed with his pants down, as one might expect a near 90 year old to be. Everybody knows Playboy’s Hugh Hefner is just a marketing gimmick.

Some say that Tiwari truly deserves to be brand ambassador of Viagra and other similar concoctions and fill his coffers more, unlike Woods who has been surmounted by sponsorship losses, expensive lawsuit by his wife and no golf.

While the pessimists and cynics say that Tiwari could not have ``actually done it,’’ the optimists see hope for a very long innings ahead, even as news reports speak of at least two ``illegitimate’’ children sired by Tiwari, out of wedlock.

For the uninitiated, Tiwari is not a big name when compared to contemporary Indian politicians such as Atal Behari Vajpayee, Manmohan Singh or Sonia Gandhi, but has had an above average and steady political innings.

At one time in the 80s and 90s as chief minister of Uttar Pradesh, there was talk that he could be Prime Minister of India, given the nature of India’s coalition politics.

However, his political career subsumed by other events such as advent of caste equations, the Congress leadership finally appointed Tiwari as governor, a graveyard posting for spent but loyal political leaders that offers comfortable living, some power and free medical treatment.

Tiwari, it seems had other ideas even as his latest exploits have raised him to heights of national popularity that his political career never did.

Indian politicians generally tend to live long unlike the rest of the population which many say is due to the heady and life enhancing mix of power, money fame and fawning sycophants, though in Tiwari’s instance, the elixir has included more.

Other politicians as they age step aside, promote sons, daughters and their spouses to carry forward the political lineage and enjoy the fruits of power. Not Tiwari, who remains hands on.

Age has caught up with some of Tiwari’s ilk such as Bal Thackeray stricken by heart disease, the diabetic Arjun Singh and Sharad Pawar who has suffered a stroke. Tiwari, however, has not slowed.

Indeed, it can never be easy for a young at heart old man to turn into a pin up boy in a nation such as India where the majority population is under 35 years of age and look up to film stars such as Shahid Kapur, Salman Khan and Shahrukh Khan, at least half Tiwari’s age, who spend hours at the gym to develop and expose in their movies the coveted six pack abs, to appeal to males and females.

A healthy, avuncular Tiwari has stolen the thunder, at least for the time being, also from colleagues in the same age bracket, but placed much higher in the pecking order.

In the recent past, India’s top political echelons have been occupied by men well into their 70s and some into the 80s, now staid and dull compared to Tiwari.

There is Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, upright and a paragon of virtue in every sphere, including academic achievements and demeanor. If Manmohan has been caught displaying passion in public, it is to defend the Indo-US civil nuclear deal that he has personally backed and staked his reputation.

Then there has been former Prime Minister Vajpayee, similar aged as Tiwari, but bent over due to knee and other health problems. Vajpayee during his time in power, aged late 70s, had his asides in poetry and good food, but remained passionate about pushing the Indo-Pakistan peace process which is dead now due to the brazen 2008 Mumbai terror attacks.

BJP leader L K Advani is known for utmost discipline in personal life that spans food and daily routine that has kept him healthy and fit in the 80s. A bit of Advani’s drive of course comes from his unfulfilled ambition to be Prime Minister of India. At the best of times, however, Advani has been most aggressive about Hindutva, the politics of majority Hindu rule.

Former President of India APJ Abul Kalam is known for his missionary zeal in backing science and renewable energy.

While the moral issues of exploiting girls under duress and corruption charges are being investigated, Tiwari for now is India’s Hero Number One, biologically.

No questions about that.

If Tiger Woods Crashed In India (December 2009)

In an Indian situation the Tiger Woods saga perhaps would have been a little different:

Firstly, if he crashed his vehicle outside his house, the police and ambulance would be the last to know, given the sorry state of such services in India. Nobody would have bothered to call or inform them as they never arrive when needed. No one wants to be involved in a ``police case’’ in any case that could drag on for years, with innocents usually harassed the most. Woods would have been carried back home by the otherwise usually helpful and also very nosy neighbors. ``He is having an affair/s so problems with the wife’’ they would all talk only in whispers as such things are never spoken about loudly, in public, to the media and never in front of the wife.

Secondly, riots would soon threaten to break out outside Woods house, presumably in congested Delhi or Mumbai where road side pavements are the home to the millions of homeless. It would soon emerge that Woods in a state of intoxication and in order to escape his wife ended up driving his vehicle over beggars and construction workers sleeping on the pavement at night. A couple of people would have died without knowing what hit them.

Thirdly, after sometime the police would arrive anyway as they would have sensed that the accident involved a rich man, who is not a politician or bureaucrat or an affluent businessman with connections. They would wonder how being a golfer could be a profession. Over cups of tea, they would wait for Woods to regain consciousness and ask him to breathe into a dirty, bacteria and infection laden instrument to test for alcohol levels. Then they would threaten to take away his driving license (which are never easy to procure, given the inefficiencies of the system) and SUV unless he took care of them. Bribe and booze bottles accepted they would step out and fire in the air to disperse the crowd. The log at the police station would read: No alcohol traced. The accident would not be mentioned.

Fourthly, the media, seeped in middle class sensibilities, would have sniffed out the story as it has a very powerful and saleable peg --- the rich driving big cars over the poor. Only the top reporters with experience of covering events such as the Mumbai terror strike last November that provided first hand live visuals, including to militant coordinators sitting in Pakistan, would be selected for the assignment. The top reporters would station themselves outside Woods house 24/7 and others would fan out to hospitals and push and shove their way and mikes on the half dead or dying accident victims for the elusive byte, against all medical advice or intervention, in the name of freedom of press and democratic rights.

Fifthly, the case would go to court. By now much money would have changed hands, involving Woods well placed friends, relatives, lawyers and important police officials. Handed more cash incentives, the police would discover that the SUV that Woods was driving was not registered in the drivers name as it was illegally imported to escape duties and taxes. The court would accordingly be informed that the entire case was fabricated as Woods owns no SUV so he couldn’t be driving one. The accident probably happened due to a rashly driven truck that escaped in the cover of darkness, so no registration could be noted. Witnesses could not be trusted as they were sleeping. The number of killed and injured would in any case be reduced by the cops as some would be illegal migrants from Bangladesh with no record of their existence in India. Media reports about the actual injured and killed would be dismissed as mere hype and hyperbole.

Sixthly, some of India’s top people who love to appear on TV on any occasion and also known for multiple affairs, multiple wives would support Woods publicly. They could include film stars Aamir Khan, Saif Ali Khan, Vinod Khanna, Amitabh Bachchan, Kabir Bedi, Shekhar Kapur, Boney Kapoor, Mahesh Bhatt or cricketers Mohammed Azharuddin, Saurav Ganguly or Yuvraj Singh.

Seventhly, Mrs Woods would be extremely sorry for what happened to her husband and hold herself responsible for all the problems to her family because under Indian conditions, the husband is God and can do no wrong. She would undertake a grueling fast and visit temples all over the country to cleanse her sins. Woods mistresses would disappear from the scene. For the unmarried ones who presumably had a good time (in bed and otherwise), there would be no question of exposing to the media to protect their family honor. They would have been taught by their mothers to keep intact the virginity tag, the ultimate gift on the ultimate night of their marriage and valued most by the Indian husband Gods. The married mistresses would keep quiet for obvious reasons.

Eighthly, the laborers and construction workers who survived the crash would wake up from their unconscious states to discover that one of their kidneys has disappeared from their body, to be sold to the organ trade mafia. They would be told that they are lucky to survive as both their kidneys could have been easily taken and packed off by the hospital authorities and the police.

Woods would go back to playing the PGA, wife and mistresses, if he happened to be an Indian, that is.

India for better and worse (December 2009)

In an indication of a changing India, two lifestyle products that defined Indian middle class existence and aspiration in the 70s and 80s will soon cease to exist.

The decision (by respective firms) to phase out Bajaj Scooters entirely from March next year and entry level cars Maruti 800 from metros to begin with, is purely business related --- sales have sagged.

But, it also reflects a different mindset, another India and a new era that fancies faster motor cycles and bigger and better cars.

In the 70s Bajaj Scooters symbolized middle class stability, although the engine placed on one side, made the machine unstable.

And in the current situation of rashly driven powerful vehicles and 24-hour call center cabs, two-wheelers are very unsafe.

Yet, back then, father on the wheel, mother on the pillion, younger child standing in front with head bobbing out, older sibling squeezed between mother and father, everybody with their arms around each other for balance and protection, epitomized the complete Indian family, ``hum do hamare do.’’ (We two and our two)

It was idyllic. Needless to say, the famous ad tag line ``Hamara Bajaj’’ (Our Bajaj) translated into brisk sales.

The strict father, seeped in the idealistic hangover of Mahatma Gandhi or Jawaharlal Nehru, could have typically worked in a government department, university professor or even a trader; the mother, a housewife, dedicated to the family spent hours in the kitchen, cleaning the house and praying for their welfare.

The unified aim of the husband-wife duo was to ensure their children a good education to turn them into engineers (via cracking the coveted IIT exam) or doctor (via the equally difficult MBBS entrance exam) or make it to the IAS, the top government job (via the even more difficult UPSC exam).

With such focus on study, a big sprinkling of the Bajaj kids did make it and many of them went to America, the land of opportunity, to become software czars, top cardiologists, reproducing kids in turn who today call shots in political stakes as campaign managers, fund givers, Bobby Jindal, driving big BMWs or Mercedez Benz and collecting bikes for passion that probably cost more than their father’s whole life income, many times over.

Some of the kids called their parents over from India selling off the Bajaj scooters as junk, while others forgot about the elders, providing endless sob story themes for Hindi movies described as meaningful art cinema due to all the crying.

Meanwhile, the Maruti 800 was launched in pre-liberalized India in the 80s when the License Raj prevailed to shackle any enterprise, when only access to state authority or grease money counted for everything -- owning a telephone, a passport, a driver’s license or a gas connection and a house.

In keeping with authoritative behavior, most marriages were arranged. Gandhi and Nehru were forgotten entities their pictures framed in every government office, ideals obliterated.

The Babu (read lower government official) was King. Cordless phones a luxury item, compared to over 500 million cell phone users today.

The bulk of youth (everybody could not make it to IIT or IAS or MBBS) aspired to be part of this Kingdom and wield the power to dole out telephone connections or hand out nationalized bank loans and progress in life --- from Bajaj Scooters to Maruti 800s.

In a way the spiffy, quick pick up, not very expensive Maruti 800s that took on the ambling Ambassadors and Fiat cars that dominated Indian roads was the first challenge to the Raj, though there were car quotas still and one needed to bribe a Babu, maybe by offering foreign made liquor bottles.

The Maruti 800, fast, flexible and individualistic, though a tin pot compared to cars of today, indicated the 90s and new millennium.

Today a typical middle class Indian family travels in a snazzier Maruti Swift or a Hyundai I-20, financed out of quick processing private bank, visits choc a bloc malls during the weekend, watch high priced multiplex movies, while the kids feed on pizza and burgers, probably from MacDonald’s, home delivery or take away, resulting in new age problems such as obesity.

The parents lead jet setting corporate lives, grapple deadlines, keep global times; some fight lifestyle related heart problems and hyper tension, while others spend time at the gym or spa to de-stress and detoxify.

Telephone connections are not a problem, bank loans available online, cars can be brought off the shelf like a pair of jeans.

There is freedom to choose. Love marriages are on the rise, so are gays and divorce rates.

Discussions center on Nehru’s affairs with foreign women, rather than his beliefs and vision. Gandhi is remembered in context of Bollywood masala flicks such as Munnabhai MBBS.

The one’s who have made it bigger via the stock market or real estate wind falls, commute in bigger Honda cars or even a BMW and travel abroad for holidays and spend evenings at expensive clubs, discussing art investments.

Mobile phone toting maids connected to roaming parents look after kids who spend time on computer games and TV. The children imbibe good social skills in private schools followed by an expensive MBA (in India or abroad).

There are plenty of domestic service sector jobs that need more smooth talking and less thinking -- hospitality, banking, insurance tourism, outsourcing or at MNCs such as Coca Cola, Pepsi or Nestle, offering perks and foreign postings.

A lot needs to be improved, such as regular electricity supply and roads without potholes. A well behaved Babu is still a rarity.

Though there are masses poor in India still, there are masses of the upwardly mobile too, who like to leisure and dictate the market.

India has changed --- for better and worse. The era of Bajaj Scooters and Maruti 800s is history.

Why I kicked Facebook? (August 2009)

I have been on Facebook for sometime now. Others keep up with Twitter and Orkut too.

Not too long back I followed the numbers on my friend’s list as closely as stock quotes, while keeping track of others rising figures. It was competitive.

Some mentioned to me, ``you have so many (friends) only, I have many more.’’ There were egos involved.

I believe actor Ashton Kutcher has more than a million-list and keeps his fans humored by anecdotes and private pictures of his wife Demi Moore, sometimes in her underwear. My wife would kill me.

For me touching the 100 friends mark was a big day, even as I remain logged now with 250 odd people comprising extended family, close friends, others regurgitated from the past, many cousins, faint acquaintances, some I might have bumped into anywhere, including bank relationship managers and more I just don’t know.

Till some time back, I kept digging for more people I could know.

Today, I am bored of FB as the novelty has worn out. I would prefer to wash my car any day without uploading pictures of me washing the car.

In the past, I grew out of pornography as it is no use watching others having all the fun.

And, I have grown out of FB as I felt it limited my mind, my life – thinking process, work and creativity – which instead focused on buttressing my FB profile.

Perhaps it works fine for big people such as Ashton and other celebrities who need to be in the glare due to marketing and sales needs.

I felt like a vacuous Page 3 party person flashing a funny pose or wearing a short skirt on skinny legs to somehow get pass the editor’s muster and onto the papers the next day.

Except on FB you are your own boss --- and people get to see what you want them to see.

So, I took pictures of places visited subconsciously keeping FB in mind, faking a big smile once on a trip to desert state Rajasthan in height of summer, even as my brain boiled inside.

I perhaps took a holiday or two extra to keep up with the photo updates

In FB everybody has to be having good time like the P3 people, otherwise, he/she would not be on FB. You don’t see too many hospital pictures except for newborns, all very cute, as long as the parents get to do the potty washing.

My ideas also brimmed to keep the new status messages exciting to elicit instant reactions. I was disappointed if they did not.

I even grew a mustache and put up the pictures. I socialized more and met new people to get them onto my FB list.

I took and re-took innumerable quizzes until my smile or sex appeal matched as closest to Tom Cruise and IQ Einstein.

There was even a brief period when I avoided some friends as they could no longer add to the friend list numbers, while I already knew whatever I might have wanted to know about them, courtesy FB.

I requested those who did not FB to begin an account right away. Ideally, I should have been paid by the FB promoters for the free branding.

Today I FB barely five minutes a day, if I do log in. The only comment I have made in the last few weeks is clicking the Like button. Even this is more infrequent.

The whole world seems to be doing the same things --- holding a drink, in the Jacuzzi or at the beach, catching the standard FB moment.

I am sick of looking at pictures of holidays, marriages, the always adorable kids, birthdays, official functions, foreign visits, mum and dad when they were young and grandparents in their youth.

All of this was, of course very exciting at one time as it unfolded the world of so many I had interacted in the past.

To begin with, it was good to know about them until it became all too predictable. It was like a reality show on TV that had lost its punch.

At the same time the curiosity about catching up with an old school mate in real was lost.

Many of them, ex-colleagues, classmates, might have formed part of my daily routine at some point. But, life moves on and a new bunch of relationships develop that takes precedence.

As a matter of fact, I have knocked off a couple of good friends from my list as there was not much to speak about after debating an issue the whole day on FB.

Today, my FB account is more like an online diary which gets automatically updated, should the need arise to get in touch with somebody. This is useful.

But, I don’t look out for names I may or may not know or send out requests to add to my friend list or take off on an exotic holiday to put up the pictures.

I prefer to wash my car any day.

To be Frisked or not to be Frisked (July, 2009)

When officials of America’s Continental Airlines recently frisked India’s former President APJ Abdul Kalam, it touched a raw nerve.

Despite protests by Indian security men, Kalam, also referred as India’s missile man for his contribution in the field, was made to take off his footwear and physically checked in New Delhi before he could embark on his journey to America.

Kalam, known for his down to earth demeanor went through the security process without much ado.

An-uproar followed in Parliament with demands that the concerned American carrier be banned, India’s civil aviation minister has called on the Prime Minister to brief him on the issue while a police report has been lodged to investigate the matter.

Some said that as a response to such overbearing attitude by an American carrier, US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, on a visit to India, should be put through security checks.

This, however, is not the first time that the issue of an important person, referred in Indian security parlance as Very Very Important Person (VVIP), being bodily frisked has caught attention.

In the past, New Delhi reacted angrily to then federal defense minister George Fernandes being searched (he had to take off his shoes and socks) by security officials in America in a post-September 11, 2001, security check.

Fernandes, known for his anti-US tirades, was apparently "disrobed", according to former deputy secretary of state Strobe Talbott, not once but twice.

Talbott, in a book chronicling the events, says Fernandes was angered by the incidents.

Last year, New Delhi took offense to Russian security officials insisting on searching Foreign Minister Pranab Mukherjee, who was on a visit to the country.

Though the search statutes exist on paper, in most instances ministers are not actually frisked, accompanied as they are by an entourage of officials and bodyguards, who usher them through.

In Mukherjee’s case, it was apparent that Moscow wanted to convey its unhappiness with New Delhi's new found bonhomie with the US that translated into more defense deals and the civilian nuclear pact.

A feel-up was one way of conveying the irritation as Moscow does know a bit about Indian politicians' aversion to being body searched.

In the recent past, an offended junior minister Anand Sharma created a furor by arguing with officials at the New Delhi airport and eventually got the rule book changed to exclude him self from being searched for bombs.

Somnath Chatterjee, former Speaker of the Lok Sabha, the Lower House of India’s Parliament, is known to particularly squeamish about being searched by airport security officials.

He cancelled a trip to London, to follow up on a similar instance in 2005 to Sydney, even as frenzied diplomatic efforts by the Indian High Commission for an exemption failed.

The British Foreign office was clear about international security guidelines that “only Heads of States are exempted.”

However, Chatterjee was equally adamant, explaining that he cancelled the trip “because it involves the honor of the constitutional office”.

In 2005 Chatterjee canceled his visit to Australia following a verbal war of words in the media on the issue. He also has had big problems with his wife being required to walk through a scanner while traveling within India.

Most ordinary citizens know about the rigors of security checks, including a physical rub-down, in times when terrorism is at an ugliest.

However, some seek to be above this process, as a measure of their importance and image.

Even as foreign security drills are more difficult to tamper, the list of those eligible to forego domestic airport checks has been drastically amended to suit individual interests, in the game of political patronage, where outward show of power matters a bit.

In the 1980s, there were only five exemptions: president, vice president, prime minister, chief justice of the Supreme Court, speaker of the Lok Sabha (the Lower House of Parliament) and state governors. Today it includes cabinet ministers, ministers of state, bureaucrats and sundry others with access to the powers-that-be.

Yet, there was some sympathy late last year when it came to the fore that India’s military chiefs are by statute required to be frisked at domestic airports.

This was a reflection of the unflattering status of the defense forces in India's civilian democratic setup, unlike in a country such as Pakistan.

On paper, the heads of the three armed forces, navy, air force and army, were supposed to be treated like civilians and required to be searched by security personnel before they could board a passenger flight.

The service chiefs are otherwise responsible for the security of the nation, protect the borders against incursions, command the second-largest army in the world and sophisticated arsenal.

While nobody argues for the overbearing primacy of the military in civil society, what pinched was the list of exemptions that had been granted.

It was an irony that a private businessman Robert Vadra, the son-in-law of Congress party president Sonia Gandhi, and husband of Priyanka Gandhi, was exempt, as were some senior bureaucrats outranked by the service chiefs.

Following a bit of media furor, defense minister A K Antony took up the matter with the federal civil aviation ministry, at the behest of the three service chiefs who had previously written a letter requesting an exemption.

Initially, the aviation ministry refused Antony’s proposal.

The reasoning was that other authorities, mostly civil servants who head ministries and are referred to as secretaries, would voice similar demands.

Thankfully, the list now stands amended and the Generals do not have to line up even if on paper.

The near obsession about freedom from airport frisking, however, is just at the tip of the exemptions and perks that are sought by India’s power holders who still carry a colonial mindset and see themselves as above the rule of law.

One hot tag is threat perception, especially from known terror groups such as al-Qaeda or Lashkar-e-Toiba. The highest Z-plus category accompanies the star label, VVIP.

There is always a rush of supposedly important people wanting to include themselves in a higher risk category that entitles them to personal commandos (referred to as Black Cats due their attire and skill) and escort vehicles.

The commandos mostly function as bouncers fending off private citizens, while the red-beacon, siren-fitted escort vehicles specialize in jumping traffic lights and shooing away nearby vehicles. Anybody driving in Delhi can vouch for this nuisance done in the name of ``security.’’

Another sought after perquisite is allotments at the prime New Delhi bungalow area which are always very reluctantly vacated.

If a minister or political leader dies, families insist (taking even legal recourse) on converting the accommodation into a memorial or museum, while continuing to occupy the same.

Sometimes former Members of Parliament, ministers, retired officials have to be physically evicted along with belongings. Bureaucrats are in a constant wrangle for dual postings to retain official apartments in the national capital.

Indeed, this power list can go on.

Not being touched up, however, remains a high priority. Even if a humble Kalam did not mind, there are others who do.

It is a question of high prestige, after all.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Raj Thackeray, on Myself

In a letter to the media, MNS chief offered his take on the Mumbai attacks. He had the following to say:

Firstly, let me make it clear that it is wrong to say that the attacks happened in Mumbai...South Mumbai, especially the Trident, Taj and Nariman House area is not Mumbai...Mumbai is where the Marathi manoos resides which is towards the north...I have a map...In South Mumbai it is businessmen, tourists, foreigners, professionals, cricketers, film stars who reside...so the attack happened in India and we at the MNS are sorry as we are not in favor of people being killed by terrorists as their cause is not justified...MNS activists sometimes kill some north Indians by mistake...but there is a cause here..

Secondly, I have a problem with the NSG... They are heroes not doubt...but the bigger question is why there is no NSG unit stationed in Mumbai...this is a conspiracy by north Indian politicians to prevent marathi manoos from getting jobs...I demand that a NSG unit be raised in Mumbai immediately with 90 % reservations...it will also provide an opportunity to our local people to prove their mettle when the time comes... it of course goes without saying that the Mumbai NSG will be called SSG or MSG, S for Shivaji, M for Maratha or BSG, B for Bal if I make up with my uncle..

Thirdly, I would like to make a comment about my favorite whipping boy Amitabh Bachchan....he apparently slept with a gun under his pillow during the time of the attacks...this is false propaganda...I know for sure that Mr Bachachan sleeps with a gun everyday under his pillow...he also carries one with him all the time...and he is scared not of the terrorists, but the marathi manoos...Mr Bachchan continues to be inspired by his old movies especially Inquilaab in which he killed politicians...that is why even I sleep with a gun under my pillow...Mr Bachchan is a threat to me, Mumbai and Maharashtra... he should stay in Allahabad..

Fourthly, I have worked out a solution to the terror problems...it is all to do with the names....global terrorists seek global names...so we have Taj, Trident, Marriott...all global names...the trick is to fool the terrorists which our intelligence agencies have not managed....change the names which of course should be Marathi in the genre of MSG, SSG or BSG.... the north Indian media is to blame for the attack on Chattarpati Shivaji Terminus (CST)....they keep on refering it as Victoria Terminus (VT), another global sounding name....so the terrorists struck there...all media houses refering to CST as VT will be banned...Names count for a lot...I am Raj (three letters) so I am already more famous than my uncle Bal...look at Uddhav...a six lettered individual...he does not exist in peoples (I mean marathi manoos) minds....I do, though even the terrorists do, but Im a politician who play with votes, they play with bullets...

Jai Mumbai (excluding south Mumbai)

There is More to Indian Malls, Jan 2005

Lifts in order, escalators moving, friendly security guards, organized parking, clean urinals, plenty of space to fool around, cool air-conditioning, no litter, no betel-juice splattered walls, no graffiti such as Indians love Pakistanis, clean floors --- this cannot be India.

It is.

The last decade or so has seen the unshackling of the Indian economy courtesy liberalization and globalization. One positive fall-out of this has been a realty boom across the country whether in residential or commercial space. Another change has been sprawling and glitzy shopping malls erected at a frenetic pace in major cities such as Bangalore, Mumbai, Hyderabad, Chennai and Delhi.

The past year has witnessed the mushrooming of these buildings in Delhi, that has not only changed the way Indians go about their shopping, which was usually in crowded, humid and jammed markets, but even changed the way Indians behave. As is said, economics is about behavioral studies.

There are three such malls, Sahara, City Center and Metropolitan located in urban Gurgaon, the satellite town of Delhi, described by Indians who have not visited Singapore as the Singapore of India. This is because the buildings are state-of-the-art, but the rest of infrastructure, including roads, public transport and traffic leading to the malls are in an appalling condition.

There are gaping manholes formed every monsoon, that not only suck in people but sometimes cars and also trucks. Thankfully, the story is different inside as these complexes are of international standard if one can term the ones in south east Asia so. And, herein lies the paradox.

Multi-storied air-conditioned buildings housing restaurants, multiplexes, clothing and electronic shops, coffee kiosks, fast food, girls in short skirts and tank-tops mesh together to create a very un-Indian scenario, seen only on television and events such as an Indian fashion show, where women have only heavenly figures and prêt wear includes micro-minis. This could not be happening in India just a while back.

A Bit of History

Not too long ago, in Delhi, the only urinals one could visit were located at five-star hotels. The rest left an odor on the body that lasted till a change of clothes and complete rinsing. Hence, innumerable Delhiites relieve on the roadside while women have a bad time.

Similarly, the only places with free air-conditioning were the American and British Council libraries, where retired civil servants and sundry others without work, snoozed and snored in cool comfort during the afternoons. The rest of the unemployed, especially the youth, overawed by libraries, spent time at cheap movie halls showing equally cheap movies. The one last bastion of coolness was the underground Palika bazaar at Connaught Place where there is no space to walk and a fire or bomb scare happens the day before or after a visit. This writer wouldn’t be alive otherwise.

That is until the malls happened. No family outing or dating itinerary is now complete without a visit to one of these. The same people who lined up outside temples or India Gate in the evenings, the most popular family entertainment for a long time, now visit the malls. There is equal space for elders to take a cool siesta while the youngsters can just hang-around.

The glitz is for real

I decided to check them out personally, to know for sure that the outward glitz did not conceal a whole lot of muck inside.

Having used the toilets, the cleanliness can be vouched for, the flush was working and even the toilet paper was in order. As a matter of fact an attendant waited outside and entered immediately after to crosscheck and clean. Slightly, disconcerting. I sniffed around for dark dank corners that are usually visited by more normal denizens to ease their bladders, but found none.

A friendly security guard, not a regular specimen, came up to me and said, ``that way is a dead end, sir.’’

I scoured every lift to check for graffiti, the, I love you forever types. There were none. A friendly liftman, he was actually there, said, ``have a good day sir,’’ as I stepped out.

This is not India, I told myself. Talking of lifts, the one that was not working had a warning placard announcing the same. Generally, when lifts do not function, the authorities find out last. So, there are usually people stuck inside who bang and scream as if they are running out of Oxygen, although all of them must have been stuck in a lift sometime in their lives.

Even the escalators were working. The last time an escalator was installed in Delhi was at the Railway station, quite a few years back. It has never functioned; at least nobody claims to have seen it move.

Finally, I had to check whether the one bastion of Indianness was transcended --- litter. Littering is a birthright and some parents feel proud when their children eject toffee bites and potato chip bags everywhere. It gives them a sense of power and independence, of being able to do what one wants to, of freedom and democracy.

Sadly, there was no litter at the mall.

This writer tried to ascertain the behind-the-scene psyche that has resulted in the neatness and organisation. The corporate office of one mall was a venue for such answers.
The manager on duty was patient and heard out the woes. ``Where has India disappeared,’’ I asked.

His explanation was simple. Indians per say do not like to be the first to do anything. Only if one does it everybody does it and if no one does it, nobody does it.

``Just as we had one Miss Universe and now we have so many. It is the same syndrome,’’ he explained.

The critical issue over here, he further added, is to ensure that the first of such happenings do not happen.

``If one person spits in a corner, within minutes there will be 50 more spitting at the same spot which will turn into an impromptu permanent spittoon. Similarly if one person writes on the wall of the lift, 100 will follow in 20 seconds and the entire mall will be one American graffiti’’ he explained.

``The key is security, and we are very tight, though polite about it. But, at the same time apprehensive as one slip up (quite literally) means things will go haywire.’’

This writer did not agree with the manager. More and more Indians have been exposed to systems abroad and know of their spotless functioning. Perhaps, it’s a change of heart and mind. But, one could also be jumping the gun. As they say, we are like this only.

Touting Credit Cards in India, July 2004

The rapid growth of the private sector over the past decade has taken several forms (banks, automobiles, airlines, retail, real estate, etc), one of which is the proliferation of credit cards. Usually India is a land of scarcities (water, electricity, health care), but there is certainly no shortage of plastic money. In fact, it's a problem of plenty.

As with anywhere else in the world, the choices are unlimited as the players are innumerable: HDFC, Citibank, ABN Amro, American Express, State Bank of India, HSBC, Standard Chartered and ICICI to name a few.

As an example of the boom in credit card use, Visa International on Tuesday said its card sales volume in India grew by 80% to $3.2 billion for the first quarter of 2004m with retail sales volume rising by 61% to $569 million in the January-March.

With direct sales to the customer being used as the card providers' unique selling proposition, each company has an army of boys parked throughout New Delhi. They can be found perched just about everywhere. At market places these agents approach to say that buying their card could fetch huge shopping discounts.

At petrol stations they say the card allows its owner to fill up without surcharges, outside cinema halls movie discounts are offered, outside hospitals free life insurance is thrown in, at restaurants its pizza discounts, outside homes they offer anti-burglary devices, at five-star hotels its room discounts; some even hang around public toilets to catch relieved customers in a good mood.

There are personal innovations in their selling, too. For instance, outside hospitals they begin by quoting the Gita, or some other such religious text, to remind of the uncertainty of life and the need to plug it with the card. One can catch their polite whispers all the time. "Excuse me sir," they gently butt in. The tone is familiar. In Bangkok any visitor knows very quickly that such messages mean massage girls are on offer; here it is credit cards.

At one time the paan waala (betel sellers) could be found around every corner, now it is the credit card touts. And they stand out: they are always dressed like corporate executives, but a bit sweaty (they don't perform inside air-conditioned conference halls). They have become almost a cultural fact of life in Delhi, and other major centers.

Such is the array of choice that it sometimes becomes difficult to choose one brand over another. After a little research one discovers that the cards all offer similar credit ranges, give and take a few tie-ups. It also becomes apparent that the discounts are covered by the high rates of interest on the card. Over the past few years, millions of Indians have bought credit cards, which has also spawned an institution of burly men who try to track down the huge number of defaulters. As an example of similarity, most banks charge interest of 2.95% per annum; while international brands are lower: American Express charges 2.75%.

I wanted a credit card to replace the more risky debit cards I own, but I made a mistake. I gave my mobile number to five boys out in the sun, just to find out more details. The credit card companies are smart; for telemarketing they have employed young and sweet-sounding girls, who are difficult to refuse. The poor boys rough it out in the open passing on the telephone numbers they collect to their female counterparts functioning from better environs.

The girls are similar in their persistence, though. After a couple of calls, they acted more familiar. One beseeched every morning: "Sir, pleeease, pleeease, you have to buy our card." Another called a few moments later: "Sir, if you don't take my card I will not talk to you anymore." Three others also made it a point to call regularly to make similar difficult-to-refuse requests. Soon, I was on first name basis with the girls - Renu and Anu, to name a couple. My wife thought I was having a swinging time. It is not often that so many women treat one with so much importance. Some friends tell me that their wives even changed their views about them, thinking they must be sexy with so many girls calling - their spouses even started behaving better, they said.

The problem was I couldn't decide. The girls do matter, but how does one choose from products that do not differ - it is like trying to choose from five pairs of black identical trousers with five similar-sounding girls pleading with you to take theirs. Ideally, I should have taken all five, but I didn't require more than one card to begin with, and more than one annual fee.

Ideas occurred to me. One was that I should change my mobile number to avoid the girls as well as the plastic. But that would be escaping a situation and not solving my need for a credit card.
The second was akin to a swayamwar (marriage selection) wherein I meet the five girls one by one and eliminate them based on other criteria, as they all sounded similar. This, too, did not gel as I soon realized that that the ones who talk do not necessarily meet.

If there is a request for a meeting, it is again the guys out in the field who take over. I told one of the girls that I would like to meet her to solve my dilemma. She took my address and sent across one person from the army of boys. As per some unstated rule, the boys do the running around while the girls only talk on the phone. I did feel a little cheated.

The boy came on a bike, smelling like a distillery of sweat given the hours he spends on the road. He spoke by rote and recited the same paragraph again and again for every query. I asked him a different question but he gave me the same answer. Even tourist guides are better. He drank a lot of refrigerated water, asked me for my bank statement and whether I owned a car and a house. I signed at three spaces and he shook my hand and left, saying that the card would be on its way.

Soon, I was the owner of a new credit card, yet the other four girls continued to call. I had to bring my wife into the picture. Women have a way with each other. She simply asked them to stop calling and they did. "You aren't what I was beginning to think you were," my wife remarked.

Life is back to normal, except for a few behavioral changes in my wife and continuing calls from my current credit card provider that I should pick up an add-on card for her. Now that's risky. This one I have decided to handle on my own, be what may.


The Dhaba Experience, March 2004

In India there is every kind of restaurant anyone could ask for. McDonald's may have taken root and is spreading across the country, but nothing beats the dhaba experience.

Until recently, I lived at Chanakyapuri, which is the diplomatic area of New Delhi - the capital of India and the same locality in which US Ambassador to India Dr David Mulford and Indian Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee both reside.

Tucked a couple of kilometers away from this high-security area is a popular dhaba called the Rajinder da Dhaba, the da in the dhaba a derivation from the local dialect Punjabi, meaning that the dhaba belongs to Rajinder.

The dhaba is now run by Rajinder's two ample sons, their dimensions a result of the enormous amounts of free chicken curry they consumed during childhood, courtesy of their father's dhaba. Dhabas such as Rajinder number several thousands and can be found all over India, along the highways, in little crooks and crannies of big cities and metros, as they do not take up much space while giving good returns to the minimal investment.

Beat cops and municipal authorities have to be kept well oiled and happy by the owners, but they come cheap. Sometimes, even a meal a day suffices. Traditionally, dhabas are meant for tired truck drivers looking for a break from their long journeys, alongside highways.

They offer cheap food, music, an open-air television and a charpoy - a bed with a wooden structure knitted with jute strings - which is a tad uncomfortable but has the best ventilation given the summer temperatures and erratic power situation here.

Some of the popular dhabas along the highways also provide girls who sing, dance and offer more of which is illegal, but still a flourishing trade. However, over time dhabas have come to define a culture, centered on food - any aphrodisiac pales in comparison to this ultimate turn-on: a blob of leg in a bowl of curry and butter, tandoori rotis, a preparation of wheat resembling pancakes on a sheet of newspaper, onions sprinkled with pungent syrup and a liberal dose of Indian masala (spices) - everything that goes against the spirit of new-age health gurus.

The government of Punjab, one of the wealthier states of India, lists dhabas as an attraction worth a try by tourists, except that many a foreign visitor has gone away clutching his/her stomach, given the heavy dose of masala and mustard oil. But dhaba food can get no more Indian. Also, social barriers do not matter here.

The crowd at Chanakyapuri where I lived, despite backgrounds where hygiene is a very important consideration, were regulars at the Rajinder dhaba for years.

I took a friend. I don't form a general opinion based on a single episode, but my advice is that a dhaba is not the best place to bring a date. Seema found the atmosphere a bit overwhelming. She, if I may take the liberty, belonged to the classes - not the masses.

To begin with, a comment on the ambience of the Rajinder dhaba, which like most others includes buzzing flies, grime, lingering muscular dogs, an envelopment of fumes spewed by the traffic whizzing close by. The eating area is limited to a few rusted wrought-iron tables, fixed to the ground to prevent people hitting each other.

The rest is open sky and the charred interiors of the tandoor, a huge clay stove filled with charcoal to roast the meat or prepare the rotis. I grew up eating at dhabas, but Seema obviously had finer tastes. When we arrived at the Rajinder dhaba, everybody stared at her as they would if an alien had descended from a UFO.

There were a couple of sari-clad women present, perhaps wives of laborers from a construction site in the vicinity, but it is a tradition in the dhabas to stare at anything that arrives in a short skirt. It is allowed. A guy farted loudly, just after finishing his meal.

I heard her say "Oh god" under her breath. "Should we leave?" she asked. "Just taste the food, taste the food and see for yourself, forget about anything else," I insisted. The Rajinder dhaba, as during any other evening, was bustling with people of every hue.

So was the no-holds-barred passion of gorging chicken. Opel Astras and scooters, Cielos and motorcycles, truck drivers, bureaucrats and Indian diplomats who might have interacted with Mulford earlier in the evening, daily-wage laborers and businessmen, all jostled for the limited space to wend their way for their piece of chicken leg or breast at Rs25 (56 US cents) a plate, delivered in white earthen saucers, the price being the same for years despite double-digit inflation.

There are no etiquettes, it is an unlimited use of fingers and palms, no spoons, one is only expected to burp loudly, an act that draws the stray dogs who expect you to leave, depositing the remnants with them. Sleeves rolled, noses running, heads bent, fingers dipped in gravy, well-heeled gentlemen stood alongside others wearing almost nothing.

The burps formed a long spray of fog that hung in the air for a while as it was winter; some washed up at a running tap in a corner, others wiped their hands on their pants and left, to chauffeur-driven Cielos or the bus stop. We chose a relatively empty table. I could almost witness images of an upmarket restaurant passing through Seema's brain, even as her expression changed from bad to worse. I went off to fetch a plate of curry as she reluctantly agreed to take a couple of bites only.

From the short distance away, I watched a burly man built like a tank settle his plate next to her and proceed to devour his food feverishly. The chicken was scoured to the minimum, lips gnarled in every direction, the bones cracked open and marrow licked clean.

Even hungry hyenas in National Geographic in a drought couldn't be as intense as this guy. To add to her woes, the man was a sadist. He seemed a regular and guessed that the girl (it could be any girl) was in some discomfort. Observing her skirt, he embarked on a loud conversation, with nobody in particular but everybody around, who seemed to be familiar with his presence.

Laden with Hindi expletives that sound much more obscene than their English counterparts, he talked of a fight a couple of days back that engulfed the dhaba. It started from the serving area when someone from one group spilled on someone from another group.

Both the groups threw their curry at each other, scalding skins. "One person lost his eye," he said. Then the hangers-on and onlookers tried to intervene, which led to both the groups pouncing on everyone, using their fists, plates and car accessories as all the curry was splattered. The man pointed at the ground that still carried stains of the previous day - blood and curry. When I carried back the chicken, Seema told me she was about to faint before she almost did, clutching my arm, spilling curry on the ground and my pullover.

"Water, water!" I looked around, hoping for a few sips. Somebody brought a bucket of water and threatened to pour it on her, just as I pushed it away. It was cold. Seema's eyes opened wide for an instant, emanating one final cry of desperation before she seemed to pass out for good. I held her while a crowd gathered, forming a circle around us, some holding pieces of tandoori chicken, as if they were watching a film shoot in progress.

"Make her smell a shoe, a shoe," one of the laborer women insisted. A man in rags and equally dirty shoes threatened to take them off. "She will be fine," I stopped him. "Let's get out of here," she murmured. I was relieved that she spoke and tried to calm her by offering Wall's choc-in-a-box ice cream that someone handed me as I carried her to the car, like an injured player being taken off the soccer field. Inside, she brightened, to launch into a blistering tirade at my hopeless judgment of hanging around town.

She swore that she would never visit a dhaba again. I have never again been to a dhaba on a date, but rest assured I slip in time, however busy I might be, to grab hot and spicy chicken with rotis on a worn-out newspaper rag. It's divine.

Kissing James Bond In India, January 2004

Invoking feelings of pride for the entire sub-continent, India's top actress, Aishwarya Rai, has been approached to play the "Bond girl" opposite Pierce Brosnan, a coveted role consistently filled by some of Hollywood's sexiest ladies - most recently Academy Award winner Halle Berry.

In the interviews that have followed the announcement, Rai has been asked the same question time and time again - will she kiss James Bond, as most Bond girls do, quite willingly? Rai has been circumspect, knowing the Indian media all too well. Even an unsuspecting remark could be a headline: "Rai will kiss Brosnan", or "Rai prepared to bond with Bond", or "Rai will go all the way".

Rai told the British press that she has agreed to appear in the next James Bond film if its producers agree to use a body double for the sex scenes, noting that her strict upbringing meant there was no question of her doing anything saucy. "I've said I will do the film if there is a body double.

The producers have said they will have to ask Pierce," she said. Pierce can't be happy. The focus here, though, has been on the kiss, as most writers have ruled out sex. Indeed, a top Bollywood actress kissing on the screen is as close to going all the way as Indians are accustomed too - by Bollywood standards.

Handsome as Brosnan may be, Rai's answers have been neutral, from, "I have not thought about it," to "We will have to wait and see, I have made no such commitments." A kiss in this country is a big deal. It has affected relations between India and Pakistan, although at most times it takes much less.

A furor was created a couple of years back when prominent author Khushwant Singh planted a party peck on the daughter of the then Pakistani high commissioner Ashraf Jehangir Qazi. Tenuous India-Pakistan relations took a further tumble.

Qazi scurried off to Islamabad to kiss the feet of then prime minister Nawaz Sharif, explaining that the whole of Pakistan need not be outraged. Worldwide, of course, a kiss always makes news that is given prominent coverage in India. Former US president Bill Clinton went as far as regularly kissing his wife Hillary on the forehead. Didn't feel the need to go any further.

Tennis great Andre Agassi likes to plant sweaty lingering kisses on his wife, Steffi Graf, between shots and games. She doesn't seem to mind. Not too long ago Agassi did it to Brooke Shields, who also did not seem to mind. Continuing with the tennis world, the Williams sisters are regularly planted a kiss by their father in appreciation of the good work they are putting in. In the runaway hit Pretty Woman, Julia Roberts' most "personal kiss" happened to be on the mouth, although she uses it on every other part of Richard Gere's anatomy.

Indian girls have routinely been in the news for "kissing indiscretions" that have not gone down too well with the population. Young, over-eager and beautiful actress Padmini Kolhapuri went "all the way" with Prince Charles. His royal highness was in the news again shortly after in India for the "not-so-eager kiss" by the late Princess Diana that sent the tabloids into a tizzy. Also worth noting was actress Shabana Azmi, who planted a "freedom kiss" on South Africa's Nelson Mandela, which caused a lot of heartburn in the country.

We are a liberal country, not in the mold of Pakistan, but can be just as prudish when our women kiss - or are kissed - by men who don't belong here. The only instances of public kissing here involve foreigners. There is always a crowd of hangers-on who accumulate for a closeup of the action, which can happen on a street or a market place. The big question, however, remains: with Internet porn, explicit pictures and video just a click away, why, then, is kissing such an issue in the land of Kama Sutra and Khajuraho? There have been several explanations to this phenomenon.

First, it is the stereotype of the Hindi movies, the most popular mass culture phenomenon apart from cricket. (There is little scope for kissing in cricket, as only men play it, and mostly just men watch it.) In the Hindi movies the kiss is a really big happening, if it happens at all. Hindi songs are not only about running around trees, but also gyrations that approximate making love with clothes on and from a distance. But when it comes to a real kiss, the world shakes and the heavens come down. A recent example that attracted attention was the "rain kiss" in the movie Raja Hindustani in which the two top stars, Karishma Kapoor and Aamir Khan, kiss each other.

The clouds thundered, lightening struck and the rain grew heavier as the lips touched. The common explanation by producers and directors as well as the censor board is that Hindi movies are family outings; so kissing is a no-no. But the most brutal violence on screen escapes any cuts. Recent crossover movies aimed at non-resident Indians and English-speaking urban audiences are bolder. One has the pleasure of watching the absolutely ravishing Lisa Ray kissing in Bollywood Hollywood. There were a number of full-throated scenes with Rahul Khanna, well shot with Lisa putting up a sterling performance.

Then there was the movie called Khwaish that was released a few months ago. It stars two newcomers who are being actively sought due to the 17 kissing scenes in the movie. Recent surveys have indicated that promiscuity as well as frequency of sex among Indians is on the rise. Yet it is not as if smooching happens in public places here. Another reason for the coy approach is the laws that prosecute for public obscenity - including kissing. Indian cops, generally a lethargic lot, are eagle-eyed about couples on the loose in gardens, parks, cars or on any corner. It's the easiest money-earner. One more explanation, far-fetched though, is the weather.

It is hot most of the time, requiring air-conditioning for kissing in the open. This writer, however, attributes it to kismet - bad karma in the past - that has resulted in kisses being such misses in this great nation.

Queue Sera Sera, November 2003

India's great leap forward into technology, accompanied by dollops of government services privatization, is doing away with the late and unlamented queue, in which private citizens used to spend hours.

Change is fast becoming more and more apparent, with the individual the beneficiary. Although no statistical evidence exists on the time spent standing in queues before India's querulous and ill-tempered bureaucrats, it must have amounted to quite a bit of the lifetime of several of our ancestors, grandparents, fathers, mothers and us.

The payment of electricity bills may have been the worst - it was so bad that there was a queue to get in the queue. That is, the actual queue to pay the bill was so long that private agencies and individuals took it upon themselves to pay the bills for other people for a fee. But so many people patronized the agencies that the queues to hire the agencies were bigger than the real queue.

This is no joke. Until recently - in most places less than the last year - some members of the family were forced to take a day off from work to pay the electricity bill. The lucky ones who had aging, retired and often ill grandparents delegated. But it was a sorry sight. Paying the telephone bill was equally arduous. The problem was the monopoly status of the government in dispensing these services.

Further, any reneging or delay in payment led some slothful public sector employees to take on unmatched speed and skill to disconnect the services. Harassment to make money was their motto. Then Internet-savvy private banks came to the fore. Both telephone and electricity bills can now be paid online.

A click on the "bill payment" section from the comfort of one's home or office computer takes care of a host of services - credit cards, electricity, loan premiums, cell phone bills to name a few. The queues have disappeared and the process takes but a few minutes. Private foreign and Indian banks have further contributed their might to reducing queues - ATMs, online requests for drafts and fixed deposits have made the process of waiting for the cashier or manager at an unfriendly public bank a thing of the past.

Online share trading, with several banks acting as brokers, is catching on. The Internet has also resulted in the elimination of several other queues. Train reservations, another long drawn out affair, now are available online. So is the booking of cinema tickets, which at one time or other contributed to ever-increasing statistics of more and more Indians waiting unendingly their turn in line.

The filing of tax returns too once engendered an army of touts and agents who took turns to stand in line for a commission. Now the forms can be downloaded and submitted online. Another queue has been nipped at the bud. Not too long ago, a telephone connection was the exclusive domain of bureaucrats and politicians who doled out the favors like feudal lords. The waiting period was years and the list more than a million.

There were even reports of women sleeping with politicians to avail themselves of personal telephone facilities. The advent of private players has meant that the public sector employees have finally been jolted by fears of voluntary retirement schemes and redundancy. The customer service has never been better; as a matter of fact often better than even the private players who are driven only by money. Privatization has also meant that almost anybody above the poverty level can afford a cellular telephone.

The customer is the real king. One more example in this sector is the phone directory service - earlier one waited and waited for the operator only to be rudely told off. But now, India's directory assistance ladies are sweeter than honey. Analysis has shown that the government people are reacting positively to the challenge of competition and in several cases are doing quite well.

They have even been known call to inquire whether a complaint has been attended to. Similar has been the case for cars, Liquefied Propane Gas (LPG) and airline tickets, all of which are now available over the counter or the telephone or online. A few years ago, there were special government quotas to book cars and many a senior government official prided himself on having cars released for relatives.

The only planes one could use belonged to Indian Airlines, who took their own sweet time to fly and sometimes did not. LPG was delivered by whim. Food for the family be damned. However, problems still fester. Drivers' licenses and passports are still a hassle. As cars become increasingly available through easy loan schemes, traffic has become a nightmare and Indians now find themselves facing the brunt of traffic queues as roads, the key infrastructure area, still leave a lot to be desired.

The airports too remain in a state of decline, with immigration and customs clearance a long-drawn-out process. Power is the monopoly of the government in most of India, making an irregular and often non-existent electricity supply a bane for citizens. Nobody, however, can deny that technology and the unleashing of private entrepreneurial spirit has made things a lot easier for people living in India, as well as the many others who are part of the reverse brain drain process.

The queues are dwindling.


Will baseball, America's staple sport, catch on in India? September 2003

Things American are already a rage here, the latest being `Charlie's Angels'. But, the current debate is about baseball and the reluctance of Indians to imbibe the sport.

Two baseball experts flew into India recently to teach Indians baseball know-how and, predictably, invited considerable attention. Their effort is part of India's amateur baseball federation's move to boost the game in the country, and add further drops to the ocean of America that exists here.

Symbols of American life that pervade India include kids grown up on MTV lingo, `Friends' and HBO, sounding more American than Americans. Pepsi and Coke, Pizza Hut and Macdonald's, CNN and Fox, Kentucky Fried Chicken and IBM, have set up shop and are a part of every day life and culture and also the subject of public ire each time there is a ventilation of anti-American sentiments.

News follows Christian Amanpour as much as Britney Spears or Jennifer Aniston. `Bruce Almighty' registered a good opening while Julia Roberts is the Pretty Woman and India's Sweetheart as well. A mass of Indians employed as call center executives masquerade as Americans (Reena becomes Ron) on phone, catering to a Citibank account holders' inquiries from Oklahoma.

Indians also know that George Bush's (mis) pronunciations on TV affect their lives as much as Prime Minister Atal Behari Vajpayee -- an attack on Iraq that can wreck stock market fortunes here or a meet with President Musharraf of Pakistan at Camp David that is a matter of life and death in Kashmir. Jay Leno jokes abound.

But, it is in sports that American influence has been rather limited. Indians don't understand American football and don't play baseball. Basketball is practiced by a few, while boxing news is limited to Evander Holyfield in the ring and Mike Tyson off it.

If there is one game that has taken recent root in the country, it is golf, proven by the proliferation of golf courses in the last few years. But, this has been more of a corporate effort than a people response, which means golf is fast turning into a popular game of the rich. Further, golf is as European as American. Similarly, there is an increasing stock of people interested in Formula-1 racing and bowling.

But baseball is as true as American can be. Thus, when two American baseball coaches arrived here, the talk centered around why do Indians who have taken to every American facet, including accent, like fish to water, resist baseball?

The answer lies in a continental divide. What baseball is to America, soccer is to Europe, cricket is to the Indian sub-continent consisting of Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh and India. If Europe cannot look beyond David Beckham, whom Americans ignored on his recent trip to promote football in the US, Indians cannot see beyond Sachin Tendulkar, the cricketing God of India.

This writer is not aware of a single baseball player. Only that Michael Jordan is, or till recently was, the God of America and Reebok -- or was it Nike. If Sachin steps out of his house in India, David in England, Michael in America, it is news as flashy as it can get.

When golf made its hesitant beginnings in India, a prominent coach from the famous David Leadbetter academy said, “Indians will never learn how to play golf as they can play no game unlike cricket. So, a slice is a cover drive to the right and a hook is an on-drive to the left.'' The coach was wrong -- Indians took to golf and there is a legion of Indian golfers now, making more money than most cricketers, which was just a dream a while ago.

But, will the golf case mean baseball can succeed as well? To reverse the question, could cricket translate into an American success, like Indian curry and `Bend it Like Beckham'? What are the chances of Sachin Tendulkar turning God in America? He is an icon in England, South Africa and Australia, where Donald Bradman is on the pedestal.

Essentially, cricket and baseball look similar on TV. There is a guy who chucks the ball, another who wields the bat, catchers all around and, to make a run, you need to run. If the two are just different garbs, and sports as we know can bring people together, as was attempted by the recent US-Iraq football match, baseball and cricket should build further bridges between India and US.

It will not be so easy. Indeed, to make any beginning, one has to further ask whether Americans would like to watch Sachin on Oprah, or would Oprah feature Sachin. This writer wouldn't watch an unnamed baseball star on a TV chat show here -- Sachin on ESPN/Star Sports any day. It is the icons that create a particular sporting spirit -- Germany took to tennis after Boris Becker, Beligum, after Justin Henin, and the world has taken to golf after Tiger Woods.

Sports can be an intense personal choice -- hamburgers from Macdonald's may not be changing filiations, but here it is a matter of changing Gods -- from Sachin to Michael or vice versa. It can be an impossible decision or a matter of time. Unless Anna Kournikova chooses to play both, which has nothing to do with God or tennis.