Sucked into the telly

Hmm. Blogging. It's been so long. Busy with work. Finding Twitter. And TV shows. So many of them. So many that I have not been able to watch as many movies as I would like. Or read as many books as I would want.
Coming back to TV shows, though. My favourites have been Supernatural, The Big Bang Theory, Doctor Who (Oh David Tennat, how I miss you), Modern Family, some Lost, and blah blah blah. The new season of the new BBC Sherlock Holmes is out. Been watching that. And of course, like it happens with every protagonist, I am in love with the 21st century version of Mr Holmes (played by Benedict Cumberbatch). Never thought I would like any non-Doyle takes of the great mind that Sherlock is. But kuddos to Mark Gatiss and Stevan Moffat (who also writes for Doctor Who) for bringing out the eccentric detective to modern-day London and not screwing it up. Oh the high cheek bones, the blue eyes, and that straight collar. I cannot decide what I like more, the brain or the looks. (It's always the brain isn't it?)

Carry on my wayward son

What does a geek want?

Company of other geeks of course.

That’s what I found when I joined my new office six months back. Well I did not realise it right away. I took my geek time to open up to my team. Not only the work interesting, the lunch time conversations were fun too.

It took me sometime, but I finally decided to watch Supernatural. And I cannot thank KG and VC enough. For if it weren’t for them, I would have never explored the awesome world of Sam and Dean Winchester.

The good part of having geeks around you is not only the access to the numerous movies, comics, and games, but also the fact that there is another soul who speaks your language.  So if I am bringing salt, VC would give me the light and together we will send that badass creature to hell. And NB may not have been able to get hold of that ’67 Chevy Impala, but we still spend the evenings talking about the beauty that car is.

While the guys gave me Supernatural, I got them The Big Bang Theory. That’s right, the show for the geeks and by the geeks. Be it the three-knocks for calling on Penny or the favourite Sheldon spot, we all got our lines.

There have been Chuck, Merlin, White Collar, Castle, Sherlock Holmes, and the likes. And whenever there is a tele, or a movie to discuss, I know I got my gang.

P.S: We make books for a living, so that part is covered.:)

So much going on, so much to say,
No time. Bugger!

Will write soon, I promise.

A movie that failed to fly

Last week I finally watched Udaan. Had heard great reviews about this low-budget movie with new, unknown faces. But plans to watch it in a theatre never worked out, so ended up watching it on Tata Sky Showcase.

The movie, honestly, left me confused. I tried to find a direction, a theme and a message. I could not zero in on one particular thing.

There were a number of issues, but in my opinion, none really took off.

What was the director trying to show?

A confused teenager trying to stand up against his abusive father?

His relationship with his friends who have been his family in the boarding school?

A man who is always angry (for reasons unknown), hits his children, makes them call him ‘sir’, sends them to boarding school and never cares to visit them?

His younger, not-so-strict brother who knows what it is to be child-less?

 An 8-year-old who finds comfort in his step brother who lands up home one day after being expelled from school?

A boy who is sure he will be a writer eventually and assumes that it is fine if he does not continue with his studies?

All these questions were left unanswered after the movie finished. It seemed to fit in somewhere among Rockford, Lakshay and 3Idiots. But where?

Please, someone explain.

Why Joel Stein is not a racist

Being a ‘pure-bred’ Chandigarhian (as I like to call myself), I always thought Delhi to be the polluted, filthy and noisy capital of India. Who would want to go to Delhi when you could spend your life in the green, clean, spacious and quaint Chandigarh. 

Last year, however, my work took me to Delhi. By this time I was honestly looking forward to the change. I now had friends there. Also, my month-long internships in the previous two years had made the city familiar for me. I was looking forward to shop at Janpath and Sarojini markets. My classmate, friend, colleague and roommate made my transition easier, both at home and office.

My parents made sure that I visit them regularly. So when I took a break from work last month, I wasn’t coming to my hometown after ages. Still, there were many things that had changed.

For instance, the Airtel office where I used to pay my bills and get recharge coupons had disappeared and in its place was a Café Coffee Day outlet.

The library near my home had been shifted to first floor. The ground floor is now a shop for expecting mothers and new borns.

The inner market of my sector has been quite popular ever since a couple of eating joints opened up. I have been going to this market since I was a kid and almost everyone recognized my (at least by face).

This time when I went to the market, I was shocked to see that most of the shops that I used to go to till recently had disappeared.  Instead of a provisional store was Dominos, a café in place of our chemist, and number of eateries in places of many other shops. With the eateries came the customers and their luxury cars. The BMWs, Audis and Skodas left little room for my poor little Maruti.

Now Joel Stein, the star of the title of this blog, invited much ire for his article in the TIME. In his write up, he displayed his displeasure over his home town being ‘Indianised’.

Indians, especially, those in the States, did not take this article in their stride. Almost all ‘successful’ Asians retorted through write ups of their own, explaining in the length how they have contributed to the US economy and culture.

But I don’t think Stein has a problem with Indians or as a matter of fact anyone coming to the USA and deciding to settle there.

He begins his article with…

I am very much in favor of immigration everywhere in the U.S. except Edison, N.J. The mostly white suburban town I left when I graduated from high school in 1989 — the town that was called Menlo Park when Thomas Alva Edison set up shop there and was later renamed in his honor — has become home to one of the biggest Indian communities in the U.S., as familiar to people in India as how to instruct stupid Americans to reboot their Internet routers.

Now you may interpret the last sentence as a sarcastic one. But for me it is true. J

What I am trying to point out is everyone is attached to the place where they have grown up. So when one day they return they can tell their kids: ‘This scar on my forehead is from the fall I took from this tree when I was your age.’

‘This is where we played football every Sunday’

I feel sad when I see a coffee shop in place of a card shop. No one bothers to buy greeting cards these days. I feel sad when a bicycle repair shop has to make way for a chicken tikka centre.

In my case, it is not the ‘outsiders’ who have changed the face of the market that I used to visit.

It is not that I am a racist. I just want my home town to be the way I remembered. Change is inevitable, no doubt but there are people like me who take time to adjust to the change. So what if Stein decided to share his unwillingness to accept a change. He may be a racist, but at least give him a chance.

Queen of Hills-III

Chapter 3

Ghost stories, IIAS

Indian Institute of Advance Studies, Shimla

The arrangements for our stay had been made by Sofi’s uncle at a guest house in Chhota Shimla. It was close to their house where we were invited for dinner. The house was beautiful and tastily decorated. Nestled among the hills, the warm house reflected its occupants. Mohinder uncle’s two daughters –Nanu and Pihu--were excited to receive us and his wife had an elaborate spread waiting for us.

The day had been tiring and you would think we retired early that night. But no, we still had the capacity to chatter on into the night. Our hosts made sure we felt at home and it was not long before we all gathered around in the living room, chatting away as if we had known them for ages. Mohinder uncle and his wife made a cute couple. Even after years of marriage, there was a spark, visible even during the brief meeting we had.

Now a night at a hill station is not complete without ghost stories. To complete the picture, there was a power cut as soon as we started the story telling session. (Much to Punuz discomfort. I was glad no one could see how happy I was. The moon was full that nightJ)

The discussion moved on from ghosts to music to careers and what not. Finally, it was time we decided to hit the sack. We had a spacious room to ourselves with a small balcony overlooking the hills. We all snuggled into the quilts and one by one all of us slipped into slumber.

I was the first one to wake up the next morning. (Yes, I can wake up on time when I have to). The sun streamed into the room. The morning could not have been more perfect. After a sumptuous breakfast (the cold coffee with ice cream was to die for), we headed out to Shimla. Nanu gave us company that day. A short bus ride later we were somewhere near the Mall Road. But we were not going to amble away the day.

We walked our way to the Indian Institute of Advance Studies (IIAS). Now IIAS was not as close as we expected and it turned out to be quite a trek. The imposing IIAS building had Victorian architecture printed all over. We took the guided tour and I don’t remember a single thing about its history (For those interested please use Google).

The four of us, along with Nanu, took our time going around the building and the vast gardens beyond. The way back to the Mall Road was too much for Punz. I had to literally carry her on my back. No, really.

We gained some calories at Dominos and later in the evening boarded the bus back home.

One of my favourite pics from the trip

A few days later, I took up a job in a newspaper in Chandigarh. Sofi left for Gurgaon to join a PR firm. Punz was not through with her studies. After DU and PU she joined BU in amrika. Puzu, too, pursued higher studies and went on to teach kids at our very own department. Last year she got married to Jivi jijajiJ. Punz completed her course at BU recently and is now working with a PR firm at Boston.

The trip to Shimla remains as the last memory of us as kids, still in transition. Of the time when we dreamed without fear and believed that we would bring about the next revolution.  Two years hence, the dreams may have altered but what remains is the complete madness that comes out when we are together, even if it is on a group mail. (Thanks to Mexi and her updates). I do not wish to go back in time, but I do wish that the madness remains and grows with us. The madness that keeps us connected with the lost dreams within.

Queen of Hills-II

Chapter 2

The death ride and some cats

I have a lot of respect and love for the good old Maruti 800. My blue CHF may have been a subject of many jokes, but the 21-year-old is not just a piece of metal for our family.

Our ride for the evening

Kashta’s car, however, was in a completely different league. As soon as we were inside, the car refused to start. Embarrassed, Kashta called his brother for help and we all were more than happy to see him . Anyhow, around 15-20 minutes later, we were on our way. After he drove us around to places he often visited as a kid, he then headed towards Naldera. But his car had a mind of its own. She decided to give us a hard time and broke down again. Luckily, we were near a garage. The mechanics took some time to make sure that she did not trouble us anymore that evening. By the time we moved out of Shimla, it had started to rain. We saw our plans being washed down with it, but not Kashta . He pressed down the accelerator and the unwilling car raced along the spiraling roads.

One old car, an overconfident driver, incessant and heavy rains and four screaming girls. This was the ride to and from Naldera that evening. But the brief halt on route made up for all the spoilsports. The rains made the colours so vivid and the air so fresh. It was all worth the troubles.

The view

The day was far from over yet. We finally made the obligatory visit to the Mall Road, Kashta being the hero of the group. He knew all the locals and took every chance to flaunt it. He would grab a couple of jalebis from a sweet shop in exchange of a ‘namaste uncle’ (We were like a bunch of teenagers, following him in awe).

Enjoying all the attention, Kashta said he was taking us to a café on the Mall Road which was once his hangout. Now I have been to Shimla many times. And I have strolled down the Mall Road a lot. But I had never been to this café. It was a little above the Mall Road but not on the Ridge. According to Kashta, the café was once a popular one but with Baristas and CCDs cropping up nearby, it had lost out on its customers.

As we entered this much talked about café, we were greeted by a strange smell. The owners were especially fond of cats and they were everywhere.

We weren’t sure if we wanted to eat there, worried about the hygiene, but Kashta insisted. We sipped the frothy coffee (which was amazing indeed) while Kashta strummed on a guitar. It was a perfect end to a perfect evening.