Thane flooded. India's new Venice. A single burst pipeline they say! Hell, no! Can't believe it. Is there really enough water to flood entire city blocks in those pipelines?

Manchester United won away. Benfica dominated the 1st half. But wow, even without Giggs Man Utd were good in the 2nd. Of course Ashutosh will crib. But he does that any how. Wonder why supporting Arsenal renders every Man Utd victory undeserved. I can't help it. Saha's goal was sensational. He's been prolific this season. Fergie has found his new Ruud van Nistelrooy. ManU need at least 2 new signings, both in midfield, this December. Rumour is that Hargreaves is a certainty. So O'Shea won't have to do his central midfielder's role too often. Let's see how things unfold.

Read about the 'grampanchayat' aauctions in Tamilnadu. Wonder where r we headed as a country. Remember hearing it somewhere that when a ruling system fails the only thing that can keep things moving is black market. Hadn't gathered the full meaning. I guess I'm begining 2 understand it now.

India again lost to Australia. Stupid batting performance. Totally ridiculous. We could have (& should have) won the game by at least 5 wickets in hand. With the World Cup just a few months away I think it's time to settle down into the final world cup squad. Enough experimentation. Revolution can only be a passing phase, not a permanent state.

I was thinking what Charles Manson would be thinking while he did all those crazy things. May be something like this.

insane man's world
insane man's world
insane man's world
and insanity is the sanest thing in that world
after all sane is insane & insane the other
just a matter of perspective
the side of fence we choose sets them apart

never too clever for the insanities
never too sharp for the razor
we lie in wait and hope with our hardest prayers
that someone some day rescues those darkest secrets
until death do us part.

Preshit 2

There lives a little America within every big city of this country. This little America imitates everything that the real larger America does despite of the fact that it has only Indian citizens having strictly Indian origins. It eats burgers, sips coke, guzzles red bull, amuses itself on playstations, follows NBA, wears extremely misfitting clothes, listens to hip hop & harbours the dream of a greencard. It is accused some times correctly and some times incorrectly of being indifferent to the problems of the India that lives around it in all those cities. In reality while this little America concentrates on aping Uncle Sam's land, the real India allows itself to be fragmented & fails to see the bigger picture. It is the truth of the land that each community looks after only itself ignoring the needs of others.

Noticing the watchman give him a glance full of contempt Preshit walked out of the college building. He knew the watchman hated, idolised & envied him & the likes of him in the same way Preshit did Sachin Tendulkar. Adulation comes with the follower's understanding of never being able to reach the same pinnacles as the hero and therefore people idolise someone they can be jealous of. In extreme cases jealosy may also turn into respectful hatred. India within India feels the same for the America within India.

Preshit longed for a drag. He looked around and saw a forty something man covering his wooden box like stall with tarpauline against the rains. Inside the box were many different brands of cigarettes but no chewing tobacco or pan. He approached the man & found him too engrossed in his work to pay attention. He put his right palm on the man's sholder. There was warmth in the touch, quite inexplicably so. The man turned around, "Bolo." Preshit mumbled, "Fi Fi." London based State Express' cigarette brand 555 is called Fi Fi in India. It happens all too often from the common mispronunciation of five combined with the tendency of people all over the world to enforce redundency even when not called for. Preshit gave him a five rupee coin & took a coin back. The man handed him a cigarette& also manufactured a lighter from somewhere in the same motion. "Mereko Mama kehte hain. Naya admission kya?" He gave just a nod in response. Preshit noted the skills of a shrewd Bombay businessman. Illegal vendors working on the streets of the city have a special knack of befriending potential long term customers.

The sky was cloudy & Preshit was not carrying an umbrella. He'ld buy a waist length raincoat soon. He puffed on the cigarette, sucking the acrid smoke in his mouth & letting smoke from the previous drag out through his nose. He repeated it a few times till he got a hit. he just stood there watching people walk past him. A girl with a streak of purple in the bob of her hair bought a cigarette from Mama & stood close to Preshit. "Hi jack, JC?" JC meant Junior College. Preshit had little facial hair to boast of. He looked two or three years younger than his age - which was 18. "FY Physics major." "Hmm Someone just got older. You trying to redefine sweat profusely?" She was obviously refering to his drenched shirt & perspiring forehead. The added humidity just before monsoon makes Bombay sweat out millions of gallons every day. A weekly magazine had proved this through some crappy survey. "Gimme a hug & you'll know." She just laughed. "Natalia Fonseca - SYBA." "Oh, Preshit Samarth." The girl had green eyes, presumably lenses. She had an outward curling lower lip below a somewhat smaller upper. And the peircing on the left ear, half way up from the top of the lobe gave her a faintly exotic appearance. She wore no other ornaments, not even a cross. Surprising for a catholic. He had no doubts she was catholic. Fonseca, a typical Portugese name. He decided to make a quick exit in case it started raining before he was in a train. "Bye, See you around." "Sure Jack, oh sorry Preshit." He came stubbed the cigarette & started walking towards Marine Lines station.

Preshit

It was just 8.30 in the morning & Bombay was already baking under the June Sun. He missed the rains. He thought he'ld make a nice roast meat dish for the vultures if the queue did not move shortly. He wiped the sweat off his brow & opened his new Lee sack. A bottle of lime water rested on one side of the middle compartment. Heat buster! He took a long swig, put the lid back on & replaced the bottle exactly where it was. A fortyish lady looking fairly attractive in her purple punjabi suit turned her head. He blushed as she almost caught him staring at the curves of her body. She smiled knowingly.

There are women who hate boys checking them out. There are hotties who size up another woman's status by the number of heads she can turn around. There are those who just don't give a damn. And then there are ladies who know just why men gawk at them & let them do it. They understand. Perhaps even feel proud deep inside that they are worthy of it. Blue punjabi belonged to the last category. Preshit shuffled his legs. The queue was now moving forward finally. He was dying to get done with the application & go back to the solace of home.

He had scored an excellent percentage in the HSC board exams with even better scores in the Biology group. Hardly a year ago he wanted to become a doctor. But it doesnt take much to spoil one's dreams given the Indian education system. He had toiled the whole last year & finally managed to get done with medical applications & the entrance exam. He had scored well there too. Had he tried he could have been accepted by any medical college except the top ten in the state. He certainly would have gotten a paid seat & his father had the money. But the process had sapped him. Looking at the general lack of regard for the student, the central purpose of the existance of the entire education system, he felt disillusioned. He did not want to rot in those poultry like medical classrooms packed with stupid nerds being shephearded by ever frustrated lecturers.

He thought he wanted to study in an institution where he could feel at home. A place with a human touch. A place that he could proudly call his own. He had always loved Physics and his tutor for the subject had recommended St. Xavier's as the best in Bombay, perhaps even in the country. He had applied immediately & found his name in the very first merit list. So here he was with all annexures & a form duly filled waiting in queue. It took him all of four hours to lodge his application. Looking at his scores, Prof. Vaman Rao, Vice-Principal - Academic Improvement immediately accepted him. 'Your interview would merely be a formality mister. Make sure one of your folks attends it.'

Preshit walked out smiling to himself, thinking the wait was worth it after all.

Well....

For the last year or so I've been pondering over writing a novel. I've made bits and pieces starts on nnumerous occasions, each time giving up in a day or two. I know what I want to write about. I know the general direction in which my writing is going to move. But when I start words betray me. This strange phenomenon has become a common thing in my life. I converse with myself beautifully. But the moment I try putting down the same thing on paper or perhaps even sharing it with someone, I find myself at a complete loss of words. It seems strange. Almost eerie. I used to feel the same in drawing classes. I could see a picture on the canvas of my mind. I could peep into this world of thought & could note the most minute details. And yet my sketch would not resemble it the least bit.

Should I go abroad for further studies? My whole life lies here in Bombay. Of course family & friends & yes you guessed correctly. But more than all that, I belong here. I am a creation of this land. My appearance, my clothes, my language, my attitude, my extensions protruding into the outside world, my thoughts, my dreams and even the 'I' in me belongs here. Will I survive elsewhere? Willl 'elsewhere' allow me to be myself? Or will it hack me into pieces, modify each one of them the way it wants & refit to create a new me? Will 'elsewhere' pamper me like this place has? Will 'elsewhere' be a surrogate mother to me? Will I feel at home after losing my way elsewhere? Will I get a free glass of water after roaming aroung 'elsewhere' looking for some unknown objects in the hot sun? Or will 'elsewhere' shun me, wanting me to start travelling in a car?

I think I will do what I've always wanted to do. Go & come back. To go never to return doesnt fit my idea of perfect universe. I hope it doesn't fit hers too.

Cable

I have observed the recent court case whereby the supreme court has benned boradcast of adult movies on television. How about allowing it?

For the last many years the so called moral police have been monopolising the right to define morality for us. We need to raise our voices against it. Why should I miss out on 'Schindler's List' if Prof. Mrs. Naithani doesnt want to see it? What happens to my choice? Let's not forget that television is a medium that a family follows within it's household. A programme on television is not 'public broadcast'. Secondly - & this is the most important of issues for me - why should Prof. Mrs. Naithani & the court decide what is moral & what is not? If it is an incident in a public place then yes the courts definitely can. But as long as it is a private matter to be passed judgement on by each individual, both of them should not have a say. Its not a crime to watch an adult film cleared by the censor board. There is an argument that tries emotional blackmail. Mrs. Naithani will be the first to raise it. 'Our children get affected by vulgar content on TV'. Well, in that case the parents need to be helped save their children. There are enough electronic devices that can block off channels deemed unsuitable for viewing by children without parental giudance. I plead with the court to give me my freedom to choose. Can't we concentrate our energies on more important issues? There are millions of Indians having to survive on a single meal a day. There are millions of children who don't have access to schools. There are millions below the poverty line. Our country is plagued by corruption. Why is morality such a major issue? The answer to this question will be long enough to write a whole book on. Anyways, I want the freedom to choose.

Omkara

Omkara is a good movie. I could not find 'Othello' in 'Omkara' much to Bharadwaj's credit. The movie is perfectly Indianised. Bharadwaj has chosen the modern day era to canvas the 'Othello' theme of centuries ago. It just emphasises the eternal existance of instinctive emotions.

The central character in the movie is jealousy. Crowning of 'Kesu Firangi' as 'Bahubali' ahead of 'Langda Tyagi' sparks it. Vivek (Viveik ?) Oberoi looks his part. He looks an incompetent fool who has tasted success owing to subordinates. Saif on the other hand has the macho looks that when coupled with a crippled leg create a man who has been denied his worth. He sports a practiced crazy laughter & does everything a typical North Indian Testosterone driven man will. Ajay Devgan has a character that fits him to a tee. He has done well to underplay it. Someone like Sunny Deol with his habit of hogging footage would have been a total screw up in his role. Naseer does well as usual, being his composed self. The bald pate & host of ornaments help him look the part. Kareena looks a woman to be utterly & completely possessed by a man. She looks the woman who when seen with another man will invoke jealousy. Her intimate moments with Ajay aid in this portrayal of a woman who more than willingly has sex, even before marriage. Konkona once again proves what a gifted actor she is with her 'dehati boli' & open referrals to sex. The 'kamar bandh' that causes the final twist in the tail is well chosen and plays an important part.

I found the camera work exceptional. The swing movement to expose alternately the bodies of Ajay & Kareena is wonderfully imagined. Saif's limp could have been highlighted a touch but as it is it serves the purpose.

All in all it's a wonderful entertainment package. Except for the first piece of action when Ajay claims to be a 'sher', not a 'ghoda', the sequencing is flawless. The movie sends its strongest message across, althought this message is to be interpreted by each individual watcher. Initially I had thought it to be a testosterone driven male dominance cinema but it turned out to be pleasantly different. There are pro's of seeing every movie without knowing the storyline, even when there's no element of suspense.

Bob

Bob is motivation. Bob is voice. Bob is pure entertainment. Bob is defiance. Bob is a rebel. Bob is creativity. Bob is dreamland. Bob is thirst. Bob is desert. Bob is......... Bob is Bob.

My love affair with him began when I rode on the most simple guitar strums one balmy Bombay afternoon. I'm still trying to find the answers to those simplest of questions he asked me. How many times must the cannon balls fly before they are forever banned is on my mind right now. & the other day while I heard about Malegaon blasts I was thinking how many deaths will it take for us to know that too many people have died.

Bob I'm gathering people wherever I roam. & I have accepted that the water around me is growing. & I have accepted that soon I'll be drenched to the bone. Yes my time to me is worth savin' so I've started swimming & I won't sink like a stone. I know the times they are a-chaning'.