The Federer Era

End of day 5th July, 2009: 15 Grand Slam titles to Roger Federer.

A momentous feat accomplished in half the time that Pete Sampras took to his path to greatness. This raises a few important questions. Is Federer the greatest player to have ever lived? Or, would he have been so successful if he had played in the times of Sampras-Agassi or Edberg-Cash-Becker or McEnroe-Borg, at their peak.

At every point in time, the human race has produced men of more or less equal capabilities. Men thrown in to the open field in a battle of the survival of the fittest. And often, one emerges conqueror and the others, the vanquished. It was the same when Federer arrived on the scene. A man from Switzerland trying to find his place in the world of an aging Sampras and a struggling Agassi. Federer had an incisive serve that he could depend on to clinch the game from 0-40 down. A powerful forehand that could create miraculous angles, straight out of a trigonometry book. The smoothest backhand, that sometimes resembled a scud missile and sometimes, a beguiling frisbee. And Federer simply had more time than anyone to play a shot. Call it time management or space management; he was a master of all four dimensions.

A cricket coach once said, “People like Sachin Tendulkar because he makes the game look easy. Look at every shot, the way he plays. Simply effortless. You believe even you could play the shot that easily.” Such is Federer’s approach towards the game and his dominance over his contemporaries. For every greatest player, there is a second greatest, who is made, and who springs up working on the weakness of the former. Sampras’ drawbacks made Agassi. A faltering Graf made Seles. Microsoft made Linux. If Federer has no equal competition, it’s because he chose not to create one. Perfecting his game with every match, he has reduced opponents to insignificance, ruined their tennis careers and nipped many potential greats in the bud.

Or if you think Nadal is the One, the ideal challenger, let’s see if he can be keep up his fitness to play Federer over a consistent period of time.

Over the last 7 or 8 years, Federer has cast such a spell that the memory of any other contemporary player almost ceases to exist, barring a few. There is an aura about him that makes his opponents almost willingly and happily surrender, sometimes much before the match. But, every sport is watched for entertainment. It has to offer the obvious drama that appeals to the masses. And perfection, most often, doesn’t provide it.

When Muhammed Ali, the heavyweight boxing champion, knocked out his opponent in a couple of minutes, the spectators, having paid a few thousand dollars for the ticket, felt cheated. A few thousand dollars only for a few minutes? How dare he win so easily?  They needed more drama.

When Federer wraps up a match in straight sets, and that too without any animated display of emotions, the audience finds it lacking in entertainment. If Federer conquers the court with effortless ease, it’s no fault of the man. If the masses fail to appreciate the hard work and brilliance behind every shot, and still demand ostentatious drama, they have WWE to watch.

So, is Federer the greatest player to have ever played the sport? How long will the Federer Era last? We’ll only be able to tell after a few years. In retrospect.

The Ubiquitous Pav

The Vada Pav may be the state snack of the Maharashtrians, but one cannot forget the contribution of the Pav in it. 95% of Mumbaikars wake up in the hope that they would eat Pav that day and the remaining 5% to make it. The Pav is just everywhere. In tea stalls, in the station, in paper shops and even in exclusively South Indian restaurants of Mumbai. Someone’s either eating it or carrying it or it’s just lying there.

The Pitiable Pav

Of all bread forms, I find the Pav to be the most abused one. It starts right from being the baker’s punching bag when he is angry to the common man’s munching cud when he is hungry.

There is no packaging whatsoever and it’s left naked since the day it is manufactured. It’s like the dough getting a sun tan and then waking up to find itself baked and the clothes have disappeared.

The Pav is then transported to shops in the back of cycles with bread against bare metal. In the shop, the relatively cleaner ‘show piece’ lot is stored in glass shelves, right in front and the ‘consumption’ lot is taken out, one at a time, from a hidden compartment somewhere under the shelf.

In a crowded roadside eatery, if you try to sit somewhere or try moving around too much, and land on something soft, there is definite chance that it is a loaf of Pav. These ‘damaged’ pieces then go back into the hidden compartment, only to come out again, later.

The Battered Pav

The Pav is also one of the most shabbily served snacks, no matter what it is served with.

A Vada Pav always has an oversized vada stuffed into a split Pav. I simply do not understand why they don’t customize the size of the vada according to the Pav. I think it is the sheer pleasure of seeing the vada spill out.

The Samosa Pav is always awkward to eat, with the pointed tip of the Samosa making a big nub on the Pav.

And the Bhajiya Pav has a gazillion bhajiyas pushed into an innocent looking Pav. Imagine your mouth split wide open and a watermelon shoved into it.

If its cousin, the sandwich bread, can be treated better, then why not the Pav? Why such a clumsy treatment.

The Staple Pav

Apart from being the most abused ingredient, the Pav is a constant in 90% of Maharashtrian snacks. It just goes with anything.

Oversized vada pressed and bulging from inside a Pav – Vada Pav

Awkwardly placed samosa in a Pav – Samosa Pav

Billion bhajiyas stuffed into a Pav – Bhajiya Pav

Yellow shit water and Pav – Ragda Pav

Boiled dal with namkeen thrown over it and Pav by the side – Missal Pav

Need something to chew with your tea? – Chai aur Pav

All the vegetables you can name, smashed into gravy, with the Pav – Pav Bhaji

Nothing but the Pav – Khaali Pav

And it’s an endless list.

So, I think we need to give the Pav due credit and a little more respect.  The Pav is here to stay.

Jai Maharashtra!

The Namefake

Disclaimer: This is neither an honest review nor a spoof of a book or the movie by the same name. This one is about brands and brand-building.

 

Building brands requires a lot of money, energy and time. Sometimes even a lifetime. Over the years, many great minds have built great brands like Nike, Adidas, Apple, Sony, Pepsi etc. and all of us today are aware of what even just the brand name can do. While the brand managers of these big brands strategize to annihilate the supposedly ‘big’ competition and revel in their sales figures, little do they know that their namesake, locally, is making double the business.

Adidas: A Case Study

This one is etched in my memory and has the highest recall. During one of my visits to a roadside shop in Cuff Parade, South Mumbai, I saw this shoe with 3 striking fluorescent stripes with a price sticker on it that read Rs.400. An Adidas for 400 bucks? What shit!

I didn’t notice much at first glance, but then after two seconds, the name struck me like spikes on a racetrack.

Adibas.

Yes. Adi ‘fucking’ bas. Adibas.

And, Did I Become A Sucker?

Yes.

Come on, how can you differentiate between Adidas and Adibas? The stripes were there. And the logo too. Only a semi-corrupted, smart alec will attempt to copy the logo and alter the name, just slightly, to avoid any legal interference. For once I even thought the manufacturer was dyslexic for getting the ‘d’ wrong in the spelling and so I wanted to clarify.

“What the hell is this? Looks just like Adidas.” I said, to the shop keeper.

“Sir, here it’s like that only. Anything is possible“, he said, winking at me.

That’s what he tells anyone who is surprised by his shoe. His “Anything is possible” kept ringing in my head for some reason. Then suddenly I realized something. Wasn’t that another way of saying “Impossible is nothing”?

What? He has even got a tagline for his brand? Do a fake name and a fake line work together? Do two negatives actually make a positive? Yes.

Adibas – Anything is possible!

Now, that’s brand building.

It’s not like a Jumbo King trying to do a McDonald’s business model. Or even a Ghajini imitating a Memento. It’s like Anu Malik making his career. The sheer audacity to duplicate without even an iota of guilt. To cater to the needs of the masses.   

I couldn’t control myself from laughing.

“So, what’s your name?”, I asked.

“Amitabachchan”, he said.

Taken aback by that, I then said with sarcasm, “Yeah right, you’re Amitabh”.

Then he explained, “No sir, I am not Amitabh. I am Amitabachchan. Not Amitabh Bachchan, but Amitabachchan. No last name.”

This is the world we live in today. And in case you need more examples for counterfeit brands that are really popular, here are some for sample

 

Brand: PanaSony

Location: Grant Road, Mumbai

USP: A hybrid combination that gives you the best of both technologies.

Price: Rs.2500 for a 21″

That fellow could have rather named it PanaPhoney.

 

Brand: Pepy Jeans

Location: A shop near Andheri Station, Mumbai

USP: A unique tinge of lavender in the denim. Designed with cat’s whiskers like faded stripes emerging from the crotch, plus an embroidered heart on the back pocket. And strangely, it’s for guys.

Price: Rs.300 only. Colour options available.

 

Brand: Roy Ban

Location: Juhu Beach, Mumbai

USP: India’s answer to Aviators.

Price: Rs.300 onwards. But negotiable if you can speak fluent Bengali.

 

And these examples can go on and on.

In an ideal world of unashamed pretense, a common scene would be this:

A guy is riding his Bonda CDRV bike, wearing a Tomy Hilfigure jacket and a Roll-X watch, with Bippa Shah sitting behind and Mini Shah in front.

Cheers.

I am a local-ite

One of the irrefutable symbols of Mumbai is the local train, affectionately known as the locals. It represents the culture, connectivity, crowd and casualties of the city. An average Mumbaikar spends about one-eighth of his life in the locals. He becomes an actual localite.

Here are a few things you need to know to turn into or at least, behave like a localite:

1.      The Attitude: When in locals, act local. Any attempt to act cool or smart will land you in trouble. Try to learn the local language and in case you can’t, try interspersing your Hindi conversations with a lot of ‘Ahe Ahe’ coughs. This respectful gesture of pro-Marathi coughing will save you from a lot of trouble.

      (‘Ahe’ in Marathi is like the ending ‘Hai’ of a Hindi sentence).

2.      Welcome To The Club: When you travel in the locals, you are part of a club. So, there are certain rules that you have to abide by, whether you like it or not. Strangely, some of the rules of Fight Club apply here as well:

        Rule #1: You do not talk about the locals.

         Because, people will think you, as an outsider, is making a big deal out of it.

        Rule #2: You do not talk about the locals.

         Because, everybody is busy in their own worlds, that no one is listening to you.

        Rule #3: No shoes. No shirts.

         Both will be torn eventually.

At the end of your journey, you’ ll get out wearing just a collar and holding a piece of your torn pocket. And by any chance, you realize you have just one shoe, you may buy the other from the 2nd hand shoe store on platform no.2 in Dadar.

3.      Your Time Starts Now: Once you are in the train, the probability of you getting a seat is a complex function of a number of environment variables. It depends on the number of people standing on your toe at that point of time, your fitness level, fluency in Marathi and of course, knowledge on the action sequences from the movie Krrish. (Or even a perfunctory glance of Rajnikant clips on Youtube will give you a definite edge over others)

4.      The Prostitute Angle : The locals are favourably or unfavourably, pretty unbiased in a few ways. You may be fully inside or may be trying to dig your way in the whole time, but you still pay the same as everyone for the journey. Only that, the rich, first class pay a little extra for the same experience. And truly, the universal caution message holds good – Enter at your own risk.

5.     Murphy Jinxed It: Distance here is measured in time and not by the number of stations. There are 14 stations between Andheri and Churchgate and ideally, the train should reach the stations in between at the specified time. But, Murphy’s Law is applicable to the local trains by default – “If anything can go wrong, it will”. Once a train driver suddenly stopped the train somewhere much before Mumbai Central, as he could hear the National Anthem playing in Maratha Mandir before a show of DDLJ. That’s respect, a tad too much.

6.      When In Doubt, Poke: An important lesson that I learnt from travelling in the locals is not to assume things. Obvious postures of men standing near the exit, showing the readiness to get off in the next stop, convey nothing at all. The only logical move will be to ask and confirm that the person in front is getting down in the next station and if not, to push him back. Otherwise, you’ll take a trip all the way till the last stop.

7.      Don’t Go Against The Tide: Acting dead and being along the wave of a Tsunami is always better than trying to cut your way across it. When caught in a mob aligned in one direction, it’s wise to just let go and let nature take its course; otherwise the mob might get quite furious.

8.      The Answer To A Subdued Nightlife: This happens at a point in people’s lives when they travel so much everyday that they miss out on the buzzing nightlife of the city. They form mini clubs in trains and start partying. The members get booze in Pepsi bottles from near Borivli station and sit down in a group  near the entrance in the trains. One fellow takes out a pack of cards and a game of Poker is started along with drinks. The main rule of the game is that the gain or loss is to be settled in cash before Dadar station, where they all get down and part ways.

9.      The Machli Scare: When you hear some one shout “Machli ka paani, Machli ka paani” from behind, it’s not always someone crying wolf and trying to fool you to get himself ahead. It seriously can be a Machliwala who is making his way through the crowd. 

It’s safe to give way or else, you might have to go to Dhobi Ghat to get the smell of the Machli Paani off your clothes.

10.  It’s All Public Property: In the locals, you own nothing. Not even your body. Your different body parts might be squeezed and get trapped in different places. A typical scenario: Both your arms are stretched and holding the handles for balance, your dangerously low jeans are slipping even lower and a sweat drop is just about to break from your nose. That’s when you understand the meaning of public property. You free your arms in a hurry to pull up your jeans, which has now dropped to your knees and wipe the sweat from your nose on the shirt of the person in front. Yeah! That’s the way to go.

I have become a localite not just by staying in Mumbai, but by making the locals a part of my daily life.

Happy travelling!

When I was on Cloud No.10

So, I had booked my ticket for Ahmedabad – Chennai for Diwali through Air Deccan. I had booked it months in advance and had got a really nice deal – 5200 Rs for the whole round trip. As Diwali neared, all my friends were panicking for their last minute bookings, I sat relaxed. 

On the eve of the day on flying, I got a message from Air Deccan saying that the flight has been cancelled and my money will be refunded. This completely threw me off balance. After making infinite calls to the helpline number that they had given, I found out that the whole service route had been taken off. At the end of a long argument and negotiation the helpline person and I reached a compromise that I would be rerouted through Jaipur to Chennai on the same day and at the same cost. Although going all the way to Jaipur and then to Chennai didn’t make much sense, I agreed. 

My problems with the airlines had started off from then.

I reached the airport at 6:30 in the morning only to find out that my flight had not even arrived. That meant a delay of atleast one hour. After an hour, I learnt that the flight would never come anytime soon and they had arranged a mini aircraft for us rerouted passengers.

Finally we boarded the plane at 8:30. The mini plane was somewhat like a rocket made to lie down on its stomach. I even for once thought that it would stand up vertically and then take off into space. The aircraft was incredibly narrow in girth and had rows of two seats on each side. The passage in between was so narrow that people who wear jeans with even waist size 36 had to walk sideways. As I squeezed my way through the middle, my bag got hooked on to an edge and I tripped and fell down at a pair of neatly waxed legs. I slowly lifted my gaze to see it was the airhostess who stepped back in surprise. She was a young woman, a little on the plumper side. Her uniform was so tight that the suppressed fat under it was dying for freedom, in perhaps, much more desperation than India did in 1947. 

“Eh . . . Sorry. My bag got stuck. My seat number is 23 A.”, I said.

“You can sit anywhere, sir. It’s free seating”

“In that case can I get any one of those seats? “, I said, pointing to the seats near the emergency with 
enough leg space.

“No sir. That’s reserved for old people.” she said, attending to a couple of old hags.

I sighed and looked for a place else where. The plane was almost full and I found myself an empty seat in the corner. I had to accommodate myself in that little rat hole of a seat, spreading my legs and encroaching my neighbour’s space. The seat began to rattle as I adjusted myself. The recliner got stuck and it was worse than a Tamilnadu state transport deluxe bus seat. I was getting mentally prepared to sit erect for the rest of my journey. To add more to the misery the person in front had a seat that reclined too much that his face was right below my chin. We were in an uncomfortably romantic pose, much the amusement of my neighbour.

The cabin crew was getting ready for the take off doing the routine instructions regarding the seatbelts, safety precautions and oxygen masks. The crew was so disinterested in doing the routine that it was way ahead of the audio and had finished the actions when the audio was still in the Hindi version of it. 

Terribly bored, I dug into the pouch on front of me and picked up the in-flight magazine. It had a grinning picture of its founder, striking a pose. It was as if he couldn’t stop laughing, looking at the state in which I was in. I cursed him to my heart’s content. It had an article, in which the founder was proudly declaring, 
“We cut costs in every possible way so that every one can fly. Air Deccan will always be the aam admi’s airlines”

But what about the average middle class Indian who wants to fly at a low fare and still get decent enough service and facilities? I still had his same smiling face looking at me from the magazine cover.

Consoling myself, I moved on. I asked for some water and a bottle of water was sold to me for double the price and half the quantity. 

After some time, the cabin crew came out with a jewellery box and was trying to organize and auction and sell it to the highest bidder. The logic of them selling stuff on the plane puzzled me. They didn’t realize that people had paid the minimum fare and come on board. If they wouldn’t even pay for a bottle of water, what’s the point in selling pearls to them? After a futile attempt, the cabin crew returned to their places. 

I was not sure if it’s the morning breakfast or my air sickness, it made me very uneasy. I went to the loo to free myself. After I finished my job in there, I searched for the toilet paper. There were only cardboard remains of a once full tissue paper roll. Shocked, I wanted to scream my lungs out in disgust. I couldn’t sneak my head out from the loo and shout “Hey, there are no tissues. The roll is empty. Can I get one immediately please”? Suddenly, I remembered the bottle of water that I bought and the tissues I got with it. I searched my jacket and luckily I had kept it with me. The feeling was like finding gold. That had made my day.

Later, I was back in my seat as if nothing had happened. I tried to close my eyes and get some sleep. I was woken by a sharp piercing feeling in my leg. I was startled and immediately bent down to see what it was.

It was a mosquito!!! A god damned mosquito. 

What the hell was the mosquito doing there at 30,000 feet above the ground? 

That was it. It had taken me beyond my threshold. 

I got up in a fit of fury and was about to call out to the cabin crew to complain when the pilot announced that we were ready for landing.

Anti-climax.

But, more than the agony of the experience I was delighted to land and get out of the plane.

But, I had reached just Jaipur. I still had another dreadful journey from there to take to Chennai. 

Ah!!!!!!!!!

Sun Music – musicfully yours

Well . . . . . the most often asked question is . . . “What do you do on weekends”? 

No one likes to answer this question coz they think answering this question is close to giving a speech and would simply settle for something like “Me? Hmmm . . . . . . ummm . . . . . . did nothing basically“.

To quote Seinfeld “Doing nothing is not as easy as it seems . . . . . the idea of doing anything . . . . which may easily lead to doing something . . . . . that would cut into your nothing . . . . and in the end will have you to drop everything”.

I realize this almost every weekend. The nothing is actually something that I have been doing every Saturday . . . . . but watching Sun Music is not something that you can be proud of and brag about.

Sun Music – musicfully yours.

Sun Music is actually very much part of our lives or atleast mine. It has got a target audience for each of its programmes and its own set of rules which it follows very strictly.

For e.g. “Hi Kuttees”, a programme at 7:00 in the morning is for little children where only ‘kuttees’ are allowed to speak. Since there is no constitutional rule regarding the age limit of the children, 12th standard school girls preparing for their board exams calling up in the show in not uncommon. They actually have a screening squad which judges the authenticity of the caller. Priya, the 12th std. school girl and her gang of friends are now in the black list for having faked little children’s voices in “Hi Kuttees”.

We also have parents of little children, who have this burning desire to listen to their children’s voices on TV waking up their children early in the morning for this. The children, still in half sleep are forced to call up and speak. The little ones say ‘Hi’ then immediately say ‘Goodnight’, hang up and go back to sleep.

In another case: at 2:00 in the afternoon there was this bored middle aged guy calling into the ‘Ladies Choice’ programme. The conversation goes something like this:

Guy: Hello 
Sun Music: Hello . . . Ladies choice . . . . neenga yaaru pesarathu?

The guy realizes that it’s ‘Ladies Choice’ and remains quiet for a second.

SM: Hello??
Guy: Hello . . . . . . Sandhya . . . . naan Saravanan from Velachery.
SM: Sir . . . . . ithu ladies choice programme sir . . . . . . only ladies allowed . . 
Guy: Oh appadiya???
SM: aamam sir . . . . unga veetla unga amma illa wife illa unga ponnu iruntha koopidunga sir . . . . . .
Guy: veetla yaarume illa . . . . . romba bore adikkuthu . . . athan . . . . 
SM: sorry sir . . . . neenga . . . . . 5 o clock call panni ‘Blade’ . . Dhina kooda pesunga . . .
Guy: hmmmm . . . okay . . . 
Guy is obviously very depressed.
SM: anyways sir . . . thanks for calling . . . . . (nakkal)

The guy terribly bored waited till 5 o clock, spoke to ‘Blade’ Dhina and committed suicide immediately after that. The reasons for death are still unknown.

So I think you get the point. Rules are rules in Sun Music.

Love is in the air. Love is literally in the air. The super-romantic messages in Sun Music stand testimony to this. Here is a sample . . . . . 

‘Hi Chellam’
‘Hi da Chellam’
‘Chellam . . . I love you da’
(Kill Prakash Raj for this)

‘Miss u toooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much da Shanti Chellam’

(The bottom half of the TV screen was completely filled with the o’s. This fellow really misses his chellam, Shanti)

‘Jyothi : I love Vijayanand Arogyaraj , Vinayaga colony, Madurai’ 

(Vijay Anand Arogyaraj, Vinayaga colony, Madurai ??? That’s his profile data in his job resume. Jyothi must have met this fellow in naukri.com, which is now developing into a hot dating website. She wanted to be specific you see, in case the other Vijayanand’s got happy seeing this.

Sun Music thought this message was not for them and sent it to Vijayanand Arogyaraj in Madurai through Blue dart couriers.)

In the middle of this sizzling romance there is the usual SMS war between Ajith and Vijay’s fans. It almost carries on like in a Yahoo Messenger Chat room. 

‘Senthil: Vijay is the next Super Star.’
‘Bharani : Vijay is not star. USA – Ultimate Star Ajith . .Thalai rules . . . Athu!!’
‘Babu : Ajith,Vijay waste . . . ‘naan avan illai’ Jeevan is the new star’
(Now Vijay and Ajith’s fans unite to drive out the Jeevan fan) 
‘Senthil: Jeevan fan Babu . . . . appeat please ‘
‘Bharani : Yes . . Babu mariyathaya escape . . . .Athu!!!’
(Now comes the classic line)
‘Rajni fan : SUPER STAR rules with SIVAJI – THE BOSS’

Keep in mind that it takes 6 Rs per SMS to be on Sun Music. There is also news that these SMSes are sponsored by the respective ‘rasigar manrams’.
Insiders say that the VJs, as part of their contract must send ‘I love Sun Music’ messages atleast 10 times a day each or else their contracts would be cancelled. Prajin, a VJ on Sun Music who often fell short of his daily quota of ending these messages has been shifted to the 11pm slot and cancellation of his contract is now being considered seriously.

The Sun Music VJs are celebrities now wherever they go. The views are so involved in the channel that the VJs become one among their family members. Anandakannan, a popular VJ on Sun Music get invited for dinner almost everyday and get his groceries for free as most of his callers are wives of grocery shop owners. To get an idea of how much the views love him take a look at this.

Housewife : Hello Anandakannan !!!!!!!

Anandakannan : Hello madam eppadi irukeenga ???
(Anandakannan knows its Selvi from Selayur . . . . a regular caller)

HW : naan nalla irukken . . . . . .
AK : approm sollunga . . . veetla ellarum eppadi irukanga ?
HW : athey vidunga . . nethi nite neenga oru caller kitta pesumpothu unga vayiru seri illai . . . . . . . gas trouble nnu soneengale . . . . . ippo eppadi irukku ?
AK : ippo parava illai . . . . kalaila Mylapore Mala tablet anupchanga . . . ippo parava illai
HW : odamba pathukonga Anandakannan . . . naan evening call panren . . . Bye.
AK : Bye.

People of the Sun Music fraternity are probably the most hardworking. They work from 7.00 AM till midnight. After midnight its nonstop VJ-free music till 7:00 the next day when ‘Hi Kuttees’ comes up again.

After this would anyone dare to ask what I do on weekends?

Kantha Kannazhagi . . . unakku naan arasiyalla edam pakaren . . . . . . . . . Start Meesic !!!!!!!!!!!!! (Goundamani style)

Mid-Sunday Blockbuster

Imagine this . . . Sunday afternoon, its hot outside and pretty pleasant inside and you are sitting in your drawing room with all your pillows set up on the floor to provide you with that ultimate mid-day comfort. You are relaxing after a tiresome week of work (or no work – even that’s tiring) and Saturday night outing. You switch on the TV to check if there is anything on.

This would be the normal scenario in most of the homes I suppose.

I went through this yet another time this Sunday. Media explosion and with too many TV channels sharing the space any average Indian would find it difficult to make this important decision on a boring Sunday afternoon. Having turned down my friend’s offer for going out to the ground for some cricket and giving excuses to my mom for not helping in cleaning the house I had to do something which was justifying and worth the time. TV was rather an easy option. I argued with my mom on how informative the TV was and how it helped in socializing. I browsed through all the channels once to find if there was anything interesting . . . . . hmmmm nothing . . . . Absolutely nothing. All the news channels were beaming something on the quota reservation controversy including the regional ones, Mtv was obsessed with its new found super star – Himesh Reshamiya , Discovery was airing something about implanting RF ID chips in captured criminals so that they are easily retraceable and would help in crime pattern matching which was just too much for my brain cells to handle and then…… there was VIJAY TV.

What can beat a Chinese movie with a promise of mind blowing action and unintentional comedy during the most unexpected times? I had second thoughts on watching this one as my mother was also giving me a stare remembering the ‘informative thing’ argument that I had with her a little while ago. But I put aside all the other thoughts and clung on to my decision of watching this one as it was an authentic Chinese movie in the first place and the icing on the cake being that it was dubbed in Tamil.

Tung Sung productions presents

‘ The chi chi Dragon ’

Starring Sui Lin (heroine) , Nang Chu (hero) and Chui Bum (villain).

The storyline if you are trying to find it goes like this. There is a Chinese man and another Chinese man and since they are two of them, they are enemies. Then enters Miss China who is supposedly the most gorgeous woman alive as claimed by her co-villagers in the movie. The heroine (Sui Lin – this reference is for all those ardent Chinese movie fans) for no reason or the reason being an intense feeling of lust is kidnapped by the villain and is taken on a horseback to the villain’s hideout. The lustful expression was quite difficult to guess had it not been for the Tamil dubbing. The actors are so good that they are able to convey a plethora of emotions in that single expression – now the expression is patented by The Global Chinese Actors Guild and the exclusive right to use it has been given to Bollywood superstar Govinda (something India can be proud of). Feelings of anger, calmness, lust, happiness, constipation, asphyxiation and torture are shown in a single expression that is easy to miss if you are not following the ‘story’ closely.

Back to the story now . . . . The hero driven by a combination of righteousness, jealousy and lust (not so intense as the villain as a result of which he has become the hero) is infuriated by this and literally runs after the horse throwing chopsticks at the villain. The next scene shows the heroine all tied up by the villain and is ready for assault. Then an unprecedented incident is shown on screen for the first time in Chinese cinema . . . . the heroine being kissed on the lips . . . a Chinese kiss. I am still wondering how this one escaped the eyes of the censor board. Now I am told that the producer, director and the whole cast of the movie are serving life sentence for being part of such a scene. The under-aged kids who watched it unknowingly or knowingly were punished with 22 hours of community service and a full month of non stop school.

I think I am losing track of the story now. As the heroine resists the kiss as she is expected to do, it makes the villain want her even more and he spreads his saliva all over her face. The punishment for showing this lecherous act was also included in the life sentence. Now the villain’s six inches long beard originating from his lower lip begins to twitch vigorously. The villain understands and in turn from his expression we understand that he has sensed the hero nearing his territory. He takes the heroine and climbs to the top of a tower made of large chopsticks. The base of the tower is left to be guarded by the villain’s father who is ready to help his son achieve his ‘moral’ mission. The hero makes a dramatic entry and creates a hurricane with the movement of his body parts which only Rajnikanth has been able to emulate so far. This storm of course takes the villain’s father flying away across the Great Wall of China but the chopstick structure staying intact as it has the heroine in it. The villain comes flying down the tower to fight the hero and this is opposed by the hero hurling toothpicks towards the villain’s ass. The villain falls down with a thud and the toothpicks are driven more inside making his rear side a toothpick stand. Terrible angry with this he takes out his sword and starts to show some martial art tricks to the hero (but the expression on his face still showing the pain from the toothpick injections). The duo keeps fighting in what is claimed to be the biggest action sequence in cinema history. The stunts shown defy all the laws of physics that any person has ever learnt with gravity being reversed which is quite common in Chinese movies. They keep fighting around the tower (in the air of course) and keep moving higher up the tower like a satellite. The heroine feels happy because the hero has come to rescue her and even happier to know that he has newly acquired flying powers like a bird. They two keep chopping the tower as they keep fighting and the heroine keeps falling down at each chop. Finally she falls on a horse that has been specially been brought by the thoughtful hero for her to escape. As she falls safely on the horse (in fact lands exactly on the saddle) the hero smiles and there is a brief stolen moment of romantic glances between the hero and the heroine. The villain makes use of this moment and strikes the hero and a violent reaction entangles the hero’s long tresses in wood pillar nearby. I seriously wondered why he had such long hair to make him more effeminate and it made it hard in distinguishing between sexes. The hero is pushed down from the tower after being hit on the head and he falls into the waiting arms of the heroine who is still around I think to give the villain a second chance. The heroine takes the unconscious hero to safety.

The hero gains consciousness and the heroine learns that he has lost his memory as he starts to behave ‘crazy’ (read ‘normal’ ,as anything against ordinary Chinese behavior is considered normal). The heroine tries all kinds of strategies to bring him back to normal; like acting like a child trying to bring back his childhood memories, performing martial art stunts that he had learnt from his master and once even tries to imitate the villain attempting to bring that vengeance back into him but he is unmoved and remembers nothing. The scene before the climax is when the heroine cries out loud and vents out her frustration for not being able to bring back the hero to normal by some very powerful dialogues (literally translated to Tamil i.e. dubbed by a four-times-national-award winning lyricist). This is when I cried feeling closely to what the heroine had felt in the movie. Then a miracle happens. The hero’s brain is affected by her speech; if not by the meaning at least by the sheer vibrations of the vocal waves that she sent out. Now when it is least expected there is a reversal of situations. The heroine goes mad screaming and the hero becomes normal listening to it. When you now think that the mode will go into a comical infinite loop where the hero and the heroine will go mad and become normal alternatively for each others sake, the story just moves on. This is what is called sheer brilliance in direction and trend-setting innovative story-telling.

The vengeful hero then howls loudly (lifted from Tarzan, the fact which the director has candidly accepted in all his interviews) and goes in search of the villain for his payback time.

To cut a long story short the hero kills the villain by shooting toothpicks into every cell of his body allowing no room for skin to be seen. After you think everything is over as the villain’s body lies still, the toothpick covered body gets up with great difficulty and says ‘I ll be back’ and disappears into thin Chinese air. This scene won the award in the Best Scene in Chinese Cine History category in the Sansui Awards (equivalent to the Oscars in China). After the powerful ‘I’ ll be back’ line a thing that you don’t want to happen happens – THE END appears on the screen and the trailer for the sequel appears- The Chi-Chi Dragon II .

End of Movie. Beginning of boredom.

4 o’ clock, it’s early morn!

I had to get down at the K.R.Puram stop which is about 30 minutes away from Bangalore City station. I woke up right in time and almost instinctively with the guy whom I had arranged to wake me up snoring loudly in the adjacent berth.

I poked him with the edge of my bag , “Sir , the train has stopped . I guess this is KR Puram”.
He woke up with his jaw slightly open and saliva dripping down from the sides. “Eh ! Sorry. I slept off “he said, wiping it off.
I cursed him thinking of how it would have been utterly chaotic if I had missed my stop (That equates to two more hours of meaningless traveling to the city junction and back all the way). I thought to myself that this was the perfect start to the day.

I got down from the train and looked around to see who were all there along with me in the otherwise deserted platform. There was quite a crowd heading towards the exit in partial sleepfulness. I said bye to my co-passenger and thanked him for his great ‘help’ and we parted ways.

The people getting out from there were mobbed by the auto fellows. There was a huge collection of autos outside the station very early in the morning .It was 4.00AM. It looked like the whole of the city’s auto-drivers had gathered there to grab a piece each of this entirely new species which they were seeing – Humans.

By the way I have to make this thing clear first. The place where I stay is called Doddanekkundi which literally means ‘A Big Elephant’s Ass’ in Kannada (Dodda –Big , Aane –elephant , Kundi – kundi ’). If this doesn’t instantly arouse laughter in you then you must be quite used to hearing ‘normal’ things like these from your local neighbourhood vocabulary or you must be a foreigner (a non kannada speaking person).Being Tamil I only knew the meaning of this partially but the day when I found out that it actually and fully meant ‘Big Elephant’s Ass’, I really wanted to live there . . . . . .. .in that locality I mean.

My place is about 2 kms from this station and not wanting to strain too much early in the morning I tried considering an auto. Now, back to the auto fellows! I was approached by this auto guy wearing a muffler to keep away from the cold or to cover his bald head or for reasons best known to him.
He said , “Saar , auto beka ? Elli ogu beku?” (“Sir,do u want an auto?Where do you want to go?”)

“Doddanekkundi .”

“ 70 Rs kodi “. ( “Give me 70 bucks”)

I laughed loudly as this was the biggest joke I had ever heard. There was no reaction from the auto driver as I think he was pretty used to this kind of treatment.

Wrongly guessing I was a Hindi speaking guy he asked me in Hindi
“ Kitna dega saar ?” (“How much will you give?”)
My reply was spontaneous and an obvious “30 Rs”.

He laughed even louder than me and called even his friends to enjoy the biggest joke he had ever heard. That was the beginning of the embarrassments for me.

I simply walked away from the place to avoid any further embarrassments.

I decided to take the bus instead even if I had to wait for an hour and even when it was 4AM in the morning. But, damn the govt. busses, I wasn’t able to get even a single one.
I kept walking slowly, inch by inch, moving in search of some other new mode of transport that was yet to be invented and the one that could challenge these bloody auto fellows. I walked and I walked though very slowly with the heavy bag I was carrying. Half an hour later, one embarrassment down, I was closer to my destination by 100 metres. But, my body wasn’t taking it after the long sleepless journey. I stopped and decided not to look in the direction of that auto. But, eventually I had to turn that side and in the dim glow of the street light, I saw that the auto-guy was still looking at me and grinning (or still laughing over the joke).
The number of people waiting in the stop reduced as time passed and the dog population outnumbered the humans – No. HUMAN. (that’s me) . Three species in one place – the drivers , the dogs and I . . . . it was a matter of survival of the fittest .

After another 45 minutes of waiting and with no sign of the bus approaching I was desperate to get out of that place and go home at any cost. In utter desperation I called out to an auto to stop. I went through the same things again as I had done with the previous driver but this time agreeing for 70 bucks. GodDamnIt !!!!

This fellow started talking some politics and took me back to the same auto stand of the railway station . These auto fellows had a union and union rules also . I again had to wait as they had a policy of queuing of autos : the next auto in line would get to take the passenger.
I hoped that it would be some other guy and not the first auto-guy who had worsened my day. A new one came and I was happy and the fellow who had brought me there told him that I had agreed on paying 70 Rs. The new auto-guy laughed . I heard it . He laughed again. . . . I remembered the laughter , I was familiar with that laughter . He slowly took out the muffler from his pocket and wore it. Shockingly it was the same old jerk whom I didn’t recognize without the muffler on.
He said with that sarcastic smile on his face “ I told you no saar , 70 Rs . Come. Sit down.”

Not wanting to waste any more time and not wanting any more embarrassments for the day I sat down in the auto. I opened my bag and buried my face into it .My ego was badly bruised when I handed him over that 70 Rs which he accepted with that same eternal never-diminishing victorious grin.

Food for thought

This is an interesting quote that I dug out from a load of those crap fwds.

” Each morning, the lion wakes up knowing it must run faster than the slowest gazelle in order to eat that day; meanwhile, a gazelle wakes up knowing it must outrun the fastest lion in order to survive.

It doesn’t matter whether you are the lion or the gazelle – the point is to keep running.”

Food for thought? It’s food for the lion and thought for the rest.