Guilt.

Guilt at how shallow we have become, how we choose that-which-is-fun over that-which-is-good. Social-media over social service. Junk food over vegetables. IPL over Tests. Katie Perry over Carnatic. Page 3 over the Editorials. “Oops pictures” over…you get the picture.

Of course, it’s never really our fault. It’s everyone else’s.

Authors write books that pander to the lowest-common-denominator. Greedy TV execs make TRP-friendly trash. Bad journalists peddle yellow copy.

If only “they” would give us something wholesome, we would consume it. And till they do, we just have to, with infinite reluctance, discuss how much weight Aishwarya Rai has gained post-pregnancy. Even though we should be talking about…mm…let’s see farmer suicides and child labor.

This pervasive guilt of course creates a demand. A demand for programming that is surreptitiously entertaining in a non-intrusive way while providing a “Look Ma, I am being socially conscious by watching this instead of a Zee re-incarnation soap” comfort-blanket to the middle-class audience.

This is when “Satyamev Jayate” steps up to the plate with less calories but the same great taste.

Dealing with issues-that-must-be-talked-about and helmed by Aamir Khan, whose image of a socially-conscious entertainer is pitch-perfect for the show’s general tenor, it has gasping audience members (the type last seen on Rakhi ki Insaaf), tastefully teary-eyed anchor (much more subtle than Rakhi Sawant not to mention pleasing on the eye), shocking personal stories of the kind that make morning talk shows such a darling of US programming, a dash of humor (the Salman Khan reference),somberly inspirational musical theme and, most tellingly, a concrete call to action designed to give the audience a much-needed sense of participation.

Yes it is commercial. Yes it is manipulative.

But it is also needed.

Because if there was no mega-celebrity, we would not watch. If there was not the egregious heart-string-pulling, we would change the channel. If there was not money to be made, the concept would never be greenlighted.

Is the treatment simple? Yes. It has to be. Is it non-edgy? Yes again. For the same reason—-it has to appeal to the mainstream in order to be commercially viable.

Would Aamir Khan’s 3 crores per episode be better used to benefit those that are the subject of the show, those that it claims it cares about?

Yeah. Sure. But it’s not as if anyone else would get this money if it did not go to Aamir Khan. We would not give Rs 300 to help a foundation that helps battered women. We would give 3 crores a pop though to see Aamir Khan’s handsome face and sensitively serious expressions of concern. Whose fault do you think that is?

Given the way we are and given how we like to spend our time, “Satyamev Jayate” is really the best one can hope for.And ultimately, if it ends up generating even a bit of awareness or, and I am being grossly optimistic here, the slightest of societal change, the show would be well worth it.

Even if it does neither and remains yet another exercise in massive money-making and audience entertainment, how worse will it be from everything else on TV?

One cannot blame the bachchas too. Because they had not grown up with Amitabh Bachchan’s angry enraged man avatar, where the tightening of jaw conveyed as much burn as three hours of the angsty Rockstar. Because they have not, at an impressionable age, felt the blast from Sunny Deol screaming “Balwaant Raii….” like Mount Krakatoa or experienced first hand his wrath as he laid to waste the Pakistani Army with just a handpump. Hell these poor kids have been brought up under the shadow of a KJo-ized namby pamby Sirish-Kunder-slapping SRK, a far cry from the lip-quivering, red-eyed, macho Madan-Chopra-penetrator which is how we like to remember him.

Raghu? That clown from “Roadies”? A icon of rage? A poseur of the first order, as beautifully shown by Arunabh Kumar in this take-down of “Roadies”, he stands in front of a number of wannabes with his “I know you better than you cause I am awesome” act, wannabes who know they have to tremble in front of him in order to get selected. Truth be told, even Dr. Manmohan Singh is more macho lethal than him. He may have presided over the most corrupt government ever but even he did not act in Tees Mar Khan.  He may take orders from the Madam but that is more honorable than acting as as John Abraham’s sidekick in Jhoota Hi Sahi. In an ideal world, Raghu should have walked about wearing adult diapers over his trousers. But then in an ideal world, there would be no Roadies.

Given this sorry state of role models, how can I expect the young tykes to know rage? Who can they look up to I wondered?

It was then that the answer hit me. My namesake. Arnab Goswami.

This time in India, having nothing better to do, I saw, I mean really saw, Arnab Goswami on Times Now. And all I can say, that the Bengal Tiger faces no threat of extinction as long as he is alive. .

There he is, sitting in the middle of the screen. The viewing area on the TV is split in four (or even five), each housing one sorry individual unfortunate enough to be a guest, all of them united by a dangerous secret–Arnab is angry at them.Puffing his feathers like a cock ready to fight, he looks to the right and then to the left, rapidly, in a way that would make the Aamir Khan character in Ghajni look positively tranquil. The blabbering talking heads try to say something but Arnab looks at them sternly and opens his third eye.

His mouth.

As a Bengali I can see the acid rising from his insides, an all too familiar sensation to Bongs called acid-reflux—-except for Arnab it is not caused by food but by outrage  and it is not dilute hydrochloric acid that flows up but aqua regia. Gently jumping up and down at one place almost as if he is on an idling Harley Davidson, he intersperses his sentences with “Times Now broke this news exclusively” and ” The nation demands an answer” and  ”Let me read you the letter YOUR secretary wrote…” . Sometimes he pauses mid-sentence, some might say at the wrong places, but the reason for that is obvious. He is letting the guests stew in their own sweat, caught as they are in the hell-fire of his persistent questioning. And if they so much as dare to try to get in a word edgewise, he interrupts them with a steamy ” Sir, you are avoiding the question” or “That is besides the point”  as he huffs and puffs along like a pressure cooker on the stove for too long.

Very rarely is the wind taken out his rather pompous sails. When that happens, it is only because someone says “But Arnab I agree with you” . At this point of time, he suddenly loses his train of thought, looks at the world with the deer-caught-in-headlights my-cleavage-is-a-better-actress-than-me Amisha Patel stare, only to regain his anger a second later with a passionate shake of his head, “You misunderstand sir. I do not agree. No I do not.” Then passing a smile at the camera, a smile that says “Kya karoon oh ladies, main hoon adaat se majboor” he is off again on a roaring romp of rage, the enraged conscience of India.

Observing him for hours on end, I realize that no I was wrong. This generation has no excuse for being passive, no excuse for not turning into an army of Hulks.

It has Arnab. Blessed it is.

[Another brilliant article on the man]

It didnt matter that I had read them, like a thousand times before. Like a favorite song or a favorite person, Amar Chitra Kathas had repeat-value, you could discover and re-discover them, marveling only at how much you missed last time.

Mahabharata and the Ramayanas, historical and mythical figures, Gods and monsters, all came alive on its pages creating images of such movement and drama  that I can recollect them clearly even today—-Narasimha bursting out of a pillar, Harshavardhana moving at the head of a huge ocean of people renouncing all his worldly possessions, the Devas and Asuras churning the ocean, Drona looking on sadly as Aswathama is teased by other children.

With my writer’s hat on now, I can now appreciate how brilliantly concise yet expressive Amar Chitra Kathas were and how effectively pictures and words were used to create  narratives, compelling enough to hold the attention of the notoriously fickle young adult. But then, an young adult myself, Amar Chitra Katha was simply great fun, and more importantly fun that parents and grandparents approved of, unlike Mandrake and Phantom which were simply “comics”.

Which explained why I had hundreds of Amar Chitra Kathas and only two Mandrakes, which incidentally I remember only for the way Narda used to be drawn.

Uncle Pai the magician behind the Amar Chitra Katha and the Tinkle legacy, died recently. The great thing about being an artist is that one never really passes away. For those of us who grew up reading him, he is still very much a part of our lives, in ways we often do not realize. Whenever hair falls in front of my eyes I think “Shikari Shambhu” (his cap always obscured his eyes), or whenever I see shorts of a particular type, the name that comes to mind is Supandi. Many historic characters, like Asoka and Gautama Buddha, I visualize exactly as Uncle Pai sketched them. Much of what I know about history and mythology is based on what he wrote. And I dare say that in my generation I am not the only one like that.

So this time, when I go back to Kolkata, I have promised to go and open that lower shelf once again. The book-shelf has now mercifully moved, else I could have no longer fit into that gap without some serious plastic surgery. Once I open it, I shall take those dusty magazines out, spray away the mothballs that I know cover them, and once again take that journey into the past.

A past which has kings, queens, angels, demons, crows, crocodiles and down below, squeezed into a little corner between the bed and the shelf pouring over reams of color, little old me.

Only when I have done this, can I have truly paid tribute to Uncle Pai.

The man who drew our imagination.

In Hindi movies, on which we grew up, the villain may be a politician, a policeman, a businessman or even a priest. But in very few movies, would you find a newspaperman “editor-sahaab” to be anything but a knight in shining armor who even though he might not make it alive till the intermission would never compromise on his ideals. Maybe that is why  while we expect our politicians and the police to be corrupt (and they unfailingly exceed our expectations), for the person carrying a pencil and a clipboard our standards are very different.

Barkha Dutt’s public image has been the living embodiment of that ideal, and as Rohit says here she has always been perceived as representing  the interests of the common Indian, our voice asking the tough questions to those in power. No wonder that she is the Chetan Bhagat of Indian journalism, standing head and shoulders above everyone else in terms of popularity. Hence when the Radia tapes broke, much of the public outrage was focused on her—-how could she?

To those shocked let me say—welcome to the real world. While I am sympathetic to her assertion that with respect to Radia she was merely fishing for information and that she never did try to influence cabinet selection, she has not addressed (at the time of writing this post) the larger question asked by Open Magazine. Namely that Radia represented the Tatas and when it was evident the said lobbyist was trying her level best to influence the appointment of the Minister in a sector her clients had significant interests, why was that news not reported? That in itself was explosive enough.

A movie journalist friend of mine once told me how the real scandals of Bollywood are almost never reported, even though they be common knowledge. What we see as scoops and sensations are all planted by the stars and their handlers, most of them patently false, all done to promote movies or their personal images. So why are the real scandals never reported? Because those who work the Page 3/movie beat are part of the system. When you are in the system, you don’t shake the tree too hard because you never know what will fall on your head. Better to just prune the leaves.

Not trying to shake up the system is not unethical. What Vir Sanghvi has done I believe definitely is. He has been someone whose articles I have always enjoyed reading for their crisp clarity. Now I realize that he had perhaps merely been a reflector, bouncing off light rays gotten obtained other sources creating, what a voice on the Radia tape says “Yeah yeah boss likha hai verbatim”. Again that this kind of influencing of opinion goes in should not be a surprise, as anyone who has read about the paid news scandal, the biggest and most shocking scandal you have never heard about, knows.

If all this was not shocking enough, Ratan Tata has called India a banana republic and has moved the Supreme Court to restrain the publication and dissemination of the Radia tapes.   I wish someone tells this captain of Indian industry that while his “gentle” banter with Radia with respect to her Cavalli gown may be an intrusion into his privacy, the nation has every right to know how exactly minsters are assigned to portfolios. A banana republic this truly is but not for the reason Tataji thinks !

The only good that has come out of Radia tapes has been that it has blown the lid off our democratic process—-showing exactly the machinations by which corporate interests “guide” the people.Not that we were so naive that we did not know that it takes place but the shock of seeing exactly how it is done is quite another sensation.

It is, once you stop getting angry, a fascinating study in manipulation.

First through their “friends” in the press, public opinion is slowly molded favorably wherein we lambs have no idea that the well-argued article from a man we admire is actually the talking points of a corporate lobbyist.

Then they cobble together different interests in Parliament, make a number of phone calls and get their man installed as the minister.

No that is not the end of the game.

As a final insurance, they infiltrate the opposition. I would too, if I had a small matter of Rs 81,000 crore on the line. To quote the Hindu,

In one recording, Mr. Singh tells Ms Radia of the firefighting he is doing on behalf of Mr. Ambani to ensure a tax concession the finance minister had announced in the 2009 budget for gas production is made applicable retrospectively. Ms Radia says she has killed news stories about the Rs.81,000 crore super profit Reliance Industries Ltd. (RIL) would make were that to happen but Mr. Singh is more concerned about what happens in Parliament during the debate on the Finance Bill. His fear is that if Opposition MPs make a noise about a largess being given to one company, the finance minister would be on the defensive and the prospect of extending the concession retrospectively would not even arise. Mr. Singh accuses BJP leader Arun Shourie of being on Anil Ambani’s side and reveals how he has managed to get Mr. Shourie replaced as the BJP’s lead speaker by Venkaiah Naidu.

To make things untenable for BJP, Arun Shourie, perhaps one of the few Indian politicians to have both erudition and backbone, has confirmed the fact that he was replaced at the last minute [Link] by certain interests, which should put a spanner in the works of those partisans who would like us to believe that there is only one guilty party here.

Well no——if one has the spidery spaghetti the other has the steaming sauce.

Welcome to Indian politics, a beast that makes Pakistani cricket look like, to quote a phrase from the great Pamela Bordes scandal, a “teddy bear’s picnic”.

Welcome to the system.

Share

Anchor: Welcome back to GBTV’s continual coverage of the Dhoni-Rawat marriage or as we call it The Dawat, perhaps the most significant media event after the Abhishek Bachchan-Aishwarya Rai marriage, which again was the most significant media event after the Lord Rama-Sita wedding. In light of the gravity of the occasion, we have in our studios,  cricket expert and part-time ramp model Rameez Sivaramakrishnan Lal, who has been our chief correspondent for all Dhoni-related news.

RSL: Thanks for having me here.

Anchor: So for our viewers please, set the context for this historical event.

RSL: Gladly. It has been well known for many years now, MSD’s success as a bachelor is matched only by his inability to pass it. He has been linked to Laxmi (who said among other things that Dhoni is affectionate ), Deepika,  Asin and numerous other principally South Indian hotties. Not just that, there have been headlines like “Dhoni holidays with Rudra Pratap in Mussourie” (with Star News Hindi even carried a special news item about RP and Dhoni to the romantic lyrics of “Aja mein haowaon beethake le chaloon” [Must see video]) . Considering the fact that yet another Sri Lanka tour is coming up, a time that many Indian cricketers lapse into depression due to sheer boredom, it became imperative that MSD got hitched immediately.

Anchor: Interesting. So tell us more about Sakshi Singh Rawat, whose name many people have pointed out does contain “Rakhi Sawant” in it.

RSL: Well it is difficult to know something about someone who does not have a Twitter account nowadays since that’s basically where we source our news from. We did discover her Facebook profile and from that we know that she likes “Desperate Housewives” and “Likes” the Rahul Gandhi page. We know she has a cocker spaniel named Joey and that she  has watched Robert Pattinson’s “Twilight” at least ten times…

Anchor: So since she likes vampires, I am sure she will fit right into the Indian cricket administrative community….

RSL: Well we do know for sure she is not much into cricket. Where things do get fuzzy is her age which is reported variously as twenty-three or twenty-one. This is very interesting as according to some versions……

Anchor: Sorry to interrupt you but we have breaking news that a Peshawar court (yes they exist !) has ruled that having intimate relation with Afridi will be statutory rape, since he is still below the legal age of consent.

RSL (irritated at being disturbed) As according to some versions, they fell in love with each other in high school. Considering Dhoni is 29 and she is 21, that would mean he played out a lot of dot balls in school.

Anchor: So what were the controversies? Who did not make the invitation list?

RSL: Well of course there was some heartburn regarding the invitations. For instance, Charu Sharma, under the impression that people even remembered who he was, expressed some personal sadness by saying “I have not been invited, but what I can say is that Ms Rawat is truly a lucky girl” [Link]. Yuvraj Singh was once again not selected for an invitation, reportedly because Dhoni was afraid he would over-eat and add two more inches to his waist, and Sehwag perhaps once again developed a shoulder injury at an appropriate time.

There was also some confusion in the media as to what color sherwani Dhoni wore. Some reported it as green [NDTV], some as blue [Economic Times] and some as black [Hindu]. There is conjecture that he wore all three sherwanis, none of which were yellow, to show different IPL franchises that he was available for a transfer out of Chennai. Some also speculated whether Raina’s dance at the wedding was the “Mere yaar ki shaadi hai” type or the “Raja ki aayegi baraat magan main nachoongi” type.

Anchor: Any feel good stories?

RSL:  Well I would say this:

Ashish, the man who got the mare that Dhoni rode to the wedding, was ecstatic at having the Indian skipper as a client. Said he, “Dhoni asked me the name of the mare. I told him it had two names, Rani and Bobby. He liked the second better. At the end of the ride, he gave me Rs 5,001.”

What many dont know is that Ashish’s mare went “Neeeehhhraaaa” all throughout.

Anchor: Oh from the mention of the word “Bobby”, I was thinking of some other fast bowler.

Anchor: Finally, reactions from the man in the street?

RSL: Well, there has been the predictable “Why not me, Mahi” , a slogan originally used by Amit Mishra after his omission from the team, outcry from women all over, including perhaps from well-lighted areas where he is known to make stops.

My home is just a few kilometres away from Dhoni’s, but now he seems further away,” says Sumedha Sinha, a die-hard ‘lover’ from the cricketer’s hometown in Jharkhand. Her family is now ruing for “not sending the rishta on right time.” “Why her (Sakshi)? Oh God,” laments Sumedha. “Couldn’t Mahi have waited for some more time? Sakshi is 21, after all,” tweeted ManishaT.

This year I’ll no longer be sending him birthday wishes on Facebook, not to a married man, of course,” says DU student Shalini Raj. Incidentally, Dhoni will be celebrating his 29th birthday on Wednesday.

But there have been positive reactions like this wherein the art of keeping is related to the art of being a husband—–which makes sense because in both you are supposed to be patient and relaxed and most importantly, well-balanced. [Link]

Dhoni’s former Central Coalfields Limited (CCL) team captain and a serving official in the public sector, Adil Hussain, said, “He knows what system works for him. He keeps well behind the wickets. He will also do well as a husband

Anchor: Well it’s time for our commercial break. Before we go, we would like to thank RSL….any closing comments.

RSL: Well, some great captains first get married to someone from Kolkata and then try their luck down South. While some other great captains first try their luck down South and then get married to someone from Kolkata. But ultimately all that counts is the legacy they leave behind in the trophy cabinet.

Anchor: Err…..yes that’s very profound. Join us in a little while as we continue with our breaking news coverage of the Harbhajan Geeta Basra breakup and the exclusive Gibbs-Payal hook-up in our segment “You just dropped the World Cup”. Till then, India keep watching.

[Acknowledgments to @prempanicker and @sidvee and many others on twitter for giving me some of these links]

Recently I’ve become increasingly convinced that I’m not an Indian. After all, it is possible that someone did a baby switch at Breach Candy Hospital where I was born, or that my parents have carefully hidden the truth about me for 40 years.

Quick proof that I’m not Indian? I have no furious loyalties to the Baganapalli or Alphonso. In fact, I can think of at least six fruits that I prefer to the mango. I have never eaten an entire paan or a pot of mishti doi (though I have tried both) and I don’t spit in public or private (except for that one time I tried a meetha paan).

I don’t understand that other national obsession, cricket, either. White is not my favourite skin colour. I don’t read Chetan Bhagat or Paulo Coelho. I feel depressed every time I wear a salwar-kameez. No sir, I will not discuss my private life with a stranger on a train journey. And I don’t think I’ve ever begun a conversation with: “You’ve lost/gained so much weight!”

I don’t like (or understand) a single Indian soap currently on air. I never talk loudly to my maid, stockbroker or random friend during a movie. I always wait to let people exit an elevator before I enter. I don’t believe that Mumbai’s moviegoers should be forced to stand to attention every time they want to see Shrek (or anyone else) on the big screen. I don’t feel pride—only impatience that my popcorn’s getting cold—when I’m forced to listen to Lata/Asha do a slow-mo version of the national anthem before every single movie I watch in the city of my birth.

Is being “uncouth”, as manifested through acts of varying degrees of distastefulness (spitting, liking Paulo Coelho, remarking about other people’s weight), synonymous with being Indian, as if being one necessarily implies the other? If that be the case, Bullah ki jaana main kaun?

I love cricket, have a genuine appreciation for subaltern music videos of the “Eh Buchi bolo seal kaha tuthi” type and do not feel bad that my popcorn is getting cold when I am asked to make a gesture, however symbolic, in honor of those people who have made it possible for me to sit in an AC multiplex and enjoy a movie. Which possibly means I am Indian.

But at the same time, I do not spit in public, do not inquire about people’s weights (purely to avoid any reference to mine), do not talk loudly to anyone, find Paulo Coelho grossly over-rated and do not refer to domestic help as “maids”.

So who am I? If you ask me to settle the issue, I would say I am unabashedly and proudly, yes proudly, Indian.

The confusion regarding identity is even more confounded when I think of my father, a former professor of Indian Institute of Management Calcutta and an intellectual legend in his time. He does not appreciate any of the lowbrow things I so admire and neither does he spit in public, nor does poke his nose in other people’s affairs. He also does not raise his voice.  By definition then, he should not be Indian.

But he refers to himself as an Indian.

So if I take him at face value (i.e. of being Indian) , does that mean he is automatically not “serious scholar” enough (Gurucharan Das is quoted as saying ““Basically, after independence we did not produce any serious scholars,”)?

Even more disturbing, has he been secretly reading Chetan Bhagat?

Today, when I was going to the airport from a client meeting,  I saw the driver, a non-South Asian true-blue son of the Pennsylvanian soil, spitting out from the driver’s seat onto the road. Should I have been convinced then that he was Indian and asked for a des-wala bhai discount? When I got stuck, a few weeks before, right behind two other pure red-white-and-blues who got out of their cars mouthing obscenities in a raised voice after a fender-bender in front of a College Park shopping plaza, should I have tried talking to them in Hindi?

I just don’t get it.

What I do get is this. And I agree whole-heartedly .

I don’t think we’re the greatest people on earth

Absolutely we are not. No country is. Yet everyone says they are. If I had a dollar every time someone on US TV, including intellectual powerhouses like Obama and columnists of the best newspapers in the world (and no I am not referring to Fox News anchors), say “There is no doubt that America is the greatest nation of all” and similar hyperbole,  I would have been able to buy myself a ticket in a major party to contest an Indian election.

Similarly outrageous is the chest-thumping  desi patriotism that makes us go “Ooh Aaah India” during a cricket match, a feel-good buzz as empty as the calories of the products of the companies who sponsor such slogans.

No doubt that.

However being proud of one’s country does not imply a belief in its “bestness” and its infallibility. As a matter of fact, patriotism lies in accepting our faults (and we have many, a few of which Ms. Ramani mentions). But that should not be taken to an extreme because then we lose sight of what it is we have got right. And once that happens, we stop working to safeguard it.

When I say I am proud of being an Indian, I mean I am proud of its culture of plurality and its intrinsic tolerance of contrarianism. This is why in a major newspaper someone can say this below, without any fatwa for boycotting of the paper or dire consequences of the Danish kind.

Personally, I’ve always believed Ram was a loser and I have no idea why Sita didn’t leave him many years before he threw a tantrum that resulted in her walking through fire. The first time I heard some goon in the Bharatiya Janata Party use the words Ram Rajya, I wanted to vomit. Vomit, not spit, I said.

As an example, in the US, when Sinead O’Connor tore up a picture of the Pope (mind you not Jesus Christ), NBC was fined by the Federal Communications Commission for USD 2.5 million dollars and the reaction of other stars, like Sinatra and Joe Pesci to her act, might be interesting to read. [Link]. The only time in which anything against the Pope or Christ would be allowed in the US on public fora would be if there was a humorous context and only when the comedian is an “equal opportunities offender” (i.e. skewers all holy cows). But the above paragraph, as far as I understand, was not one written in jest or with a creative purpose.

The Indian spirit of acceptance is something that is often not in evidence in some of the “freest countries of the world”. USA is a country that prides itself (and this is to a large extent justified) on its inherent egalitarianism. But still many people have a problem with Hillary Clinton becoming a President just because she is a woman.  When the Republican smear machine rakes up Obama’s Muslim origins, the Democrats say “He is not Muslim. No no not at all” rather than saying “So what if he is a Muslim? Why should that it be a problem?” South-Asian origin politicians like Nicky Haley and  Bobby Jindal have hit big-time only after converting and strongly advertising their Christian faith. And by the way, the US is not a Christian nation. [Link and Link] so there is no constitutional reason why there should be no realistic chance of a non-Christian/non-Jewish person holding positions of high authority.

In contrast, we in India have been far more accepting of our religious minorities and of women being represented in the highest offices of power. Can you imagine, a foreign-born woman having as her religion one not held by the majority and who speaks the native language in a very tentative way, becoming the most powerful person in any other land? I cannot.

However in today’s India it is this tolerance which is under the most attack. Violent gangs, of for-hire goons, under the guise of “taking offense” are terrorizing people who express their opinions or lead lifestyles “not acceptable”—-attacking pubs, raising fatwas and pouring invective on the Net. Books are being banned, offices are being destroyed in the conflagration of “spontaneous displays of anger”.  There is a justification for this too—”For far too long, we have taken insults lying down. Can so-and-so say the same thing in Saudi Arabia or Pakistan about their God without any kind of repercussion?”

Here is when I want to say in response—-”Yes but that’s why we are not Saudi Arabia or Pakistan”. And I intend for my country to stay that way. No politician, even if they born outside the country, should be deprived of their right to exploit and misrule the country. No speech, no matter how hurtful, should be met with threats of violence or crude language.

Unfortunately, we are marching fast down a path of competitive intolerance, one that will lead to us to become a mirror of Pakistan, characterized by bigotry of the worst kind.

When and if that comes to pass, then yes I am going to raise questions about my identity as an Indian.

But till that happens, it is vital, at least for me, to not only recognize what ails us but also what does not, to stay grounded between the extremes of self-flagellation and gratuitous back-slapping.

[Link] Full URL: http://www.mid-day.com/entertainment/2010/jan/120110-shah-rukh-wishes-bipasha.htm (screenshot taken on Jan 12th around 11 am EST)

Today’s theorem: If your last name is Basu and you wear red, you can only be Bipasa Basu.

Get well soon.

[Update: Blogging infrequently due to final draft of book.]

As the year comes to a close, it is time to give out the annual Howitzer Awards instituted by RTDM to recognize excellence in news reporting and honor all those inveterate media outlets who have brought to us news as it should be presented, in its pristine pure form, bereft of all sensationalism and falsehoods, presented with the help of beautiful rigid prose and aesthetic visuals.

This award once used to be almost the exclusive monopoly of the entertainment section of Indiadaily whose reporters-at-large Pam Bhandari and Lala Larani went everywhere,  bringing news no one else would dare to—chronicling topless fights of Bollywood celebs in nightclubs, use of unwashed underwear and other personal hygiene issues of celebrities, and lesbian domino effects in Mumbai [A detailed analysis of the site here]

However all good things come to an end and Indiadaily’s entertainment section is very infrequently updated nowadays, which some conjecture may have been due to the collapse of  investment banks like “Bares and Stares” and “Titigrope” . Though nice headlines like “Kareena goes wild on Sardar Saif” and “Priyanka Shahid stare at each other” with balle balle prose like “she went wild and nuts when she saw Sardar Saif. Kareena says she cannot resist her passion for Saif when she him in Sardar dress” can still be found, they are nothing close to the dizzying standards set in previous years.

So here are this year’s awards, presented in a new way.

Howitzer for Photo-journalism: Goes to this amazing series of photos taken of Amisha Patel at Shilpa Shetty’s wedding. Not only does the photographer,  in the best traditions of wild-life photography, catch Amisha Patel at vital moments keeping in mind exactly what the average reader (male) would like to see and not only makes a subtle suggestion of Picasso’s blue period but he also layers in the kind of genius that we at the Howitzer committee so love. Namely lovely captions like “Yeh dhai kilo ka haath” extolling the femininity of her Sunny forearms and “Yeh andar ki baat hain“  when the actress’s inner beauty is revealed.

Howitzer for Politically Correct Reporting: In a charming piece of politically correct reporting, this awardee article had the following headline “How Deepika Padukone got her Chinki eyes” which was changed, for reasons unknown (perhaps the Chinese government objected to it, like they have objected to India building railroads and dams inside its own territory and also to Badshah snack corner near Shyambajar in Kolkata calling its oily concoction “chow mein”) to “Secret behind Deepika’s Chinese look revealed!” . For proof of the original headline, google “How Deepika Padukone got her Chinki eyes” for mirrors of the original article like the one here and here.

Howitzer for Use of Old World English:  Goes to this headline which simply says “Priyanka Chopra’s Still Gay”.

Howitzer For Most Stinking Headline: Goes to this headline which again simply says “Gas is not Ambanis’ private property: Govt”

Howitzer For Best Celebrity Wedding Coverage: Goes to Zoom “Isko dekho” TV for their breaking of (with sound effects) the story wherein Akshay Kumar’s ghost was sighted in different forms at Shilpa Shetty’s wedding [Video] (Shilpa Shetty having some “history” with Akshay Kumar, being part of an exclusive set of Akkites that consist of about 37% of India’s female population)

Howitzer For Patriotic Reporting: While our government, in perhaps a bit of misplaced honesty, tells the world how vulnerable we are to terror in the process making us even more terrified than we already are, trust India TV to assure us that we are as safe and snug as a politician under Z++ category. In yet another example of great investigative reporting [Video], it tells us of a magical machine that the Indian government possesses, whose code name is “Osama ka baap, Dawood ka Dada, Headley ka chacha” ,  a machine which is so magical that if you just place your hand on it then it can say if you are a terrorist or not.

Howitzer for Best Scientific Reporting: This one was the toughest. Would it be “Himalaya main kyon baar baar ate hain Aliens”, India TV’s expose on cross-terrestrial infiltration? [Video] Would it be the exclusive story of four year old child Happy who in his previous birth used to be a man called Sukhvinder and wants to now stay with the parents from his previous birth [Video]? Would it be the elaborately researched story which tells the shocked audience that “Insaan ka satta ka THE END” is imminent with  “Robot Raaj” round the corner and where visual proof being provided by actual footage from documentaries like Terminator and I Robot? Would it be the “not even the X Files had this one” story of the udan tastari that was sighted, the one with the most dangerous aliens known to man—-”Nimboo” (Lemon) Aliens led by presumably their leader Lime and Lemony Limca [Video] ? Would it be the startling revelation that many millions of years ago a metor hit near Mumbai and it was this one single meteor responsible for the extermination of the dinosaurs (“Mumbai mein mahavinash aaya tha”) because evidently “Mumbai dinosauron ka adda tha“, a revelation that becomes a soon-to-be-realized prophecy of obsolescence  if you replace “dinosauron” with the word “Bihariyon” and the “M-ahavi-N-a-S-hkari meteor” with the letters that stand boldly capital [Video]?

This one is a tie.

Howitzeron Ka Howitzer:  The best of the best. India TV wins it for answering the most important question of them all, the one whose answer the entire nation wants. And what is that?

Simple.

“Kiske paas hai Katrina ki pant?” (Who has Katrina’s pants?)[Video]

Watch it and worship.

[And yes if you want to give an award to the Howitzer committee, then please vote for Random Thoughts of a Demented Mind  in Category 1 and Category 5 at the Indibloggies. ] (More details about the Indibloggies awards here)

[Acknowledgments for India TV video uploads: Aseem Chandaver]

Titled descriptively as “Nirlajj Ne Nashe Main Luti Kutiya Ki Izzat” this piece informed us of a horrific act of man-beast interaction that cannot be described in English, an act that led to the dog refusing to eat or drink and ending with the police assuring concerned citizens that the said kutiya will not be produced in court.

Now I would normally just kept it at this tweet and filed it away in a corner of mind, to use this as a cautionary tale to people who are drinking too much, but then thanks to Gaurav‘s Facebook status messages I stumbled across two priceless videos on this incident brought to you by the fearless reporters at Mid Day, the newspaper eulogized in the song   “Suraaj Hua Madhyam”, two videos that so impressed me that I felt I needed to make my point in more than 140 characters.

So what was it about the videos that so moved me? Simply the dedication of the newspaper  in covering the story from all angles. First of all, in the first video, the heroic lady who saved the dog from the man’s amorous advances is asked to give a blow-by-blow or more precisely ungli-by-ungli account of what she saw, all for the purpose of a higher truth.

And then in an even greater Pulitzer-worthy (or at least Howitzer-worthy) bit of journalism (must watch video), the brave crime reporter goes to the police and asks them not only hard-hitting perceptive questions like whether the policeman saw the perp’s trousers unzipped (” Trouser wouser…… kahe rahe ki zip khuli hui thi. Sir kya aap ne khud ne aapne aaankhon se dekha hai?“) but also tries to get into the mind of the criminal. For instance she asks the police officer whether the man’s canine-love act can be explained by the fact that he was missing his wife who was away in the village delivering a baby ( to mere khayal se woh miss kar raha hoga usko yeh ek wajaah ho sakti hain) and tries to investigate whether some movie inspired him to do it (ek do din pahele kuch phillim dekhi thi kya) and lastly asks whether the man was a “psychic” (“yeh pyschic hain kya kuch dimaagi problem“) —-in the process giving a 360 perspective of a story so lacking nowadays.

Since I am not a psychic (nor for that matter a psycho), I wont be able to say whether the bitch triggered off some remembrance of things past or whether the man can read minds or see the future but I may conjecture that he might have seen the movie “Chingari” (review) starring Prabhuji as Bhuvan Panda, the lustful priest where he repeatedly refers to Sushmita Sen (playing his paramour) as a “manoranjak kutiya” before consorting with her in the most bizarre ways possible.

In any case, this has been an incident most foul and all one can do is sum it up with that line from Kaminey “Yeh duniya badi kutti cheez hai”

–A Few Good Men

Yes we cannot. I agree with the honorable MPs from Samajwadi Party and the BJP and the MLAs from Madhya Pradesh that “truth” is against Indian culture.

Indeed the very concept should be banned.

And so should “Sach Ka Samna” since it claims to be based on the truth.

This is why I so much love our politicians.  At a time when the nation is under attack from multiple agents ranging from Pakistan to Rakhi Sawant, they still remember to use their time in Parliament to do things that truly matter, insulating us  from influences that seek to corrupt and defile us.

Because “Sach Ka Samna” is an abomination. Khulbushan Kharbanda’s character in Gupt said “Kuch baatein gupt raheni chahiye”.  Some things are best kept secret. For instance, I think the nation needed to be protected from recurring mental images of Vinod Kambli running naked for 100 metres  on a dare from Sachin,  of Urvashi Dholakia, famous for her role in the “sleeper” (literally) international hit , the innovately titled “Chumban the Kiss”  doing soo-soo in swimming pool and of a desperately old cad confessing to stealing bedsheets from a hotel.

Another thing that I personally need to be protected from is the realization that we as a nation are as bad as the worst of them when it comes to totally debasing ourselves for a few seconds in the limelight. In 1999, when I came to the US one of the things I truly enjoyed, before going for my 9:30 morning class on Formal Languages and Automata Theory was to watch “Jerry Springer” over a bowl of Raisin Bran. For those of you who have not yet had the delight of experiencing “Jerry Springer” it is a “reality talk” show where guests come on and reveal their most intimate secrets to their loved ones. Secrets like a woman confessing to her husband of five years that she really is a man (don’t ask) or a man telling his wife on the show that he has been sleeping not only with the wife’s sister but with also her brother. The audience of course was most sympathetic, usually goading the participants to throw chairs at each other or shouting in unison “take it off” if any of the woman guests caught their fancy (there were even two stripper poles kept next to the stage just in case). And yes the guests usually obliged the audience chants.

“Jerry Springer” was a guilty pleasure. For one, it was good to know that there existed a group of people whose life was even more screwed up than mine was. Second it gave me a fuzzy “feel-good”  that publicity-seeking mad-men who would bring out their worst secrets on national TV for the 15 seconds of fame it afforded them could only be found in the  “West” and that in India no one would be as crazy as to voluntarily come on TV to discover things like who his real father on live TV or who actually impregnated his wife or to find out his grandpa’s darkest secret (namely that he does midget adult movies)

Well not any more.

Now thanks to reality TV like “Sach Ka Samna” we are forced to accept as fact what we have slowly come to suspect over the past few years— that average Indian is as much taken with the idea of infamy as their brethren across the ocean, as willing to besmirch their names in front of the world as anyone else (Remember that “truth” is often not owned by just the person revealing it—there may be other people associated with the shocking truth whose reputations are also being ripped on TV without them having any say in the matter)

This is why, in order to keep up appearances of decency and to suppress the truth about ourselves, that I demand (like our most wise politicians) that  “Sach Ka Samna”  be banned.

Till that happens though, I will keep tuning in. Cause it’s jolly good fun.