Reading Hamza in Mumbai

It's really difficult fitting a whole lot of things to do in the few hours I get free after work and before I go to sleep. Reading Dastan-e-Amir Hamza, playing with my new iPod Touch, playing with my slightly old Wii, watching all the stuff I copied from a friend recently, watching all the stuff I have been copying from other people over the last few years (I still have movies left from the 1st trip I made back to Delhi after joining IIMC), watching TV, watching YouTube videos (I came across these bunch of awesome videos made by the 2007 Civil Engg batch at IT-BHU, actually made by essentially one chap, but starring many of his batchmates), and a lot of other stuff.

Surprisingly, watching TV wins. At least on weeknights.

I am really enjoying Rakhi Ka Swayamvar. As Amit Varma said, WTF-ness abounds. I actually do respect Rakhi Sawant for having achieved whatever she has despite all the apparent handicaps, but that still can't keep me from cringing almost every other minute with what people do there. Of course, you'd know by now that I love cringe-worthy stuff.

I was also enjoying Entertainment Ke Liye Kuchh Bhi Karega before it got over a few days back.

There are two things I saw on TV in the last 2-3 days, which made me marvel at how far we have come from the DD days, for better or for worse. One, they actually showed Chetan Hansraj (who, incidentally, I realized, had played the young Balram in one of the biggest DD hits - Mahabharat) take a shower in Iss Jungle Se Mujhe Bachao. Don't think any of the other Big Brother/Survivor clones had gone into that territory yet. And the other thing was the absolute voyeurism of Sach Ka Saamna. If the first episode's questions are anything to go by, I am hooked. Who wouldn't want to see a seemingly ordinary lady admit in front of her family that she had once wanted to kill her husband! Or computer-ji, or whoever Sid Basu has got in this time, telling the same lady that when she said that she wouldn't sleep with another man even if her husband never got to know of it, she was actually lying according to the polygraph. Late night TV gems are made of these and more.

Have been going to sleep these last few days reading stories from the English translation of Dastan-e-Amir Hamza. When I was in school, I used to be desperate to lay my hands on any book of fiction and had digested every book worth reading in my school library (it wasn't all that big anyway) and one of the books I had chanced upon was Stories from the 1001 Arabian Nights. Quite evidently no teacher in the school had ever read it (and probably no other student as well, as it ran into over a 1000 pages), or it wouldn't have been available in a school library. I was all of 14 years then, and the descriptions of all kinds of sexual deviance and tasteful paeans to private body parts (both male and female) provided a wonderful introduction to Central Asian literature. The book I am reading currently hasn't reached those standards yet, but I am still in the first 100 pages only. Hopefully, things will get more rewarding.

I hope even more that they do because Hamza was Prophet Muhammad's uncle, and I just love the Prophet. You can't not love the chap.

Kaminey!

So I am alive. Very much so.

I hadn't expected that I'll say this, at least so soon, but I like Mumbai more than Bangalore. As I had written in one of my last posts - Bangalore is a dying city. While Mumbai is the most alive, throbbing city I have ever lived in.

Also, my opinion is bound to be biased a great deal by my work environment, since I spend a good time of my waking life at my office. I am the only one in my firm who has worked in both the Bangalore and the Mumbai offices, and I can certify that the Mumbai office is better. My boss here is a lot more mature, unlike my previous one, who had never been able to grow up from this feeling of self-importance he gained while working in a mediocre investment bank, and had a terrible inferiority complex and needed this constant puffing up to prove to himself that he was worth something. Contrary to what the generally accepted belief in the firm is, the Mumbai office gets thrice as much work done as at the Bangalore office, and manages to remain a lot more convenient (and more 'cool') place to work at.

Love being in Mumbai, despite the humidity, despite the crowds. A few friends had told me when they got to know of my transfer that I would love the place, but I never believed it. I do now. There's so much freedom, so much potential. This city just lives so much more. The fact that I can take a train to the beach at 10 at night and get back to my home well in time for office next day. The fact that I can order food from a restaurant at 1 am. And then breakfast again at 7 am. The fact that I can easily find an auto-rickshaw at 4 am in the morning (and I have tried doing that). Mumbai never sleeps.

The vada-pav. The pav-bhaji. The fish. The bhel. Yeah, well, a city for me is defined largely by its food. Delhi still scores higher because of that.

And of course I enjoy being able to converse in Hindi for a change, instead of battling speaking in any non-Kannada language with the awful Bangalore auto-wallahs.

I also had this misconception about the people of Mumbai. I would have to make another post sometime soon about the people of Mumbai, but I have fairly enjoyed it here. Maybe partly because this is being in Bihar all over again.

The distances hurt a bit. I stay in Goregaon, in a flat I am really proud of, and Colaba and Nariman Point seem like parts of a different planet altogether. But I'll get there one of these days. My office is in Santacruz, so I can afford to stay in the suburbs. I look forward to eating Bheja Fry at one of those fantastic restaurants in Town and sitting for hours at one of those Marine Drive benches reading a novel.

Before I forget, what made me want to write here today after such a long while was the music from Kaminey. I just listened to the whole soundtrack a short while back, and I am in love with Vishal Bhardwaj right now. I might buy an iPod Touch because of this.

Aaja aaja dil nichodein!

Kannadiga films

Ambareesh has got to be the ugliest former-actor in the world (too scary to put on my blog). Though considering that he was part of the Kannada film industry, which has by far the ugliest actors I have known in any other part of India, or world, he can be forgiven. If you have seen Dr Rajkumar's videos, you would know what I mean (as an aside, if pubs in Bangalore used to have singers like that, it's hardly surprising that the current government has a low opinion of these joints). This is the chap whose death made people go on a rampage in Bangalore, burning vehicles and stuff. Sad.

You would argue that at least some of these chaps are/were good actors. My response to that would be - Go get your head checked! South India is known for its melodramatic films, the kind Hindi films got done with in the mid-80s. And the actors, or male protagonists to be more accurate (as they can hardly be called 'actors'), know only one thing - hamming. Maybe, and just maybe, some of the Malayalam actors could count as people with acting skills, but one look at the movies of MGR, NTR and all those other worshipped chaps would make you feel rather shocked that you weren't around to take their place - you stood as good a chance.

Leaving Bengaluru - 2

My morning-afters are also moments of realization, except that I don't need to use this. I just come to my blog and realize that I have made a rather strongly worded post in a condition of drunken-ness. It would be obvious to most of you that the only time I feel creative enough these days to write anything is when I am slightly (or a little more than slightly) drunk. I don't lie after drinking, but I do end up making posts that amplify my feelings.

So, even though I don't think anyone's opinion is going to get influenced by my post, I feel I need to write a bit about my previous post.

I did go through a brief period of discomfort when I got to know that I would have to move to Mumbai, unless I resigned from my job (a thought that I confess hasn't been completely absent in the last few weeks), but I got over it soon enough. Much as I have come to like this city, or at least town (calling it an overgrown village is a little too cruel), I have started to look forward to moving to Mumbai. Which does come as a surprise. When I had visited Mumbai in August last year, I had absolutely hated the place, maybe partly because it was marred by loss of my wallet and a one-day, tiring, trip to Singapore, during which I fell ill and developed a hatred of salads that lasted over a month. But, my visit last weekend to look for a flat made me realize that it is as good or as bad as any other city in India. And just as I have ended up loving Delhi, Kolkata and Bangalore over the last decade, I am sure Mumbai will also grow on me. Quite a geographical distribution of my love, you would agree.

And Mumbai is definitely a better option in terms of gaining a semblance of social life. Even if I don't meet any of my hundreds of acquaintances there, at least taking that 5-minute auto rickshaw ride to my bro's place will not stop. I pray he doesn't take up a job in Bangalore now!

As far as my rants about people of Bangalore is concerned, even though I don't feel as strongly as the post might have made one feel, I do think there is a problem that the city faces in that respect. For a large section of the population in Bangalore - the not-so-well-off-ones - the IT revolution and the inflow of people from other parts of the country, particularly from the North, has been very disconcerting. It has brought about a change in the living standards of the upper-middle-class sections of Bangalore as well, but I am not sure the fruits have reached the lower sections. If anything, they have felt more left out, been made more aware of their shortcomings. Their response is reflected in the rapid increase in crime rate in the city, very often directed towards the IT professionals. I also feel this unrest, this frustration, is responsible for the attacks against women. There is this helplessness that a lot of men, who don't see themselves being a part of this growth, must feel.

On the other hand, there is this section of people in Bangalore, whom I find even more pathetic. These people rue the demolition of every ruined theater, closing of every loss-making bookshop, shutting down of every unfrequented restaurant, in the name of culture. They are the equivalents of jhola-wallahs of JNU in Delhi, or the frustrated communists spread all over Kolkata, who just suffer from a severe case of cultural constipation.

Even though I mentioned some stuff about Kannadiga culture in my last post, I think I am probably the person with the least respect for this sacred cow called culture. I don't think there is anything called culture in terms of the broad brush-strokes people tend to define it as. My thesis on culture still needs some time before I write about it here, but I do find these 'cultured' Bangaloreans, many of whom meet regularly at that really pathetic restaurant called Koshy's or wax eloquent in Time Out's Bangalore edition about things so pointless that I can't even recall right now, indescribably sad. Bangalore deserves better.

There is one section that I really enjoy interacting with. Not that I have had the privilege of doing that much, thanks to the largely insulated, secluded, life I have lived over the last one year. This section is Bangalore's hope, and thankfully comprises a large fraction of Bangalore's population. People who have lived in Basavangudi, Rajajinagar, Jainagar, JP Nagar, and all other parts that I haven't heard of. People who have been here for multiple generations, and love this place, and have taken its change in their stride. Many of these people probably don't enjoy the turn their city's fortunes have taken, but do realize that it was inevitable.

Unfortunately, most of these people are too content in their nice houses, great jobs, loving families and wholesome bisi-bele-bath. They are the quintessential middle-class, or upper-middle-class if you will, which tends to do well in all situations.

Bangalore has actually changed over the course of the one year I have been here. It's continuously evolving, changing, maybe faster than any other city of a comparable size is. Whether it changes for the better, whether it becomes more accepting, or ends up being a mess that it seems headed for right now, depends on these people.

Well, yeah, I have had a few beers again.

Leaving Bengaluru

I had expected that I would hate leaving Bangalore. But I have actually been looking forward to leaving this excuse for a city since the time I got to know that I have been transferred.

Don't get me wrong. There are a lot of things that I like about this place. The climate for one. The fact that it is a cheaper place than any other city in India (or abroad) I would want to be in. The fact that there is one really nice book-shop on Church Street here (as against none in most other cities). But those should not be the best reasons to like a city. The main reason why one should like a city is its people. And I think Bangalore scores quite low on that count.

The people of Bangalore have still not been able to come to terms with the fact that their city (or erstwhile overgrown village) is not the same Kannadiga-dominated place it used to be 10-15 years back. They still expect people to learn Kannada, not realizing that the city has developed and grown because people from other parts of India have come to work here. Bangalore, unlike Mumbai or Delhi, is still uncomfortable with its cosmopolitan-ness, and I doubt it'll be able to come to terms with it in the near future. It's sad, because the city deserves better natives.

Kannadigas are an inherently insecure people, perennially worried that the more identifiable Madrasis (Tams), the more interesting Mallus or the more successful Gults overshadow them. They actually do. I wasn't aware of a distinct Kannadiga culture till I came to Bangalore, and I am not sure it can still be called one ("distinct culture") just as yet.

The recent spurt in ill-treatment of women hasn't endeared the Kannadiga "culture" to me particularly either. Bangalore, or at least one section of it, has had this elitist hangover from the Brit times, which is fast diluting in the face of the BJP-backed core Kanndiga ideology.

Karnataka is slowly taking over Bangalore. Bangalore is dying.

The verdict on whether Mumbai scores over Bangalore would be settled one year from now.

To Let - a 2BHK near Cambridge Layout

Am trying to help my land-lord find a tenant to replace me, so that he doesn't lose out on any rent when I move to Mumbai. No, this is not due to some long-lost goodness in my heart that has suddenly woken up thanks to the racket that all those religious fanatics are creating close to my home. I am hoping to patao the land-lord to forgo the extra rent I would be liable to pay considering that I am leaving without proper notice beforehand. No, my company does not reimburse that, as some others seem to do.

Selling a house is about as much fun as selling a project/company, which I do for a living. It's particularly weird letting strangers go through my flat while I am away. Even weirder letting them do that when I am at home. Feels like a doctor probing you in the wrong kinds of places. And my home is not even as clean as I am.

I had volunteered to clean up my flat (it's not that unkempt anyway actually) before my land-lord started bringing in potential tenants on a guided tour, but he said this way it gives a more lived-in, personal, feeling.

One of the chaps who responded to my ad was a Muslim guy. Just like I did with all the other people who have responded to my ad on Sulekha, I called him up, gave some basic info about the place and then passed on my land-lord's number. Turns out my land-lord told him in the first call that the flat is taken. It's not. I really can't think of a good reason why he would do that.

If religion is the opiate of the masses, Indians must be perpetually high. The racket I was referring to ended a few days back actually, but it lasted long enough. I have no clue which of our 10,000 gods' birthdays they were celebrating, but they did leave no stone unturned for the festivities. Quite literally actually, since they completely overhauled a dumping ground close to my place, and turned it into a makeshift pandaal facing the Vinayaka Temple close to it (and left it an even worse mess after that).

And once they had ensured that they had set up a structure big enough that would make two-way traffic even more difficult than it normally is, they brought in a whole bunch of pot-bellied priests, who would keep reciting all these hymns the whole day through. On really loud loud-speakers. This lasted for 3-4 days. They had the good sense of shutting up after around 9 or so in the evening. But, they would start again early in the morning. Didn't let me sleep late on the weekend. And I'll never forgive them for that.

Despite all these occasional issues, the locality where I stay is still a good, safe, family-oriented one.

Idiocracy

I don't understand why people can't realize that the success of democracy, or at least the good of our country, does not lie in every Tom, Dick and Harry voting. Masses are generally dumb, popular beliefs are more often than not wrong and most Indians are too biased by religion, caste, region and issues I can't even fathom. In such a scenario I am not sure asking every idiot to go and exercise his vote, perform his 'duty', is all that intelligent.

I mean, if this creature is considered the front-runner to be the PM, there has to be something wrong with our polity. Who the hell gets a statue of him/her/it-self made holding that dangling purse. But if Kanshi Ram has a man-purse on, the ma'am might as well have one too.

This image of one of those over-rated directors in the Hindi film industry, who are respected because they have white hair in their beard and speak like a retard (thus making idiotic journalists think that there must be some deep meaning to every thing they spout) appeared to me like the best picture to capture the craziness of righteousness that asking everyone to vote in elections is, btw.

What also shocked me is the fact that 74% of Mumbai lives in slums (mentioned in the Rediff article that this pic was a part of)! I am moving there in a few weeks and the thought of being one among the elite 26% makes me feel so happy with my life. But also so sad for almost every other person I would be running into (the Maths is wrong, but I am used to being conservative in my projections).

Since I am in my wisdom-distribution mood, let me also crib about how obviously wrong Malinga's bowling action is. That Sinhalese bastard so obviously throws. Even if the Sri Lankan team is not evenly balanced (communally-speaking) on the whole, they are at least evenly balanced in terms of people who chuck. Muralitharan, who also happens to be the highest wicket-taker in Test and One-dayers, is the Tam chucker. One less injustice that Prabhakaran could crib for!

Carrier

After today, I am convinced that having a job (or 'career', for the more ambitious of you) essentially means letting a part of you die every day, every moment. That is what they pay you for - to see how thorough a butcher you are, how comprehensively you become a part of the herd.

Investment banking wins round 1.

Das Experiment - II

Am discontinuing the Cetirizine experiment. I did take 40 pills, but I ended up waking up around 11 am on Saturday. It's an ineffective medicine, though I did not get a cold despite getting wet in the torrential rainfall that Bangalore experienced Friday evening. I am not generally too sensitive, but getting wet in rain-water is a sure-shot way for me to get a bad cold and cough.

Cetirizine is not as deadly as the common Paracetamol, which I OD'd on a few years back, while home during a vacation from college. Paracetamol induces extreme acidity. I took 10 pills before going to bed at around 10pm and kept puking the whole night. By morning I couldn't even crawl from the bathroom to my bed and was puking blood. I had to bear lying down through 4 bottles of intravenous saline solution. And a very painful tube inserted through my mouth and my digestive canal into my stomach, to check if the bleeding was not from a serious wound.

It's almost like getting raped.

Since then, I do some basic research before OD-ing on medicine. If you swallow a lot of these anti-cold medicines by the way with alcohol, they give you a very long-lasting high. I am still not over the drowsiness induced by taking in 40 pills of Cetirizine along with good ol' Kingfisher Strong.

I haven't yet tried eating Iodex with bread. It's one of the more commonly known ways of getting a high. I tried doing it a few years back, but the smell was too over-powering for me to actually eat it.

Das Experiment

My close friends have got so used to me doing things that they wouldn't expect a sane person to do, that they have simply stopped reacting now.

I have this occasional urge to conduct experiments. On myself. Using medicine/medical apparatus. I have heard that pharma labs pay people for such experiments, and if you know of any such lab in Bangalore, please let me know.

Readers who have been bearing with me from the time I used to write at my previous blog might remember me writing about inserting air bubbles under the skin of my arm using a needle and a syringe. The bubble doesn't burst and keeps moving around like a small ball for quite some time. It does hurt painfully if you insert too many bubbles, but the probability of you hitting a blood vessel is very low - so it's not as potentially fatal as some experts might have us believe. Try it sometime.

In a similar exercise to reach, and maybe even surpass, the very frontiers of human knowledge, I have been involved in this simple experiment for the last two weekends. There's this anti-cold medicine called Cetirizine, which is available over the counter at most pharmacies. It's got several possible side-effects, but the effect it has on me is that it makes me sleepy. If I take more than one tablet in a day I can be counted upon to sleep at least 3-4 hours more than my normal sleeping time. Of course, one feels drowsy anyway when one has a bad bout of cold.

So, I am doing this experiment where I am trying to see what effect a higher dosage of Cetirizine has on me when I am healthier. Two weekends back, I gulped down 10 tablets on Friday night with some beer and woke up Saturday morning at around 11 (I normally get up around 7-8 even on a weekend). Last weekend I doubled the dosage and woke up at 3 in the afternoon.

By that rate if I double it further I should be up by around 11 at night tomorrow. Will post in the results of this round once I am up tomorrow evening.