Remembering Iraq

I am really angry right now.

I am a fan of Wikipedia, have contributed both in terms of content and in terms of moolah to it. But, I went back to the page on Al-Qa'im today, and was astonished to see that most of the past information had been removed. And the fuckers are complaining that the article is a stub, and that we can help by expanding it! No donation from me you moron, Jimmy Wales.

I spent 2.5 precious years of my childhood there. I still remember the person who used to give me chocolates every time he would run into me. I still remember running away from the people celebrating Holi with masalas. I still remember discussing Sridevi, and Mumbai rains, with the local grocery-shop owner. I still remember being (almost) sexually abused by an idiot who was my father's subordinate (I had the good sense of forcing myself out of his house after he emerged in his underwear and started touching me inappropriately).

No, my wiki contribution was not about these personal experiences. It was about the cement plant run by ACC that got us there and provided many local people employment. It was about how the place became a curious melting pot of Iraqis, Romanians (who were handing over the plant to ACC) and us Indians. It was about how that weird chemical plant a few kilometers away used to give us bad asthmatic attacks once in a while. It was about how I saw my first tanks and first sand-dunes.

These are bound to be hazy memories - these events occurred a lifetime ago. But, I remember seeing VP Singh's visit to Baghdad being covered on the national channel and thinking - Man, why aren't our leaders remotely as charismatic as Saddam Hussein.

There, I have said it. I wasn't very happy when Saddam was executed.

During those years in Iraq, way too young as I might have been, I had heard of the cruelty of his regime. I knew he wasn't exactly adored, even though his portraits and posters covered every street in every town I visited. But, things moved smoothly.

Cities were clean, hospitals were efficient, there was freedom (at least before the First Gulf War; that's when we came back and that's when I hear the place got more fundamentalist) and petrol was almost as cheap as mineral water.

I hated coming back to India. Not only because it robbed me of this perceived exotic identity that I had put on over the course of my stay there (and which used to come very handy when interacting with cousins here), but also because India was a shock to me. When we moved to Iraq I was a little over 6 years old, just beginning to grasp the import of stuff happening around me. When we moved back, I was a fairly worldly wise 9 year old, who had seen stuff (including, but not limited to, extremely violent movies, novels not meant for children, that man who used to touch me, and, quite amazingly, female friends who used to play Ghar-Ghar with sticks, making them lie together and do all sorts of scandalous things).

But, recovering from that major diversion, I absolutely hated coming back to India. It was humid. There were mosquitoes. Every place was filled with people. And everyone else was an Indian too. No fun.

Am watching this film called The Devil's Double. Just brought memories back. During our stay there, we once heard this story - apparently, one of Saddam's sons had killed someone. As per Islamic rules, Saddam's son (don't remember if it was Uday or someone else) could be forgiven only if forgiven by the victim's family. Saddam (apparently) agreed with the death sentence. But, (apparently) the victim's family forgave the son, out of 'natural compassion'.

Yep, so Iraq was twisted. Frankly, I don't think how they can not be unless they are all bombed out. With that much oil and those many tribes, it seems your idiotic God is having a lot of fun there.

Tamas

A collection of CDs covering the entire series of Tamas has just come out. Am going through it right now.

The production values are quite ordinary, but the acting, the screenplay is just fantastic.

Watching people like Harish Patel, Virendra Saxena, KK Raina, and many other familiar faces whose names I can't even recall, who went on to become regular character actors in some of the most iconic Indian films and serials, is amazing.

But, what captures you the most are the images. Tamas is part of the oldest images of my life. The scene where Deepa Sahi jumps into a well, and I haven't seen ahead to confirm if that memory is real, has been one of the most deeply etched marks in my memory. I would have been 5-6 years old when I last saw it.

And the Tamas family getting together in the classic Mile Sur Mera Tumhara video of course. Or I might be confusing one thing from the past with another again.

The film/mini-series is as much a landmark in Indian cinema as the partition was a nightmare on the country's psyche. I have written multiple times earlier how pointless it seems now that so many people died during the birth of two nations that are unbelievably similar. Pakistan and India together would have kicked so much ass.

The fact that India has celebrated Eid this week with as much fervor (though Ganesh Utsav seems to have stolen the thunder here in Mumbai) as possibly in any other part of the world proves that.

To an extent.

I still feel that we are (more than a bit) biased towards Hinduism. Despite the fact that most of us respect religious freedom, we do not realize how Hindu-ized our regular institutions are. We need to balance that gap.

But, I think we are getting there. For me Eid is as much a celebratory occasion as Diwali is. And it's the same for many of my friends. And not just because it gives you an office holiday. Or a Khan film release.

But also because you appreciate what the day stands for.

Step-children

I am in a really bad mood tonight. Mostly because I know I won't be able to sleep late tomorrow on a rare holiday morning because the morons in my housing society will try to push their pop-patriotism on everyone else by playing 'Ae mere pyaare watan' right from 8 am.

But, also because I am watching a rather emotional episode of Just Dance. I have generally come to see through the plastic emotionality that most TV programs thrust on us, but, and maybe it was because I am drunk, or maybe because I feel very strongly about it, I could not keep from crying when Irfan, one of the contestants on the show, had to state that he is as Hindustani as anyone else.

The fact that a Muslim citizen still has to say that is extremely painful. It makes me ashamed of myself. And my country.

Really liked Rajit's performance. Don't know in terms of the technicalities, but the dance was good to make one realize how we are leaving the green in our flag behind. The saffron and the white will not go far if we continue doing that.

Ae mere pyaare watan, the pyaar we have for you is standing on very weak grounds.

In The Line of Beauty

"It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society."

Now isn't that about one of the most intelligent statements to come across. It's by Jiddu Krishnamurti, who or whose teachings I confess I have very little personal knowledge of. I have always stayed away from such people with large following because I have a simple logic - if a lot of people are following someone with so much devotion and faith, the person can't be worth following.

So, this line of beauty came to me through a friend, who told me this after a discussion through email on my usual frustration with people and life in general.

Maybe I should read more of Krishnamurti.

And, have I said this before? My friends are amazing. How did a person as asocial as me end up with a bunch of friends this mature, and this good.

Life Support

A friend of mine from engineering went into coma today after a head injury in an accident. Made me think again of something I last thought while watching Guzaarish.

Have mentioned this to some of my friends, but they consider this just another emotional ramble of mine (which I am quite notorious for) after having a few pegs.

But, very seriously (and I am not drunk as I need to be up early tomorrow for a flight), I need to put this in writing somewhere. And this feels like a good enough place, since some of my friends read this. I hope so.

If ever I am in a coma for more than a few days (few being less than 7) or, worse still, have turned into a vegetable that can see, but not do much else - like Ethan in Guazaarish or the horrifying condition of Jean-Dominique Bauby in The Diving Bell and the Butterfly - you will do me a huge favor by letting me die. Please pull the plug. I will be very happy and grateful.

Also, I don't know how laws work in this, but please give all my money and assets to my mother. Except for my books (my only possession I really care about), which I would like to be shared between a couple of my friends. I have bothered them when alive the most, and consider this as some compensation. Unless they don't want it. In which case, please give them to my school in Jharkhand, where I did most of my schooling from. If even they don't want it (shucks), donate it to my parents' favorite charity. If they don't want it either, just burn them.

Not my parents. The books.

Ok. Done.

Surreal

I just had a very very surreal moment while watching a film.

I settled down a short while back on my couch to watch a film after watching the news, during which I had a couple of cans of beer and a packet of potato chips (The Lay's India's Magic Masala is really quite good).

I began watching Another Year, the phenomenal film by Mike Leigh, from where I left it last time and the scene I started watching from has an old lonely man having a couple of beers and gulping down some chips on a train.

Shite. But surreal.

Random Thought

This is part of a song I had learned in Class V and it just came to me suddenly for some reason -

Kasturi mrig ki naabhi mein,
Moorakh dhoonde van jhaadi mein.
Khota bhatak bhatak nij praan,
Mile man mandir mein bhagwaan

Friends

This must be the official pushing-away-friends week.

I very often feel that I am multiple people living within me. At least two different people. And the more stupid one, the one who is probably writing this, is the more dominant one.

I told a friend, whom I always want to meet and love immensely, that I was in Bangalore over the weekend. Even though I was whiling away time on a rare free weekend in Mumbai.

I haven't replied to this girl I knew in school, who was a close friend, and whose name I have been googling for ages to get a clue on where she was, and who finally mailed me this week. The last time I corresponded with her was in 2000. Because I am not sure I want to show her who I am now.

Have been avoiding talking to a close friend from engineering because I just don't know what to talk about.

And I have been trying to pick up fights deliberately with the friend I value the most.

And I can't control any of it. I really can't.

Maybe this is an apology.

But, we are like this wonly.

Food, Quizzing, My Life

I'm slightly worried right now because a recent visitor to my blog from Denver, CO, came here after searching on Google for "I let my young son play with my cock". I hope he was referring to the poultry at his farmhouse.

Anyway, to each his own daddy.

As someone implied on Twitter, the hiatus has indeed been partly because of a marriage. But not mine. Was away for a cousin's marriage. That was only for 3-4 days though. Some work-related submissions, some personal work and some work-life issues were responsible too. Plus, we did a couple of quizzes for NIT Durgapur at their Tech Fest, Aarohan. But, I am back now and that should make you very happy, no?

A good amount of my time lately has gone into mock interviewing candidates for various B-schools. It's more fun than anything else that I have done lately. And I get paid for it too. Met some amazing people, both as interviewees or co-panelists.

I like it that way - meet people for a brief while, get to know about them, have a bit of good time, and then move on. No pain of being in touch, maintaining relationships, with all and sundry. If someone's really great, you can stay in contact and get together for drinks/dinner once in a while. If really great. Everyone gets painful after some time though. The time it takes to get painful varies, that's all.

Been doing the usual stuff, watching films, reading. And cooking. My cooking skills have improved considerably over the last few weeks. But, I can't bear to cook the usual aloo-baingan and aloo-matar. Not that cooking them is any easier than cooking Thai red curry mix vegetable, but it's just too boring to do all the pre-cooking cutting and post-cooking cleaning for something that my bai can make with her eyes shut. So, only (slightly) exotic stuff for me. I am still not confident enough to make others eat what I have cooked though.

My Best Friend - II

Vibhor referred me to this blog. I had been thinking about how pointless it is to write here, and couldn't think of anything to write about, but this post hit me really bad. I am really missing Sheru and Heena now.

My relationship with my family, like with most other people I know, isn't exactly great. We have learned to tolerate each other, and probably share a bit more of our happiness and sadness than we would with a complete stranger, but I have increasingly grown distant from them. Apart from some close cousins, I can't bear meeting any relative. Even the communication with my parents and sister is really minimal. I find it incredible when some of my friends tell me that they call home everyday. So, when I do go home once in a while, I spend most of my time with our dogs. They understand everything. Expect nothing. Of course, since I have largely been away from home since the time these two chaps came into our family, I don't connect with them as much as I had with the earlier Heena.

Had recently read a post by Jai Arjun Singh, where he was talking about Foxie after watching Paa. Dogs really are like living with children with Progeria. From the day they come into your life, you know you will most likely outlive them. You will see them grow from these small, cute pups into sturdy adults and then gradually wither into weakness. And then they'll leave. If you have ever had an animal you loved die, you would know how maddeningly painful it is.

I have had this debate more than once with a close friend, who does not think very highly of having pets, about this 'love' that people profess for dogs, or for any other animal. Do we really love dogs, when we commit them to a life of domesticity, sort of emasculating them and preventing them from living a life of freedom, in the wild, or even around humans but fending for themselves.

I am not sure. I do make the same mistake that many others do - of confusing a dog's dependence on me for food, for taking him out for a walk, for playing with him with a ball, as his love for me. Deriving happiness from treating an animal like a kid, turning a creature into a baby that needs your care and then feeling good about providing that care - does that animal really need it? Isn't that care, that proximity, that understanding you can never share with another human being, more your need than the animal's?

As I said, I don't know. I probably do need that love more than the dog. I probably needed Heena more in my life - to sit with her and talk to (and with) her, to go on long walks with her, to feel the gratification of her telling me that she had missed me when I would come back from a trip, to help me cope with a lot of pain and confusion that growing up was - than she ever needed me or my family.

And I am willing to bear the punishment for having subjected her to a life less free than she might have had otherwise. The pain that punishment would involve, or the much greater pain I undergo every time I think about her and miss her, cannot match up to what she gave me in those 10-11 years she was around.

That is why, even though I know I will be renewing my chances of even more pain in the future by doing this, I wish I will be able to have a dog as a pet once more.

And, I hope Badal comes back. Or at least is happy wherever he is.

Sick People

I hadn't realized I am so well-known. I mean, it's happened several times that people recognized me in public, but someone asking me for my autograph! That's quite something!

Small Pleasures, Really Small

The answer is The Aristocrats. To the question asked in the previous post.

I saw Kurbaan last weekend finally - my sinuses were being raped the earlier weekend when it was released - and quite liked it. Liked Paa as well, which I saw this Friday night after work. India are No.1, even though it's only Test Cricket. And I finally got wi-fi at home. Life's made up of such small pleasures.

That's a load of bull.

I am annoyed right now because I was hoping to go to Kerala for New Year's but I have been told it's not a good idea. Despite being on good behavior for days now. Don't have any plans as of now, and spending New Year's eve alone is sad. Even for me!

Anyway, I suppose I'll manage. I came across two interesting sites recently. One was through the gtalk status of a friend. For some reason I thought the author was a woman. Maybe because, like a nurse, I can't imagine a man being a librarian. Love the site for its twisted-ness.

Got to the other site through the blog-roll of the first one. Haven't gone through the archives, but promises some good fun.

I wish right now I could have one of those suburban houses that we see in US films. Apart from the fact that it would help me have a dog (I have been dreaming about keeping a dog with alarming frequency now), I could have one of those garages where the door opens using a remote control and you can just take your gas-guzzler in without having to get down. And you can take stuff from your vehicle straight into your house through the inside door.

And yes, a basement too. Soundproofed, of course.

And a chainsaw. Or at least a good meat-carving knife. And, well, that hook-chain-pulley thing used to hang meat. And a good garbage disposal system. Without nosy neighbors.

TOW I Crib Some More

I am typing with one hand again. But that's because I have a particularly gooey piece of chikki in my left hand. Had gone with my parents to Lonavala-Khandala a few weeks back, and all the chikki we bought had been rotting in my fridge. It still tastes awesome.

I am sorry for that fingers stunt. I was getting bored one fine evening, had just watched No Smoking for the fourth time, and this felt like a good idea. Thanks to everyone who bothered to comment, write to me or call. Apologies for being such a moron. And will try not to crack such 'jokes' again.

***********Warning - Serious Crib Alert************

I have been terribly low for the last few days, which has sort of been the general mood actually for most of the last few months. I know it's very boring reading someone crib like this but, well, at least I am not cribbing while talking to you on the phone! I am not exactly sure why I am not in a good or even normal mood, not sure whether there is a reason at all, but it is the way it is.

The fact that I am not exactly in love with my job is very clear to anyone who reads my posts. But it is a genuinely nice firm to work for, and I am not sure I won't regret missing out the chance of sticking around and seeing this firm grow if I leave soon. And there are quite a few days when I enjoy the work I do on that particular day. I feel satisfied coming home tired, having simple food, watching a couple of TV shows, chatting a bit with one or two people, and then lying down with a novel and falling asleep in a few minutes. I particularly love the falling asleep easily bit. Probably for the first time in my life, for an extended period, I have not had problem in falling asleep.

But then there are days when I have this crazy, painful feeling that I am wasting time. I don't have any liabilities, my dad's in a good job and has got a fair amount of time before retirement, and my parents have saved a decent amount of money, my sister's got a job. I am healthy, with no illness. I don't even have a pet animal that could be dependent on me.

I still can't find the courage to experiment. And it's killing me. Or at least making me crazy.

I have been shutting people out with my craziness. I didn't have too many friends to begin with, but have been deliberately trying to lose the ones I did. I said some very hurtful things to a cousin I considered one of my best friends, and we haven't spoken for months now. I haven't called up some of my friends whom I used to talk with every few weeks. And I think was not very hospitable when one such close friend stayed over at my place for a weekend. And over the last few days I have come perilously close to losing the friend I value the most.

I can make things better. But then again, I can't.

Writing this here is just a way to see things better, as crazy as it may sound.

It's also crazy how much 'I' my posts are about. The rare moments when I give my self-centered self a break and look at others, I realize that others have got problems too. Real problems actually. But one's own problems, even if imagined, obviously hurt more.

*****************************************************************

Added later: Maybe it's just a case of not getting enough sex.

fingers

i lost 2 fingers of my left hand yesterday in an accident. hurts like hell, and it is painful typing with one hand, so forgive the lack of caps. will be back with the story once the painkillers wear off completely.

Machher Jhol

One of the reasons for taking a flat this far out in the suburbs - causing a daily 30-40 minute one-way commute to office, which everyone, including myself, keeps reminding me is very sane by Mumbai standards - was to be able to live away from the crazy congregation of humanity that is Mumbai. And it's been a good decision. My flat's balconies don't even open towards the road, but towards the greener, and calmer, backside of the society. Watching Mumbai's famous rains, with the balcony doors wide open, cool breeze blowing in, and reading a nice book, with music playing on my (new) speakers, is as close to heavenly as I have come since I started working.

Of course, one can't spend the entire weekend cooped up like this. One of my weekly engagements is a trip to Hypercity in Malad (W) to do my grocery shopping. It's about 15-20 away from my flat on a straight road, which normally has much less traffic than usual at the time I choose to go there (Sunday lunchtime). On my way back, feeling content with the world after having gotten through another week of boring vegetable-buying, I like to take a look around at the slums lining both sides of the road.

A good amount of space right next to the footpath is taken by these small shops, barely enough to fit two persons, selling all sorts of things from clothes and food items to phones and hardware. I rarely see any customer there. They are almost always occupied by some old man wearing a skull cap and kurta-pajama, very often staring at the road blankly. I always wonder how the shop-owners make a living. Who are the patrons? What are the footfalls like?

Today it reminded me of a similar shop I knew almost a decade back. Before deciding to go to Kota for my coaching, I had spent about 2-3 very painful weeks in Kolkata. I was staying on the 2nd floor of a guest-house, and one of the windows in my room opened on to a section of a road that had a small bakery/confectionery/something like that on the other side.

The person who ran the shop used to pull up the shutters sometime around 11 am, and by the time I got back to my room at 4:30 or so, they would be down. Of course, these were the days when he would decide to open shop at all, because very often the shop would be closed even on a weekday. I wasn't around long enough to figure out a pattern - maybe he took a leave only on prime numbered dates - but it didn't keep me from marveling what a leisurely lifestyle he had. As I got to know later, Kolkata abounds in such life-stories.

And even though I have often made fun about the lack of enterprise among a good number of people in Kolkata, I find myself wondering equally often these days if that is not the better life. Machher jhol and beer, and they don't cost much, should be enough for a good life.

New Love

I had decided not to write about my personal life on my blog, or at least this kind of personal stuff, after some misadventures at my previous blog, but I am so madly in love now that I couldn't resist it.

Yes, I am in love. Head-over-heels, and any other way possible. I am also pretty sure that the object of my love would not really mind me writing about it here.

In fact, for those of you who are interested, I am linking a pic of mon amour. If someone was this beautiful and this easy to handle and this much fun to be around with, it would be difficult not to fall in love.

Here's the pic.

Iraq

The comment by Pi at the previous post, and then a visit to this page at Wikipedia, made me want to write this post.

I think I have said earlier, even before the last post, that I have lived in Iraq. I generally do not say it very explicitly because I am very conscious of the fact that this was a very different experience from what most of my peers would have had. I have friends from families rich enough to have had vacations in Europe and the US and all that. But having lived for a substantial time in Iraq is not something too many Indians in my generation would have done, or would get a chance to for the next few years at least, irrespective of how much money they have. The thing is I don't want to make it apparent how much I enjoy the fact that I am one of the few people I know who has been there. A similar feeling is what I get when people talk about Pakistan. I really enjoy all the questions people ask about these two places.

One of my friends has worked in Cyprus, and I envy him for that, and I imagine, even if it doesn't actually happen, that people in some way envy me for my experiences in these two amazing countries.

I have a strong feeling of deja vu writing about my experiences in Iraq, a feeling that I have already written about it some time, but I don't have the patience to check my archives from all the blogs I have written at. So, here goes.

The wiki page has a section at the bottom called 'Cement Plant'. It's a very accurate description of the place, and unless I wrote it in a drunk condition and forgot all about it, it must have been written by one of my schoolmates at Al-Qaim. I don't think anyone outside the colony would have known so much detail.

I lived in a place called Al-Qaim, very close to the Syrian border, from early 1988 to mid-1990. We came back when the 1st Gulf War was imminent.

My father went there about 2 months before us (my mother, my sister and yours truly). I remember the last night I spent with him before he left. I wasn't as aware as I am now, but I did know that there was a war on. The war with Iran. My mom's father had been particularly worried when he heard of my dad's transfer because my mom's eldest brother was posted in Batticaloa at that time, and then another person in the family going to a disturbed area wasn't an exciting thought. I remember I started paying more attention to the images of the Iraq-Iran war once I heard of the transfer. I was scared the night he left.

I was scared till I ran to meet him at the Baghdad airport two months later. This was a little after the overnight flight in Iraqi Airways, where I managed to get locked up in the bathroom. My dad had bought loads of chocolates for me. I actually remember the mint-flavored chocolate he had bought for me. I bought the same thing returning from Dubai last year and gave it to him. We reached Baghdad early in the morning and after spending a short while in ACC's guesthouse (where I saw a bombed building for the first time and realized how close the war was - a building just stone's throw from the guest-house had been bombed the previous night), we left for Kubaisa, where ACC had one of its plants.

We spent a night or so in Kubaisa, where I experienced the terrible desert weather for the first time. I was not allowed to go out during the day and every single place indoors was air-conditioned.

I can't recall whether it was before Kubaisa or after it, but we stopped on the way at Ramadi, one of Iraq's bigger towns, to freshen up. I saw the Euphrates there. Several times after that, I was in a car that drove by Tigris and Euphrates, but I realized much later the historical significance of these rivers. Baghdad has both these rivers flowing through it, and Euphrates also used to flow by very close to where my home was.

We reached Al-Qaim pretty soon after that. We were one of the first families to get there and more kept coming in the next few weeks. I think we had around 30 families there in the colony. These were the families of people at the management level in the plant, and many married men stayed alone for the entire duration of their posting there. Which would account for all the chocolates I used to get from many of these 'bachelors' who were probably missing their children back in India.

My school started off in the homes of the teachers. Wives of employees, who had specialisation in any subject, began teaching it. Till we got a permanent place for a school, we used to move from one home to another for each subject. I had 5 other people in my class. There were classes that had just one student. My mom was our Science teacher. So, on days my first class was Science, I would get up in the morning, get ready and then go and sit in our living room waiting for the other classmates to arrive. This didn't last too long as we got a place for school, which would double up as the club in the evening, where I used to go to play carrom and table tennis.

We didn't have any proper games or sports goods there. I don't know why it was so difficult to find anything in the shops. So we started devising our own games. Collecting matchboxes, cigarette boxes, milk cartons, every damn thing and making toys with them. Inventing crazy games. Going off to places we were forbidden to go to.

There were all these Romanian people also in their own section of the colony (I am assuming you have read the Wiki article). This was the first time I was in such proximity to Whites. We somehow got into our heads that these guys were maneaters. Don't ask! So we would have bets on how close we could go to their houses without being caught (and well, barbequeued). Though I soon realized that they were pretty harmless and spoke to a few of them. But there were no Romanian kids there.

There were some Iraqi families though. We befriended some Iraqi kids, but we generally looked at them in disdain because we felt they were very dirty and didn't understand even a bit of English.

One more new thing was seeing women in swimsuits. Some Romanian women had a swimming pool for themselves, and they would cavort in broad daylight in costumes that were too scandalous for us kids. And we would try not to stare while passing by. Or at least appear not to. I wonder how they got away with it in a Middle East country.

The Chemical Fertilizer Complex that the Wiki article talks about was visible from our colony. They actually released some chemical a few times that made all us kids playing outside cough madly.

There are far too many things, far too many, which I remember almost like they happened a couple of years back. Watching all those Hindi movie video cassettes, trips to Baghdad and Habbaniyah, the three-day state holiday when the Iraq-Iran war got over and when I got burnt on our way to Baghdad in a train, getting the highest rank among all Indian Central Schools for two consecutive years, playing in the first (and only) snowfall of my life, seeing almost every adult cry when the colony's sweeper sang Chitthi Aayi Hai at a function, far too many.

But the thing I still remember most vividly is leaving our cosy home that night in early September in 1990, walking alone in the house for the last time, hoping that I would be back some day to take back all my self-made toys I was leaving behind, leaving like thieves in a bus that was not allowed to switch on the headlights, leaving Iraq like refugees, leaving my dad back, with the very strong fear that I might not get to see him again.

My dad did come back safely, though after the war began. We were staying in Navi Mumbai with my aunt and the morning my dad returned I saw my mom run out in her nightgown into the street and hug my dad. I still remember that day. That image came to me every time there was a tiff between my parents. It reminded me what they mean to each other.

I didn't go back to my home in Al-Qaim. Very soon after our return, one night in the news I saw the colony being bombed to rubble by US aircrafts.

Days of Our Lives

A lot of kids who were born in the 90s would not believe it, but there used to be a time called The 80s, when Disco was all the craze, Krishi Darshan used to be telecast on prime time on national television and Bappi Lahiri was God. It also used to be the time when I was in primary school, and India came out with the craziest bit of Hindi movies. The two - being at an impressionable age and awesome movies - make for an interesting mix, and I am afraid I have been scarred for life.

I somehow happened to come across a clip from the movie Tarzan (the Hemant Birje one) today on YouTube, and the very visible Kimi Katkar made me think of those ladies who regaled us with their outrageous clothes and outstanding dance steps and non-existent acting skills all those years ago. I decided to find out what some of these women have been up to since we stopped noticing them.

Kimi Katkar has a three film filmography on Wikipedia. What gross injustice. All that white-sari clad rain dancing for nothing. She seems to have married Shantanu Sheorey, the photographer. My memory of her: Arre O Jumma, Meri Jaaneman, Baahar Nikal...the music still sends shivers down my spine!

Sonam, the Oye Oye girl, got roles for so long for reasons I can't fathom. Her actual name was Bakhtawar Murad, which I didn't know till today, and she was Raza Murad's niece. She got married to Rajiv Rai and moved abroad when he was shot at during the peak of the underworld-filmdom dealings.
My memory of her: What else, but Tirchhi Topiwaale!

Ektaa, who had been acting as late as 2005 in a movie called Anjaane: The Unknown, saw the highpoint of her career in movies like Awwal Number and Saajan. She married Mohnish Behl, and thankfully gave up trying to act.
My memory of her: Actually none, but fleeting images from the two movies mentioned above.

Farah, the lady from a seriously academic family and Shabana Azmi's niece, and also the elder sister of Tabu, had a short-lived marriage with Dara Singh's stone-faced son Vindoo. What is she upto now?
My memory of her: Her roles in Marte Dam Tak and Ghar Ghar Ki Kahani

Shilpa Shirodkar, who wasn't technically an 80s actress, but is probably associated with that period, had her biggest hit in the madcap Aankhen. I can remember, rather vividly, her vigorously choreographed dance numbers, many of them in extremely wet conditions. She seemed to have married a banker, which is always a good thing, recession or no recession.
My memory of her: Her dance with Govinda from Aankhen, where she tells him that her dad's gone to the field and her mom's at the market, and so he should make hay while the sun's still up.

Sangeeta Bijlani, the third in the Tridev trio and former Miss India, is described on Wiki as someone who was known for her dance numbers than histrionic skills. Who am I to argue? She obviously got good value for stardom in marriage to one of Indian cricket's most eligible already married men.
My memory of her: Gali gali mein phirta hai tu kyun banke banjaara...

Neelam (Kothari) was probably one of the richest non-film-background women in Hindi films. Her pairings with Govinda were particularly successful, but that didn't do much for her career. A quick marriage and divorce later, I believe she is back to the Page 3 circuit and jewellery designing, the two last resorts of erstwhile celebrities.
My memory of her: Tip tip tip tip baarish shuru ho gayi...

Anita Raj, whom I remember mainly because of how shocked I can recall I was when I read in a film magazine (most probably Stardust) that she was going to expose a lot in a film directed by her brother. I was a kid then, of course. I actually can't recall a single film of hers, but I definitely saw quite a few films where she came in for the songs, or to provide a reason for the hero to beat up the villain. She maaried some small-time film director and left the industry.

Mandakini, who probably had the most eventful career of all. Being launched in an RK film at the age of 16, with scenes under the waterfall people still haven't forgotten (I saw the film at the ripe old age of 3 with my parents, so you know now why I am the way I am), allegedly becoming one of India's biggest criminal's moll, and then coming back to release two pop albums, she sure did interesting stuff. And, again, I didn't know her real name is Yasmeen Joseph.
My memory of her: Sun sahiba sun...

There were others, for sure, whose names I can't recall. Some like Poonam Dhillon, Padmini Kolhapure, Amrita Singh, Meenakshi Seshadri and Jaya Prada had slightly more successful careers. Others, like Hema Malini and Zeenat Aman, were kids of previous generations. And then there were Sri Devi, Madhuri Dixit and Juhi Chawla, who were far too great to be included in this list.

There's this thing I can recall right now from 1988. Tezaab had just come out, and I hadn't seen it yet. Uttar-Dakshin and Hifazat were the only Madhuri Dixit movies I had seen till that time. One fine evening in Al-Qaim, I was having a discussion on favorite heroines with some of my friends. I actually told them that I don't like Madhuri Dixit because she can't act and she is too thin. 6 year olds know nothing. I saw this very soon. And have been a fan ever since.

And lastly, I didn't exactly mean to make fun of these ladies. If roles weren't being written for women, and the ones that were being written had been cornered by the likes of Shabana Azmi, Smita Patil and Deepti Naval, these ladies couldn't have done much about it. Seeing some of the videos I have provided links to gives me goose-bumps. Marveling at how India has changed over the last 20 years would be one of our generation's favorite pastimes for the rest of our lives.

Gods

I was watching an interesting movie right now when I had a revelation. Well, not a revelation exactly, but something that makes me understand things better.

In the movie, this chap, in a moment of difficulty and confusion, goes to the chapel and talks to God. I am never able to understand these actions. I mean, I have always believed that belief in God, by the majority of people around us, is important for life to run sanely. The idea that there's someone watching you all the time or that you'll have to pay for your deeds ensures that a lot less people commit crimes or just be plain selfish all the time than what would be the case if everyone was an atheist. It requires intelligence, or plain laziness, to know that there is no God and still keep oneself from committing crimes.But it still is difficult for me to understand how someone can have such blind faith in an abstract concept like God.

So, coming back to this chap. He was in a situation that I find myself in a lot. To cope with it he went and spoke to a stone idol. And whenever I find myself in situations like these, I invariably feel the need to talk to someone too. But in my case this 'someone' ends up being one of my close friends.

Just as a lot of people have utmost faith in their God, I have an unreasonable belief in my friends' ability to listen to me, understand me and forgive me.

I don't consider my friends infallible of course, but one needs to be flawed to understand someone else's flaws. God, assuming there is one, can't win against my friends in that department.

Butter Chicken in Gurgawan

Every time I visit Delhi it becomes clearer to me why anyone who has no personal attachment to the city would hate it. Which is unlike Bangalore, where unless you have some really bad memory of the city, you are bound to find it fantastic.

Even I used to hate Delhi, till I joined college there. And even though each subsequent visit after passing out in 2006 has made me cringe at how crude the people can be, how painful some interactions can be, I have still felt like I am coming back home.

The same might not be true for Gurgaon though. Which looks like one of the ugliest places I have been to in my life. During my short stay in NCR this weekend, I stayed in Gurgaon, close to a friend's place, even though I spent most of the weekend in Delhi. And just three nights in Gurgaon showed me why almost all my friends staying there crib about the place.

Unlike previous visits to Delhi in the last 2-3 years, where I would try to meet as many friends staying in that region as possible, this visit was to meet just one friend. Also, this was the first visit after passing out from engineering college that I was in Delhi and did not visit it. Glad I decided to do it that way.

And I had Butter Chicken and Dal Makhni. I had forgotten how much I like Delhi food. Even though Bangalore has some great eating joints and amazing variety in cuisines, and even though, unlike many North Indians I know, I absolutely love all South Indian food, there is something about having Jeera Rice and Butter Chicken in Delhi that can be matched by little else. Like everything else about Delhi, this also has its own nostalgia attached to it, especially when had with a bottle of Kingfisher/Sandpiper, but even if you went to Delhi for the first time in your life after reading this and had Butter Chicken, you would know what I mean.